He walked slowly for one of the Emperor's Finest, his steps mechanical and heavy, more akin to the stride of a Kastelan robot than the graceful, swift stride of an Angel of Death. The armour was slowing him down considerable, but not for a moment did the thought of abandoning it enter his mind. It took him five minutes to cross a kilometer, which made him feel like a slug.
His body had already repaired itself, and the armour shut off all non essential functions to preserve power. It barely assisted his movements, but he still whispered a prayer of thanks to its Machine Spirit. It looked after him, but now was his turn to look after it.
It was still filtering his blood, drawing out waste products and restructuring them into nutrients. Carbion dioxide was split into oxygen and carbon, with the latter being recycled back into his body alongside what tiny amount of moisture his breathing produced.
Astartes physiology was almost unnaturally efficient. It produced no waste beside carbon dioxide, was almost totally self reliant on water and heat regulation, and required less food than an adult human, for it used energy with an efficiency that some Apothecaries believed actually violeted the laws of physics, a clear sign that the Gene-seed imparted a tiny portion of the Emperor's divine power into His Chosen. For was it not His blood that flowed in their veins?
Even without his armour, he could go on for months without food if he did not exert himself too much. He would need no water unless heavy combat drove him to sweating, something that very rarely occured, for Astartes tissue was much tougher than that of mortal creatures, able to withstand heat that would have left a natural life form's proteins boiled.
So did Aramus keep walking towards the city, uncaring about the passage of time. As long as he did not need to extert himself, his armour could keep him alive for months. It could power a small town, so the life support systems took almost no power to use. The problem with that was, that his Power Sword, Storm Shield, Iron Halo as well as the fiber bundles would very quickly deplete the reserves of his power pack.
He was still faster than a human even in his debilitated state, but if he ran into Genestealers, Nobs, or Emperor forbid a Chaos Space Marine, than he had only a ten minutes left to fight. He could use only the fiber bundles, thus increasing his combat limit to a few hours, but than his armour could very easily get damaged, and his weapon would have problems with slicing through anything heavier than carapace armour.
Aramus dismissed these thoughts. They were unworthy of an Astartes. He would face whatever horrors awaited him, and he would crush them, even if he had to do it with the encumbering husk of a totally depleted armour around himself. He was the Savior of Aurelia.
After half an hour of walking and only a few kilometers from the city, the towering Marine froze instantly. His autosenses were picking up something that sounded like speech. Human like speech.
He started walking very slowly towards the source of the noise, keeping to the shadows and doing his best not to make any noise.
Cyana had always envisioned being a revolutionary would be glorious, a noble stand against the evil of the humans and their tyrannical ways. She ruefully reminded herself that people often found real life much different than their expectations.
Lugging stolen Dust and munitions across the Forever Fall forest to the hidden truck with two dozen other Faunus was anything but glorious and noble. She know she was fighting the good fight against oppression, but it still felt like being a petty robber. Those well laden knapsacks were also quite heavy, even with her Aura lending her strength beyond what she could squeeze out of her tiring muscles.
"Ugh, are we there yet?" She asked as she stopped to take a gulp of stale water from her canteen and rearrange her White Fang mask after it had slipped from her sweat-slicken features.
"Put your energy into carrying our prize back to the truck, sister. The Leader's gratitude will be our reward. Hurry up comrades! We don't want any damn huntsman coming after us!"
Was the reassuring reply from her cell leader, Umber, who was a quite large ram Faunus with a combat chainsaw and huge curling horns coming from his brow. He also towered over Cyana in a way that didn't make her feel all that secure, despite the rifle hanging from a strap on her chest.
She curled her fists until her sharp talons dig into the palms of her hands and sighed. She started moving again and lamented the fact that humans made this necessary. If only they were not so evil, she could be just a nineteen years old girl with vivid neon blue hair and a life ahead of herself. But no, she was not human, so most humans wouldn't even employ her. Even if they would, there would be ten like her who would go hungry.
"Damned humans. Bastards." She muttered under her breath and hoped the Grimm would at least be busy somewhere else this night.
Aramus was silent as a Scout, creeping ever closer to the origin of the noise as much as a Space Wolf would have tracked the scent. Soon enough he could may as well do that, for there was the stink of human sweat in the air, but it somehow tasted fouler than usual. He quickly checked his weapons.
The Blade of the Unrelenting was unpowered in his right hand, gripped tightly. While it had its own power cell, that was nearing depletion as well.
The Combi-Plasma Bolter, Righteous Judgement, was mag-locked to his right thigh.
He had around 180 bolts, spread in three body magazines, including the one underside the gun. He had two plasma flasks, but he was loathe to waist those, for if he could get out of his armour, he could use the hydrogen fuel for his power plant in the last case emergency.
The Light of Mars was held in his left hand, hidden behind the Shield of Faith. It was a gift from Magos Fausitinus, a Magos famed for his victory above the Necrons. It was a Volkite Serpenta, a powerful archaotech pistol that fired crimson, deflagrating heat rays. It only needed power, but that it required in quite the amount. Its internal power supply had one shot left before it needed recharging.
"We are almost there! Leg it comrades, before the humans or grims send someone after us. With all this dust ammunition, our revolution will grow stronger!" Came a booming voice, to be answered by another male. "I signed up to give those bigoted humans a well deserved ass kicking, not to rub dust stores!" The first voiced replied with notable annoyance. "Do not falter brother! A minute and the truck will be in sight!"
His eyes narrowed behind his Errant Helmet. Humans don't talk that way about humans. Aliens do not spead Gothic. The scent of sweat was foul. There is only one answer to this riddle. Mutants, more precisely mutant insurrectionists. Though why would anybody bother to store dust in a shop was beyond him. Perhaps it was a, how did mortals call it, a slang term for some form of narcotic. Or it could be gold dust.
"My eyes are the eyes of the Emperor, for I am the sword of Vidya." He intoned.
Terrorsight, he thought, and the green lenses on his helm changed to a brighter, vivid red. He saw through the forest, through the bushes, and through the mutants. Aberrant bone growths showed under the all piercing gaze of his helmet, alongside horns, claws, and even tails. An abhorrent catalogue of impure genetics raised his wrath. They had some type of autorifle on their backs, and were carrying the stolen goods in chests and overstuffed backs.
His lips drew up into a predatory smile and started stalking faster. He needed to catch them before they reached the truck.
Cyana's semblance was nothing fancy. She couldn't fire green beams out of her swords or turn into stone as some Huntsman were rumored to be able to. She could just sense danger a few seconds before it happened.
It was good enough however to have saved her hide many, many times over. Just as the White Fang team reached the parked truck and the two old bikes that were to be their escorts, she felt that it would not be that easy.
Thus when she heard the rustling and heavy footsteps, she hurled the loot down to the ground at once. "Look out, its Grimm!" She screamed, raising her rifle to her eyes and pointing it towards the red bushes.
Two blazing crimson eyes burst into the dark forest clearing, mounted on something huge and wide. "Ursa! Shoot, shoot!" The freedom fighters started shooting at the charging figure, when it did something that no Grimm ever did.
It spoke. Speaking was not an adequate term, however. It roared, thundered in a deep metallic voice. "DEATH TO THE MUTANT!"
Than its charge sped up, and a vivid red beam struck Umber from one of its limbs... was it shooting out of a shield, or was that a large paw? Umber ceased to exist, turned into an exploding cloud of ash that burned the skin of his nearby comrades black. Faster than a charging Boarbatusk, it was amongst them. Faunus were cleaved in half or caved in by an oversize shield. Chests burst under kicks that came faster than she could see it. In two seconds, half of her team was dead.
Dread froze Cyana to the spot. Her body locked up in terror, and she only avoided voiding her bowels because she had been starving for days. Her mind simply refused to accept that something that large could move that fast. Large and strong was one thing, but it was not natural for it to be fast as a striking snake. She was seeing the impossible, and the utter wrongness of it froze her mind into lockdown.
"Tremble, and be broken, filth!" It paused to roar again, the cheap dust rounds doing little againsts its armour even when someone managed to actually hit it.
Cyana had two options. Try to get one of the expensive dust rounds from one of the many identical chests, or flee. Now everybody was screaming and running for their lives, with the humanoid giant chasing after them like a tiger playing with mice.
Three things happened as a mess of pulverised organs hit her face. Cyana's mouth became full of vomit and she found out that the expression 'pissing your fucking pants in terror' was very real, and that she needed to get to a bike in the next ten seconds.
"Flee, for I am Death!" He roared with all three of his lungs, his helmet's systems amplifying it further. A Noise marine could kill with a shriek, but he could still rupture eardrums.
The mutants were fleeing him like scattered hares before a Thunderwolf, and he tore into them with boot, blade and shield. A cat eared man's head and the tree behind him was parted by a thrust of his shield, another was cleaven from head to groin in the blink of an eye. Another he simply kicked in the groin, his boot embedding into the woman's midriff. A human looking mutant with the most unseemly blue hair receiving a faceful of meshed intestines, excreta and spine fragments.
He bounded after them one by one, all his troubles forgotten. The foul stench of ruptured mutant organs was abominable, but it signified holy duty.
He caved in a skull with the handle of his sword, the proud Aquila pommel covered in red blood. These mutants were not as hardy as most of the hive-gutter scum he killed in his centuries long life, but they proved oddly resilient upon first contact.
It was as if their bodies resisted his strength for a split second, and then gave up like a conversion field that has been overwhelmed. Most odd, he mused as he sheated his sword. This work was not worthy of a blade blessed by the Great Father himself.
His armoured fingers closed after one of the fleeing mutant's head, and he squeezed. There was that minute resistance, and than the head came apart in his gauntlet. Skull fractured, antlers crumpled into shards.
Just when he was thinking about taking his time with this recidivist lot, he heard the noise of a small engine. A guardsmen would have designated the cyan haired mutant as "Pukeface" or any other juvenile term. To the Astartes, she was Target Priority Primus. Wishing not to waste precious ammunition on mutants, he snatched up a nearby shortsword from a torn off mutant hand, and threw.
Covered in blood and filth, Cyana ran to the bike and started it with trembling fingers. Only adrenaline kept her from collapsing into a sobbing mess. Come on come on just a little bit of more time. Usually she would feel shame at abandoning her brothers and sisters. Now she only felt dread like she never felt before. I don't want to die here... the bike's engine ignited, and she sped off on the dirt road leading away from the clearing.
Two seconds into her flight, she sensed death coming and veered to the right. She felt horrible, sharp pain explode in her side as something long and sharp hurtled by, tearing a long gash into her side. She put the acceleration to the maximum, and only her Aura kept her from fainting and crashing the bike.
She wanted to live. Damn the world, she wanted only to live! She looked into the mirror to see that nobody was moving beside the giant, what was running after her with inhuman speed. It was so dark that she could not make out much of it, but a human could have not even seen its edges, only its eyes. The glowing, baleful red eyes. Perhaps it was a Grimm after all?
She tried to drive the bike faster, but the thing was gaining on her. She felt its footsteps thundering in her ears. She didn't want to die with her face covered in gore and shit! This was not a heroic freedom fighter's end! This couldn't be it!
Just as she was sure that the giant shadow behind her would leap and tear her apart, she heard a long, evil howl, and the giant paused. I'm happy to hear fucking Grimm? She tried to control her shaking and did her best to reach Vale. She didn't care if she got caught. She needed alcohol, she needed a bath, and she needed a doctor before she bled out.
Let the Grimm try to be heroic freedom fighters. She was clocking out for today.
The mutant woman was almost within his reach when his armour alerted him to incoming contacts. He looked around and could see giant lupine forms running towards him with impressive speed. They appared mutated as well, but even the Terrorsight of his helmet was having trouble penetrating their skin. That was unusual.
He slowed down and drew The Blade of the Unrelenting again, switching back to Preysight. Even for Astartes, using Terrorsight for too long was taxing on the brain.
The mutant woman's bike was getting away, he knew. Fifty meters. He could barely hear her panicked heartbeat any more. A hundred meters. He could still hear her panting breath. Than she was gone, and he had bigger, and hopefully better foes to slay.