Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 377
From the outer dark she came, a leviathan of the void. Her bow was peppered with broken wreckage from the system boats she had devoured while her stern trailed shattered spars and frozen bodies. Naglfar had swatted aside the perimeter patrols with ease and she promised to do the same to the ramshackle fleets orbiting Dimmamar. The mighty Frostcannon below her keel glowed with latent power, already preparing to bathe this world in ice and fire.
Dimmamar's defenders saw the ship coming and prepared their forces for battle. Among their ranks the zealous brayed exhortations to battle, while the pious prayed dutifully. The few among them who gave thought to matters of logistics and firepower were less confident, measuring their vessels and orbital guns against Naglfar and finding them wanting. Doom was upon them, but then at the last moment, Naglfar turned away. Frantic auspex crews shouted over each other as the hybrid ship veered off, chasing a lone fleeing ship. Lamentantor, the Blood Talon's Chapter-barque, Naglfar wanted this kill above all else.
The Blood Talon's ship wallowed out of the gravity well, seemingly struggling to break away. Her drives spluttered and her bow wandered off course, as if the ship was wounded already. Naglfar didn't hesitate to pounce, the mighty ship bearing down with a predator's hunger. The prey hove about, presenting her broadsides and macrocannons spoke. Naglfar shrugged off the pathetic volley, bow crashing through explosions like a man through rain. The hybrid tore through the barrage and closed to boarding range without challenge, spitting fleshhooks and pressurised bridging tubes across the distance. Lamentantor was stuck fast, pierced in many places and helpless to resist. Defeat was close at hand, but then the trap was sprung.
From across the outer hull the Blood arose. Squads of Transhumans rose from the shadow of auspex vanes and shield projectors, from where they had hidden. In the silence of the void they charged, mag-locks clamping on hull plates, till they reached the fleshy boarding tubes and then began climbing them hand over hand. Within streams of Vanagandyr and Space Wolf packs ran downwards, little realising that outside the walls foes went the other way. Unopposed the Blood made for Naglfar's belly, turning the hunt upon its head.
Aronyx clung to his jetbike as he soared ahead, leaving the squads to try to catch up. A jetbike was designed for a terrestrial environment but careful adaptations had made it void-fit. Anti-grav plates had been inverted, drawing the bike's mass near to objects instead of repelling them. The turbines had been fitted with gas-cylinders, to sustain the drive and feed it oxygen. Even the tiniest bursts of thrust provided tremendous acceleration and Aronyx had to clamp his legs tight, lest he be thrown from his seat.
"Make haste!" the Regnator cried into the vox.
"We are moving as fast as we can," Rovenator hissed back.
"Redouble your efforts, seconds count!"
Ahead the looming bulk of Naglfar grew, a solid wall of chitin, becoming a mountain. Aronyx clung tight as he bore down, chased by arrowheads of jetbikes. They would make it, of this he was sure, but time was not on his side. As they boarded the foe, so too was Lamentantor being boarded. The Host would be battling for their lives even now, fending off the invaders. It would be a hopeless battle, Aronyx knew many beautiful deaths would be earned, but defeat was not the goal. To kill Skoll, that was the objective and to do that he must first thin the ranks of the Space Wolves.
"My Lady of Hosts?!" Aronyx called.
"My Regnator, we are besieged!" O'leia cried.
"Hold them, hold them to the last man!"
"We cannot, Lamentantor falls!"
Aronyx cursed under his breath but could wait no longer, "Launch gunships. All squads, clear the way!"
The Blood hastened their pace, trying to cover ground as fast as possible. They moved with haste, but the distance between ships was vast, even during a boarding action, kilometres separated the two vessels. Aronyx spied glints of light approaching, Storm Ravens on an attack run. They had been sheltering on Lamentantor's belly, shielded from view. Now they rose, tearing across the distance between ships, angling for the boarding tubes. Missiles flared, plasma turrets spoke and flurries of destruction smote the tunnels.
Aronyx's steed bucked hard as the tube broke in half. He gripped the yokes tight and clung on as his jetbike sought to fly away into space. Bursts of thrust from the turbines held his course, but the Machine Spirit wailed as gas-cylinders emptied rapidly. The noise of the engine's distress was transmitted through the contact of his legs, telling of mechanical outrage, but he held tight. His spine jarred from wild vibration, his teeth chattered and his palms grew sweaty within his gauntlets but still he held tight. The vast wall that was Naglfar's hull closed, threatening to reduce him to paste upon impact. So close he could see every dimple and pore.
At the last second he yanked his yokes upwards and the jetbike's nose rose. Too slowly, surely he would crash into the fleshy wall, but grimly he held on. Blood attempted to pool in his feet, but his hearts thundered, pushing fluid about despite the g-forces at play and Aronyx held his nerve. Suddenly the wall was a floor, skimming under his boots. He had made the turn and was jetting along the hull safely.
He lifted his head and saw the Stormravens flash past. Severed tubes flailed silently in the void, spewing air and bodies. He saw Vanagandyr kicking wildly as they suffocated to death, and more than a few Space Wolves. Their armour was vacuum-proofed but they lacked void-harnesses, they were doomed to drift eternally into space, without prospect of rescue. Aronyx was grimly pleased to gift them such inglorious deaths.
Around his position the Blood fell, thrown clear of the tubes. They slammed down and sunk ceramite digits into the hide of the ship, holding fast lest they share their foes' fates. Aronyx did a quick headcount and was dismayed to come up short. Not all had made it, some had been thrown into space by the early strike.
"Sound off!" he commanded. Voices came back, squad by squad, revealing a half-dozen missing Brothers. "Korinthus?!" Aronyx barked, "Report!" Only silence came back. "Has anyone seen Korinthus?!"
Rovenator's voice was leaden, "No one saw him make landing."
"My Sacredos," Aronyx lamented, "You deserved better."
"What shall we do without him?" Rovenator gulped.
"Fight in his memory," Aronyx spat, "Quickly, we must enter the ship!"
Hastily the Blood spread out, seeking entrance but Aronyx's hearts seethed. The Sacredos had been the keeper of the mysteries, guardian of the most sacred rites. His apprentice was not ready to take up such a burden, with Korinthus' loss the history and lore of the Chapter was erased from memory. Such a blow, it brought a terrible fury to Aronyx's gut. The Black Rage, growing ever fiercer as the years passed, frothed in his chest and the Red Thirst made his tongue dry. He wanted mindless slaughter; he wanted to rend and tear until he could fight no more.
Past Regnators spoke in his head, reminding him to keep his temper in check. The time was not ripe, the fury must be focused for the opportune moment. Soon there would be slaughter aplenty, enough to sate even the Black Rage. Besides one chided, none of them would survive anyway, Korinthus would have had no chapter to minister to regardless.
The thought poured cool waters on the rising fury and cleared his vision. Ahead a pore loomed in the hull of Naglfar, wide enough to admit a dozen Space Marines at once. A gunship launch tube, bored into the fleshy hide of the ship. The craft that should have laid within was gone, lost in previous battles, in its absence made the perfect entrance.
Aronyx coasted over, aware of how perilously low his gas-cylinders were. With brisk orders he commanded squads to set charges about the interior, melta bombs brought specially for the task. Eighty-nine of the Blood remained, so few, but enough for the task ahead. Skoll remained within, Aronyx was sure of it. The Nighthowler would not die to a blown boarding tube, he would only die in the raw carnage of combat.
The squads hurriedly set the charges and fell back. Silent flashes bloomed, as Melta bombs tore apart the tube. Blood and chitin flew away, along with a torrent of atmosphere. The breach was made and silent squads made to enter but Aronyx commanded, "Hold position!"
"My Regnator, the foe awaits!" Rovenator cried.
"The killing will be swift," Aronyx promised, "But first the cursed shall have their fill!"
At a pulsed vox signal the Stormravens returned, skimming low. Their ramps yawned open, revealing cryo-caskets within. One by one they came to hover over the breach, disgorging their contents within. Already crusted bile was seeping into the hole, closing the entrance, but the caskets smashed through. Aronyx counted them all in, twenty-three, all the Infernae, set free in the enemy's bowels. They would awaken at the first touch of heat, allowing the cursed to begin their hunt.
Aronyx silently counted to ten then commanded, "Into the breach!"
"From Blood we are forged!" Rovenator howled, "By Blood shall we achieve victory!"
Red-clad figures hastened into the breach, jostling for space. The aperture was narrowing but they made their entrance swiftly. Aronyx and the other jetbikes went last, knowing they needed clearance. The tunnels within would be narrow and twisting, their brethren would have to hack out a path for him to follow.
Frustrating seconds ground by, as Aronyx waited, then Rovenator called, "We found an arterial passage large enough for you to pass. Blowing a route in three... two... one..." Another plume of gases erupted, blasting ragged chunks of fleshmetal into the void. Aronyx was already steering into it, narrowly avoiding having his head torn off by random debris. Blessed air hit his turbine and the jetbike roared as sound returned. Aronyx grinned as he plunged into the guts of Naglfar, followed by the rest of his kin, inverting anti-gravs to fly true.
The Regnator's vision narrowed as he plunged into the dark, but he felt only eagerness. With one hand he reached back and unshipped the Lance of Ascalon, then he drove into the den of inequity as he snarled, "Know fear Skoll, the Great Angel's scions are coming for your head!"
