Slayer's Vengeance

by Jago-Dakari

A meeting between a yautja huntress and a human marine turned vengefull slayer will shake the very foundation of both races in this story of adventure, love and loss.

41. Chapter 36

HEY ALL!

After a long break, and by that 2 years, I am finally getting back in the groove for Slayer's Vengeance. humble apologies for making you all wait but other things have been taking priority. though, in part, having been doing this story since I was 17, I needed a bit of a break from it. but, it had been a productive break. I have been creating more stories for my Chronicles of Llancaria universe, having so far compiled 2 novellas and 3 short stories with a novel and several other short stories in the works, and it has been a lot of fun creating an original universe. Elements of which originated within this very story. But, I'll be loathed as to let this story go unfinished.

But enough of that. for the time being, enjoy this chapter and I will see you in the next one. hopefully not in the next year.

goodbye and a happy new year to you all.

Chapter 35- Darkness rises.

The Primarch was still alive. Even after everything Alaric had done to kill it back on the ice world, even to the point of harnessing a lightning storm with Spellbreaker in hand, it had found a way to cheat death once more. Even if it meant taking over a long dead human to do so.

Those watching could only gawk as the eldritch figure stayed motionless in the air, suspended by an unseen force with it's wings still spread out. A twisted and and blasphemous rendition of an angel of human judeo-christian theology. But, a much welcome addition to the murals of any Xeno Extremist cell.

Alaric, Lysandros, Cyrus and Kazrik could only watch as the Primarch began looking around the docks, taking in all of it's surroundings now that it had emerged from it's cocoon. Those glowing purple eyes surveyed everything in it's sight. The yautja, the dwarves, the Archangels and the spartans. But it was more focused on it's current position for the time being. After spending thousands of years in an aethyric bound stone prison, it was likely taking its time in savouring it's new found freedom. Before it would embark on it's rampage of wholesale galactic genocide once more. Bringing everything under it's collective hive mind once more.

The abomination that was once a spartan warrior held a clawed hand up, looking at the appendage in admiration as it flexed it's fingers and seeing the light of the docks glint off the articulated carapace plates. Surges of it's own power course through the armour like it was blood through it's own flesh. It then began to chuckle in a delighted and also malevolently familiar manner as it looked directly towards Alaric.

"I must admit." The Primarch's voice, coming from Dioneke's body, praised in that resonant tone. "Precursor armour is truly impressive. Even damaged as it was, it protected me from your wrath of the heavens."He then bowed in the air in a taunting manner of provocative thanks towards Alaric. His wings spread out in a manner of praise. "Thank you giving my loyal servant the key to it." he thanked.

Alaric instinctively held his side as the memory began to come back. His fight with the Praetorian back on the ice planet in the ruins of the colony's escape convoy. He remembered how it got through his defences and landed a swipe on him. He hardly felt a thing in the heat of the moment as he always did, rather just a dull but ugly impact. But then, maybe that was what the Praetorian was planning. To take a sample of his blood, or rather Gri'nyr's blood, without him noticing. As a back up plan in case the Primarch was ever killed, it would provide access to the blood sealed door to the one intact body left in the temple.

What could be better, and no less ironic, as a host then Alaric's ancestor?

That bug's claws must have gone deeper then I thought, Alaric realised.

He also felt something stir within him. Not only did the Primarch not speak directly to him in his mind but his voice sounded different. Behind all the flanging vocals, he could make out another voice. A human voice from an age long past. Remembering back to the memories Gri'nyr showed him, it had to be the voice of Dionekes behind this demonic tone.

Lysandros and Cyrus felt it too as their spears shifted in their grasps. It was unnerving to say the least to hear a familiar voice long after it's speaker had perished. Especially one that was taken over by a less then benevolent being.

The Primarch could sense conflicted thoughts arise from the three humans and his laugh could be heard in everyone's minds. To the yautja, who had never felt this kind of invasion in their minds before, they were terrified to put it lightly. Some were even now trying to block their ears to blot out the terrible voice. To them, this creature was undoubtedly a demon manifested into the physical plane.

But for the Primarch, it was confirmation that the yautja of the present knew nothing about the truth of the Dark Times. A far cry from the terror that was previously felt in ages past.

"I did say my death would amount to nothing." the Primarch reminded. "Though in practice, that is not entirely true. It was an unpleasant way to go regardless."

The Primarch floated down to the deck, talons rapping loudly on the metal. The Archangels aimed their weaponry at him in anticipation setting for an immediate attack. But the Primarch had no such intentions. Yet. His chitinous wings curled up on his back as he looked at his former gargantuan body with a hint of reluctant relief. He placed a hand onto the massive jaws, running his clawed fingers down one massive fang.

"Despite it's advantages, the one thing I could not do was take out a single small target." he said with mild frustration. "I'm beginning to understand why my brethren prefer to take humanoid form."

He then reeled back a fist and smashed right through one gargantuan fang with a loud echoing crack. The curved chunk of organic crystalline enamel shattered like thin glass right down to the base of the root. The Primarch looked back towards Alaric and he was running a hand down his chest across the ribcage-like curiass in thought, clawed fingers going over every ridge.

"Though I must admit, I was initially reluctant to assume control of a corpse. One of the Bastard Children too." he recalled. "Frail in comparison to previous forms. Yet at the same time so... adaptable and easy to regenerate. Almost what the Ossians had hoped for their perfect slaves."

Perfect slaves. That rang another bell in Alaric's mind. What Gri'nyr told him about that extinct race. How the Ossians' obsession with perfection only brought about their demise. And the Primarch, from what he said about humans being the preferred host, was causing his suspicions to rise. The secret that Gri'nyr said that he was not ready for.

There had to be a connection between humanity and the Ossians.

The Primarch then started to walk forwards towards them, his aura intensifying as it revealed a displeasure that it had about this whole entrance.

"I was hoping to have emerged when you were all sleeping in your beds." he revealed. "But the mop headed dwarf caught onto our ruse. But no matter, I welcome a challenge."

He was no doubt referring to Krags' discovery of his freshly hollowed brethren as he walked closer to Alaric. Kal'deris sensed the hostility in the Primarch as he swiftly stood in front of Alaric and Ja'anya. Though mostly for Ja'anya. The Primarch gave a courteous chuckle when he sense the familial bond between the two yautja and he stopped walking. But, he could sense that it was not due to blood. But rather due to feelings that the elder had for the female's mother. Feelings that had yet to be returned in kind.

"Ah, you must be one of the elders of this delightful place?" the Primarch greeted. "I must say, the Sanctuary City held up well over the millennia. The Architects taught Kai'rys their craft well."

Kal'deris almost lowered the kopis at the mention of the most hallowed founder of the clan. But he was quick to raise it again as the initial shock wore off. This entity knew of Lai'kairis' founder as if he was there at the clan ship's construction. But, and this was the most puzzling thing: Who were these Architects that the Primarch mentioned?

There was no mention of the name in any of the archives chronicling the formation of Lai'kairis. He also saw that Varlin and Kazrik reacted to that word as well. But their reaction was more of mourning then puzzlement. The Primarch was quick to pick up on the yautja's lack of knowledge with a chuckle. It was exactly the kind of reaction that he had expected from the yautja. Considering that the race's most glaring weakness was one of pride.

"What? Don't tell me you have forgotten the Architects?" the Primarch questioned with mirth before it quickly died in his throat. "Or, did you deliberately forget after they died making your home. How ungrateful of your kind." he added with malice. "Then again, pride has always been your people's greatest flaw. Pride that sees all other races as inferiors ready to be hunted. And their achievements taken as your own."

The elder was quick to question just what they had to contend with. Especially now that yautja honour had been provoked. Hy'dorles in the crowed on the other hand was looking shocked from what the Primarch had told the Kal'deris.

"Who or what are you?" Kal'deris demanded, pointing Alaric's kopis at the Primarch.

The Primarch looked taken aback by this hostile greeting after he had been so courteous.

"Who am I?" the Primarch said in mock offence. "Kal'deris, I am insulted by your lack of knowledge. Are you telling me that your race had forgotten about me and my kind, too?"

The elder's eyes widened when the Primarch said his name. Alaric knew what the Primarch was doing. Trying to get inside the elder's mind and sow a seed of doubt.

"Don't let him get to you." Alaric warned. "He plays tricks with your mind."

The Primarch's purple eyes narrowed at him from that accusation.

"Tricks or truth?" the Primarch retorted, stopping in place and pointing his finger at Alaric. "You of all people should know that. It is in your blood."

Alaric gripped Spellbreaker tighter in hand from that observation. Ja'anya saw his reaction but could only wonder what it meant. But the Primarch knew just what was going on as he laid eyes on her. It was the big secret about him that he had yet to tell her.

"Ah, you don't know." the Primarch said with a soft chuckle. "He never told you? Or, he did not know at the time? Forgotten his heritage like your people forgetting the truth of theirs?"

Already the thoughts began to form in Ja'anya's mind. Thoughts as to the mystery of Alaric's origins. To the page missing from his tome he showed her and the mystery to this 'Betrayal' it spoke of. This creature taking the form of an ancient human seemed to know. And she saw it in Alaric's eyes as he blinked.

Typhon then resumed his attention to all in the docks as he made a more formal introduction. Clear as it was that the yautja and humans needed something of a crash course of his origins. An origin that had no doubt been forgotten either by time or intent.

"As to what I am, I am a... god made manifest. Perfection incarnate." the Primarch recalled. "I have had many names. Names that the races I have consumed have bestowed to me in their final years of existence. Destroyer, Demon, Abomination to name a few. But I must admit, you humans have the more theatrical of names when it came to paragons of chaos and destruction."

He then held his hand aloft as his aura burned in his palm. Purple flames burned brightly as his mind began to form images to project. The flame grew to a significant size for all to see, measuring over ten meters in height. And in the flame all manners of creatures and races that the Primarch had consumed manifested. Some humanoid, some bestial and others were completely alien. Eldritch beings of eons past. Now nothing more then imprints within the Primarch's endless mind.

Then the images became more familiar to human eyes. Beings that came from the many mythologies of the many cultures that had evolved on Earth.

"Titans. Chimera. Even the multi-armed hechatonceiries, which was only one form I assumed." he revealed before he held his other hand to the purple flame. "But I am partial to the grecian creature of destruction: Typhon."

Splaying his fingers, an image of the destroyer of legend materialised. Typhon, as Greek Mythology accounted, was a massive serpentine giant. From the waist up he resembled a normal and muscular man. Below the waist however he was but a mass of writhing snakes and two membranous wings stretched from his back. According to legend, Typhon fought the king of the Olympian Gods, Zeus, for supremacy of the world but was defeated and cast into the pit of Tartarus with the other Titans.

"This is what they ultimately named me." The Primarch revealed. "And I must say, I prefer it myself. Short and powerful. One of my previous hosts had over thirty-seven syllables to it's name. Pretentious to say the least."

Then the apparition in his hand abruptly ceased as the flames died out. The image of his mythological namesake vanished as the Primarch lowered his hand. The time of introductions was over and now more important issues can be given full attention. And that being to finally be rid of Alaric once and for all.

"Now, since I have fulfilled your curiosity, let us finish this troublesome scenario." Typhon decreed, his wings spreading out once more as he levitated in place. "The sooner I dispose of you, the better. You have been a thorn festering in my side for all of the one day I've known you."

Despite the fact that Alaric had only just fought the Primarch's formidable servant only mere minutes ago and had been badly pummelled in the fight, he hefted his axe up onto his shoulder. He was, after all, the strongest fighter by far, baring the more experienced Lysandros and his grandson Cyrus. Ja'anya realised that Alaric, tired and battered as he was, was going to fight. There was no deterring his mind about it either as he released his hold on her.

He had brought Typhon to Lai'kairis, as he had done with the Praetorian, and he would be the one to stop him.

"Ja'anya, step aside." Alaric warned.

She now had no choice but to relent as she stepped back. She instinctively clutched her shield hawk pendant. Kal'deris was quick to pull Ja'anya back to the comparative safety of the the others. Lysandros and Cryus was already taking position in front of them with their spears crackling blue sparks. The huntress, despite knowing that Alaric was more then capable of taking care of himself, she still feared for his safety.

"Alaric." Ja'anya pleaded. "Please be careful."

Typhon gave a curt sigh as he saw Alaric hefting up his helmet. He could feel the bond that was between them. A bond that he found he had little use for when his purpose was to destroy and assimilate.

"Love." Typhon mused. "What a double edged emotion it is. Can both mend a heart and yet tear it apart. Oh, I've experienced it myself enough to know."

Alaric ignored that remark and placed his helmet back on his head, the lenses glowing to life as he walked out into the clear space of the docks while swinging Spellbreaker in hand. The weapon hummed through the air and the runes on the blade glowed as Alaric focused his mind for the battle at hand. The Primarch on the other hand did not so much as flex a muscle. His aura simply pulsated with power as he watched Alaric stop ten meters in front of him.

Silence permeated the docks as Alaric and Typhon stood apart from each other, sizing each other up for the fight. Alaric held Spellbreaker tight in his hand, his fingers flexing around the haft as he pondered what to expect from the Primarch in his new form. He could surmise that Typhon was going to be much more manoeuvrable. A harder target to hit then his previous gargantuan host. And if he was wearing the same armour as he was, reinforced with his xenomorph carapace, the Primarch was going to be far more difficult to crack open. And he was not at his peak in fitness after his clash with the Praetorian.

Typhon chose to initiate this final confrontation with words instead of an action. A taunt of all things to get Alaric to comply with his challenge.

"Now, care to try and kill me again?" Typhon asking, holding his arms out to his sides and daring Alaric to strike first. "I can assure you it will not be so easy as last time, Slayer."

Alaric hefted up Spellbreaker as he gauged his plan of attack. Seeing the aura burning off of him hinted that he would not just rely on his new body to kill him. His mind, his aethyric power, would be his greatest advantage.

And it was something that Alaric had only just skimmed the surface of. Typhon on the other hand had literal millennia worth of experience. If he was going to have any chance, he had to try and take the Primarch down before he could gather his full strength. The fact that he had just taken over another host suggested that he may not have his full power yet.

Kazrik had hinted such during the fight with the Praetorian, under the assumption that it was Typhon's host at the time. But, Alaric could not rule out that Typhon may have assumed enough control of Dionekes' remains to pose a serious threat.

He made his choice right there. Get in fast and strike hard before Typhon could get any more powerful. But it did not hurt to get a second opinion from one of the few who had actually fought Typhon.

"Gri'nyr, any advice?" Alaric asked in his head

"Focus your mind and let Spellbreaker guide your strikes." Gri'nyr answered in his mind. "As for his current form, I could only surmise that he will be fighting in a more ooman fashion."

"If he could be called that."

"It is just a shell. Regardless who it formerly was."

Typhon was quick to notice that Alaric was not taking up his offer.

"What are you waiting for?" he called out. "I'm right here. Kill me."

Alaric looked to the Primarch as he hefted Spellbreaker in hand. A tense silence filled the docks before the duel commenced. The amour lit up as Alaric raced towards Typhon, hefting Spellbreaker ready to attack as his cloak billowed behind him. Typhon however was standing where he was and not even getting into a position to defend himself. He was just standing still with his arms out, wings spread and leaving himself exposed.

Alaric closed the distance in seconds. Typhon was right in front of him and he swung Spellbreaker hard. The axe whizzed threw the air, leaving a glowing trail as the blade made for Typhon's head. But just as the axe would have made contact into the Primarch's cranium, Typhon's eyes flashed purple and he vanished as if he was made of mist. The axe cut through the silhouette as Alaric felt himself pivot in place from the momentum and caused it to dissipate like morning mist. He was stunned to say the least that he had missed.

The Archangels, Kra'vyx and his friends and their fellow yautja were gobsmacked that Alaric had failed to cleave his opponent with his axe. Normally the Buzzsaw was capable cutting down the mightiest foe down to size. Him slicing right through the Praetorian only a few short minutes before was shrugging off plasma bolts was proof of that.

Alaric turned his head as he regained his balance and the irises in his helmet's lenses widened when he saw what was behind him. Typhon was standing right behind him and he was sure that the bastard was smiling under that helmet.

"Missed." Typhon pointed out with a taunting scoff. "Your aim is getting sloppy."

Alaric swiftly swung Spellbreaker around again in retaliation but the Primarch evaded in a blur yet again as the weapon left a glowing streak through more dispersing haze. Typhon materialised right next to him, helmeted head close to his where his ear is located.

"Now who is the slow one?" Typhon asked.

Alaric lashed out with a backhanded fist and again Typhon just vanished out of sight. And just as quickly he reappeared behind Alaric once again.

"Come on, you can do better then that!" Typhon urged, tapping a talon on Alaric's helmet with forceful impetus. "Don't insult your ancestor living in your head!

To try and shut him up, and losing his cool in the process, Alaric swiftly struck again. Not with Spellbreaker but with one of his roundhouse kicks. Something that was certain to silence anyone foolish enough to push Alaric over the edge. This time however, Alaric stuck home with a loud and deserved crack. His kick would have been enough to send any man or yautja off their feet like before and, in his amour that augmented his strength, it would be enough to send said target's head clean off their shoulders. But, for the first time if ever, someone had weathered the crippling strike. Typhon merely had his head knocked to the side. Alaric was deeply unnerved by this failed signature attack as Typhon merely turned his head back to him, cracking his neck as his eyes glowed with menace and his wings unfurled.

"My turn." he decided as his aura burned brighter.

Alaric was quick to jump back as he could feel that is aura was indeed akin to fire. He could feel an unnatural burning sensation that seared right through his armour. Almost like the flame breath Typhon had subjected him to back on the planet. The runes on Spellbreaker glowed bright as the weapon detected a massive increase in aethyric energy. Kazrik's staff and diamond headdress glowed bright in response to this explosion of raw power.

Typhon jumped into the air, his wings spreading out in full before he blipped out of sight in a flash of glowing purple embers, only to reappear for a split second in a different location before vanishing in the same manner. Alaric eyes widened behind his visor when he realised what was going on. Typhon was moving at such a speed that his not even his helmet could not track him. Typhon was moving faster then Alaric ever did when he was under Rage. But Kazrik, whose more experience mind in matters involving the aethyr, knew this was something else. The Primarch was actually performing something akin to gate travel as the Karak did travelling to Lai'kairis. Teleportation in a manner of speaking. And while the dwarf was familiar with such a technique, he was having difficulty in predicting where Typhon would reappear.

Alaric was already trying to counter this new tactic that the Primarch was employing against him. He had to try and predict where Typhon would appear next but his movements were becoming too erratic for a pattern to emerge. But there was another problem. Considering how the amour greatly increased his own strength, Alaric had reservations about going into Rage whilst wearing the armour. Given that there are times where he had no control over his actions, instinct for survival taking priority, he dreaded to think what would happen if he did. Before he found the armour, he could still be taken down if he sustained enough damage. But with the armour protecting him, he could be near invincible. While that would be obviously be a great boon in this fight, there was the chance he may not be able to snap out of it.

He could end up doing Typhon's job for him. Killing just about anyone on Lai'kairis under a homicidal frenzy. Friend or foe. He made his mind up to not go into Rage unless he had no choice. And he was hoping that he did not have to.

After watching this evasive manoeuvring from Typhon for a few quick moments, estimating where the Primarch was going to re-emerge, Alaric swung out just as Typhon flashed right next to him. The axe whizzed through the air towards the Primarch as he approached. But, despite his timing, Spellbreaker missed by a fraction of an inch. Typhon simply twisted in the air as the axe streaked towards him.

Time slowed down as Alaric saw Typhon suddenly stopping in front of him with a leg drawn back. With Spellbreaker already swung out and not expecting the Primarch's counter-attack to be this fast, Alaric was exposed. And Typhon exploited this opening with brutal efficiency as he unleashed a punishing roundhouse kick of his own.

Typhon's taloned foot impacted Alaric's chest. Talons dug into the armour like teeth biting into flesh before kinetic force took over. With a loud sickening metallic thump and a shower of sparks, Alaric was sent flying across the docks with a surprised but pained yell. The kick could quite have easily broke every rib in his chest but that was secondary considering his trajectory. Those watching were helpless as to react as Alaric flew through the air and struck the hull of a yautja frigate with a sickening bone jarring thud. The impact of his armoured form was enough to leave a significant dent and buckled hairline fractured plating on the frigate. It was enough to make anyone watch recoil from the sheer brutality of the impact.

Ja'any held her hands to her mouth in horror when she saw her lover hit the hull like a bug on a windscreen. The Archangels flinched from the impact and Varlin exclaimed in horror with a choice few words in his native tongue. The rest of the onlookers could only gawk at the sight of the human who had been trouncing their own hunters left right and centre being taken out with one kick.

"ALARIC!" Andrzej yelled.

Alaric, gravity pulling him out of his metal cocoon, crumbled to the ground in a limp heap and was deathly still as Spellbreaker clattered next to him. Despite wearing his armour, the impact was enough to seriously incapacitate Alaric. There was no telling the damage he had taken internally from striking the hull at that speed. Serious internal bleeding for one and broken bones for another. But at any rate, until he could be confirmed as killed, he had been taken out of the fight.

"No fucking way!" Karl exclaimed. "He took Alaric out in one hit!"

The only thing that came close to taking Alaric out in a fight was getting swatted by a power loader. It was during a xeno extremist insurrection and he was in the medbay for several months after getting backhanded into a whole stack of cargo crates. But that was like a mere slap compared to the punishing impact that Typhon inflicted upon him. This was more like taking a cannon ball at close range.

Typhon drew his leg back and gave off a satisfied sigh as he landed back on the deck.

"Much better." he praised. "If I had known it would've been this easy, I would've taken one of the humans as a host sooner. Would have saved me a lot of trouble back on that frozen pit."

Aegis jumped off of Kal'deris' shoulders and flew over to Alaric's unconscious form, standing guard over him. In the meantime, now that he had taken out their star player, Typhon focused his attention on the other players on the field. He chuckled as he saw all before him as ample opportunities for some entertainment before setting out on his grand scheme of galactic genocide. He could do with a change of pace.

"Now, who'd like to be next to fight me?" Typhon dared. "Be quick about it. I won't wait long."

It did not take long for the Archangels to take up the challenge. They all snapped their visors down as one and cocked their weapons. They were going to make Typhon pay for taking out their brother in arms. And they were going to do it with maximum prejudice.

"Archangels, engage!" Andrzej commanded before sounding the charge. "Queen Mother protocols!"

The squad didn't need any further confirmation as they charged forth, gauss weaponry blazing. Kazrik on the other hand was waving Forge in desperate warning. Warning that this fight was beyond anything they could handle.

"Don't!" he warned. "He's too strong for you!"

The Primarch on the other had was amused at this show of force as gauss rounds impacted his aethyric shield. Bright flashes erupted around him, highlighting the sphere of protective energy. While this fact was not lost on the Archangels, they knew that concentrated fire would eventually break through any barrier. It was the standard tactic when engaging xenomorph praetorians. Hit the hard carapace with enough concentrated fire, preferably armour piercing ordinance, and it will eventually crack.

But, unfortunately for the Archangels, Typhon's will was too strong be to eroded by mere kinetic weaponry. If anything, the Primarch found their attempt to penetrate his defences amusing.

"Brave, but foolish." Typhon smirked, waving a glowing hand at them.

A shrill hum was heard and the Archangels found themselves repulsed by an invisible pressure wave that nearly sent them tumbling backwards. Skidding back on their feet, they almost lost their balance but was able to regain coordination. Typhon levitated into the air again, his wings unfurling as he watched them pick themselves up before firing back at him. Having a high magazine capacity for their gauss rifles was a boon, ensuring that they would not need to reload as soon as conventional pulse weapons. But the force field he was projecting was withstanding the impacts of their .50 calibre analogue weapons, with was known for punching right through concrete giving enough time.

They needed something with a bit more kick to crack that shield.

With the cocking of grenade launchers, the Archangels fired a volley of grenades from their gauss rifles. The explosives shot out with great velocity in the blink of an eye at Typhon before detonating in a mass of sequential detonations. A concentrated volley such as this was known to disrupt xenomorph swarms and blast apart the larger bugs such as the aforementioned praetorians. The chain of explosions ceased, leaving only a thick smog that obscured the view. Considering that one of these explosive shells was enough to completely blow one of the Primarch's kin to bits, it was a sure fact that the Typhon would be.

Much to their dumbfounded shock, Typhon came walking out of the smoke. His aethyric shield was flickering around him in sparking flashes as he casually waved his hand to clear the smoke billowing around him. He had not been affected in the slightest by a volley of explosives that would have reduced even the largest praetorian to dust.

"My turn now?" Typhon asked with an amused gesture as the smoke cleared.

The Archangels responded to his question by firing their gauss weaponry once more. It seemed that they did not take his warning shot seriously as gauss rounds sparked against his shield again. They would have to be punished more severely now. And he was going to enjoy every second of it as a tyrant would torturing helpless people.

"Impudent humans." Typhon scolded raising a hand once more. "Unruly children who refuse to acknowledge their rightful place in the cosmos."

His clawed hand flashed once as he held it towards the humans, wisps of purple light coursing through his fingers. Then his aura flashed into life once more as he channelled some pure and undiluted pain to the Spec Ops marines. And the effect was immediately apparent. Within moments, the Archangels fell to their knees, their weapons clattering to the floor clutching their heads as the penetrating whispers jabbed into their minds. Everyone except Hicks that is. The Scribe held his head as he could feel an intense irritable buzzing in his ears. Much like what he felt with the soul shard that Alaric had torn from the colonist. It was annoying but not threatening. He aimed his weapon at Typhon once more and fired it one handed.

The Primarch, gauss rounds unexpectedly impacting his barrier again, noticed this odd lack of agony from this one human before his aura intensified and his open hand clenched into a fist. Intensifying the assault on the senses. The Archangels now fell into pain wracked balls onto the deck, screaming in combined agony, tearing off their helmets as bloodied tears started to seep from clenched eyelids by the ungodly onslaught on their minds. Hicks however was still standing strong even as the buzzing was now like an entire swarm of bees had taken up residence in his skull. But it was enough to make him stop in his tracks and his aim was faltering as shots began to shoot wide.

Typhon was now taken aback at this unusual show of defiance. Even Kazrik and Varlin were surprised. The rest of the humans were now in the midst of complete agony but this one was but having a mere headache. It was nearly unheard of. And that got them Primarch curious as to how a mere human had achieved this unnatural resistance.

"Intriguing." Typhon mused in genuine surprise as his aura continued to burn around him. "This one is surprisingly able to resist my touch. An unexpected outcome of the Bastard Children. How?"

Hicks strained as he could feel the dull tugging of his mind. Typhon was probing into his unusually resistant mind, digging into his brain for the answer as to his secret defence. Already, perhaps from Typhon's doing, Hicks was seeing his childhood flash before him. Memories that he rather not live trough again.

Images of a lonely existence due to his 'gifts' played out again as strong as they had in life. The teasing from other children and contempt he got from their parents. And the questions as to why he did not 'suffer' like other children affected by Xeno-Zip was the worst. For all he knew, he just got lucky in that he only suffered from insomnia rather then the mental disabilities that was the norm. He remembered being forced into one such group of afflicted, seeing how their minds had been warped by Xeno-Zip exposure in utero.

His decision to join the armed forces as soon as he was old enough started off well, him breezing through basic training and becoming part of Delta Force. But, once word of his background reached the rank and file, he had been the subject of abuse and accusations of cheating were not uncommon. That was until OSIRIS came recruiting. Seeing his higher cognitive abilities as a very desirable boon, Hicks was inducted into the Special Operations Division. And after a year of exemplary service, including the investigation and destruction of no less then five splinter cults, he was inducted into the Archangels.

That was all the Primarch needed to know as he pulled out of Hicks' mind. The Scribe let out a ragged sigh of relief even as he felt the intense buzzing continue.

"Ah, I see now." Typhon said with a chuckle. "It would appear that my descendants had a hand in your creation. Be it an... indirect hand. Drug usage was it?"

Hicks seethed through his teeth as he continued his trudge towards Typhon at that jab to his birth. His squad mates were still in agony however. Typhon lowered his hand as he walked towards the marine. Hicks in the meantime, seeing that a ranged weapon was useless now, dumped his smartgun on the deck and drew his falchion from it's scabbard. If bullets won't work, he'll have to get his hands dirty and possibly burned.

"I'm going to cut you open and find out what makes you tick!" Hicks hissed through his teeth as the buzzing in his head became almost deafening.

Typhon however kept up the mental onslaught, even as Hicks continued to trudge after him. He was getting both increasingly impressed and increasingly annoyed by the resistance that this lone human was putting up. At this close proximity, a human's brain would be running out from their noses by now. And all that Hicks was feeling was having his brain vibrating in his skull.

"Your mind may be more difficult to break but it will break eventually." Typhon assured. "And I am curious to see how long you can last."

Hicks was now starting to feel the strain on his mind as he blinked his eyes. Now, this close to the Primarch, blood was starting to seep from his eyes just like his squad. But that did not stop him from raising his falchion and taking a swipe at Typhon. The Primarch simply stepped aside from the clumsy attack with a chuckle. Hicks just gave another swing of the blade and Typhon evaded that again.

The third swipe managed to make contact against Typhon's arm but that was more of a glancing blow as Typhon simply parried with his armoured forearm. The Primarch deflected the blade away with enough force to make Hicks stumble around, holding his head as he recovered from his fumble. The Scribe was quick to resume his attacks and Typhon parried each in turn.

"You are the first sentient to ever resist me in this manner." Typhon commended. "And you will be the last!"

Hicks defiantly swung his falchion again but Typhon caught his hand with his own. With that attack thwarted, he wrenched Hicks off his feet as he levitated ten feet into the air and tossed him back to his squirming squad mates. Hicks landed in a heap as his sword clattered next to him. The marine was now holding his head as he rolled to his knees. His eyes were now betraying his crumbling resolve, starting to get progressively more bloodshot. Typhon reared higher up into the air as his wings spread out, his aura burning so intensely that it was like looking into a sun.

He was going to set an example and turn these humans into dust as purple flames began to gather in his palms. A showing of his power that would ensure

But at that point, a loud thundering hum was heard and a sudden sphere of invisible energy emanated from the Karak like the shockwave of some great explosive force. While it did not seem to affect anything or anyone in the docks, it certainly had an effect the Primarch. Typhon's aura suddenly died like a candle being blown out. His power over the Archangels had been cancelled out as his inflicting of pain on the humans ceased. When it hit anyone else in the docks, they could feel like it was a sudden chilling draft. It caused a few to shiver from the unnatural sensation. Like someone had just walked over their grave.

The Archangels breathed out a desperate sigh of relief as the whispers left their minds. Typhon in the mean time fell out of the sky, landing on his feet with a slight stagger and he stood like he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. It looked like the shock wave not only interrupted him but it also weakened him.

"Much better." Andrzej rasped, wiping blood from his eyes as his squad limply moved to their knees.

"Who pulled the plug from the jackhammer?" Sergei asked, blinking the blood from his eyes.

Hicks, who was the least affected of his squad, was quick to get back to them while he could, getting them to their feet and back to safety. Typhon meanwhile was perplexed as to how he had suddenly lost much of his strength after having just the humans at his mercy. Kazrik quickly walked up to Kal'deris, Forge's pommel rapping on the deck as he approached the elder. He saw the confused but relieved expressions on the humans and knew what was going on. Another party was taking part in this battle. An indirect but welcome hand. Kal'deris had taken note of what happening, even if he did not know what or how it happened.

"What just happened?" Kal'deris asked. "There was a sudden gust."

"Korrina is containing the Primarch's power." Kazrik said, before he pointed Forge at the lifts. "Get your people out of here now while there's time."

Kalderis, heeding the dwarf's advice, was quick to give the order to the remaining arbitrators to start getting everyone who was not a warrior to leave the docks. Hy'dorlis was quick to start spouting that the humans have brought damnation to Lai'kairis from this sudden turn of events even as he was being ushered out. The High Priestess on the other hand had now intention of leaving. Seeing a demon first hand was something that a woman of her status had been trained for. Albeit in a spiritual sense rather then practical. Kra'vyx was one of the few to stay behind, not wanting to leave Alaric just laying unconscious on the ground despite his mother's orders. Mal'fax and Fel'tak also stayed behind, as did Ly'yenta who rushed to her grandmother's side. Their trophies however were left behind by the masses owing to the desperate nature of the occasion.

The Primarch in the meantime was looking at his hand and seeing how dimly his aura was burning even when he focused intensely on making the purple flames grow. Focusing his mind, he was able to pinpoint the location of this disturbance to his powers. Deep within the Karak, surrounded by a circle of aethyric standing stones that was channelling said power. And within this circle was a human mind. A woman's.

He was reluctant to admit that he was impressed that a human was able to suppress his power to this degree. But then he felt disgust as he realised that this human was more powerful then he first presumed. Coming from a plane of existence that he had no chance of reaching.

"So what if that Unbound witch can nullify my influence." Typhon scoffed. "It will take all her being to contain me here. And sooner or later, she'll burn out."

That was a truth he did not like to disclose but it was a fact. Aethyreals do have the ability to counter the powers of another, either in unison with others as a form of harmonic choir or individually if they are powerful enough. Even then it was still a battle of the mind. Sooner or later, one mind will break.

Concentrating to overcome this inhibiting field generated by the Karak, Typhon's aura began to regain it's previous vigour. But, it was taking far more energy then Typhon would normally use. Like swimming against the current of a fast flowing river. While he was still a danger to those he saw as enemies, he was now handicapped significantly and he had to regain the initiative. Especially since he was outnumbered.

"Now, seeing I am at a disadvantage now, it is time to even the odds." Typhon said, levitating again as his wings unfurled behind him. "Unsporting to gang up on a single individual, is it not?"

The Primarch raised a corrupted hand as he drifted over towards his former form's remains. Eldritch runes formed and circled around his form as he began to weave a spell that would grant him the advantage once more.

"Tell me, are you afraid of ghosts?" he asked as energy began to form a crackling sphere in his hand. "Let us find out."

He tossed the ball of arcing energy into bone pile a bright violet flash erupting as it struck the massive shield head. The Primarch's former body began to glow intensely from within. Blades of burning purple light began to cut through the exoskeleton carapace, snaking their way through the joins like a cutting torch burning through metal. The sound of crackling carapace could be heard as massive fragments of carapace were chipped off by unseen hands. The pieces of skull and body of the Primarch's previous host began to be reformed anew into a newer and more numerous forms

The bone fragments hovered in the air in a rough bipedal form as the aura held them together. Then the bones began reforming themselves into more humanoid shapes with the distinctive xenomorph claws on them.

"What the fuck?" Sergei said, pointing at the hovering pieces of bone in purple miasma.

"Wraiths!" Kazrik warned.

Those with a knowledge for paranormal and mythological studies would know what Wraiths are. Essentially ghosts of the departed as depicted in my legends of Earth's many peoples but in this case, aethyric constructs under the command of the Primarch. And with every intent to kill the living as the razor sharp bone claws would suggest.

And now fragments of Typhon's aura began to peel off before surging down towards the bodies of the massacred arbitrators. The shreds of purple flame seeped into the still bodies like water through dirt, slipping through the fatal wounds that the yautja had sustained in their last moments of life. Within seconds a baleful light and wisps of purple smoke, a dulled down haze of Typhon's aura, was emanating from their open wounds as the bodies began to twitch and writhe. Like they were being resuscitated.

In an unsettling manner, the dead began to rise. Bodies rose as if pulled up like puppets on a string. And all the while, the dead was doing that disturbing twitching as unlife filled their broken remains. Twisted limbs were snapping back into position and severed remains reattached as the deceased yautja stood on their feet once more.

"Mother of god." Andzerj said in his native tongue but comprehensible to those with translator implants.

"This isn't good." Varlin added, clutching his cane tightly

From gaps in the cracked or destroyed masks, lambent eyes filled with purple light could be seen. Twisted limbs snapped back into position as the now undead yautja shambled into a line, clutching their weapons in bloody hands. Every now and then, one of the undead would twitch as if suffering from a . And as it did, the aura would fluctuate a shadow-like pulse. And Typhon would force his aura to pulsate as he concentrated harder to maintain control over the moving corpses.

It would appear that the Primarch was a little rusty at the art of necromancy. But, rest assured, he would start to get more in control. It was as instinctive as learning to sew or riding a bike. But for those who had never seen such an art performed, it was tantamount to witchcraft. Sorcery of the blackest kind. And the Yautja, much to their denial, were a superstitious folk as a whole.

"What is this?!" Kal'deris asked, uncertain horror crawling into his senses as he watched the former arbitrators stand silently.

The High Priestess looked to Kazrik for an answer. The stonefather was holding his staff in a defensive stance and was not scared in the the slightest to this unnatural sight of the horrifically murdered walking once more.

"What are they?" she asked. "How can the dead walk?"

"Reanimantai." Kazrik explained, holding Forge tightly in his hand. "Dead puppets of flesh controlled by the Primarch. Perfect slaves to his will."

"Zombies then." Karl interjected, using the more popular term as he stepped forward with his sword raised. "Another childhood dream come true." he added with a grin as he thumbed the blade's edge.

It would seem slaying the undead, or Draugr to give the nordic version their true name, was another fantasy that Karl never thought he would experience. The Archangels' weapons would be effective against the zombie arbitrators where flesh and bone could be cleft and burned. But against the wraiths, of which there was no physical form to say the least, a sword and gun would be a little use. And those blades of bone would prove to be more then lethal should they make contact with unarmoured flesh. But the Stonefather had a remedy for that.

"Don't! Mundane weaponry is useless against astral forms." Kazrik cautioned, urging the humans to come forward. "Come, quickly!"

The Archangels were quick to heed his advice this time as they hurried close to him. The priest lowered held Forge out to them.

"Place your blades on the anvil." Kazrik urged, reaching for the ornate hammer on his belt. "Hurry!

The humans quickly held their sword blades onto Forge as Kazrik pulled from his belt a rune encrusted hammer. The staff's anvil head began to glow as if in a forge when Kazrik began reciting a litany in his native tongue. The runes on the hammer began to glow to as he channelled the aethyr into the tool. Then, when the swords were glowing as in an actual forge, Kazrik rhythmically struck the blades with his hammer. Each strike resonating with the next as glowing runes took form, burning into the blades.

This was known amongst the smiths of the Khazdryn as the Song of Metal. Just as the right combination of notes can create a symphonic masterpiece, so does the right combination of hammer strikes forge a masterpiece from metal. It took a sequence of nine hammer blows in this song to bestow the necessary enchantment for this battle.

"There." Kazrik said, holstering his hammer. "The runes should help in disrupting the wraiths' binding."

The Archangels lifted their swords from Forge's anvil and they were wide eyed from what they saw. The swords had now taken a highly polished shimmer that rippled in the light and runes lined the edges of the blades. The runes themselves burned as if still in the forge in a manner of speaking. As they took an investigative swing with their swords, the humans saw that they left an orange trail through the air

Even Kazrik was impressed with his work. Normally an enchantment such as this would have taken three times the number of blows to forge. That fact that the runes took hold on the swords so quickly hinted that another element in their construction. Something that had helped to shorten the length of time needed to bind the energies of the Aethyr to the metal.

"This is some real Star Wars shit, man." Sergei breathed as he flourished his shashka in a show of swordsmanship. "Hums and everything."

Indeed, when swinging their blades, a distinctive hum could be heard as the energy field created by the runes reacted with particles drifting in the air.

Typhon had by now assembled a sizeable force of undead. Comprising of the thirteen dead arbitrators and over a dozen wraiths. The incorporeal combatants were lined up behind the arbitrators. In a manner that suggested to use them as a literal meat shield.

"If you have finished with your futile preparations, let the game begin." Typhon impatiently called out. "You're wasting my time."

And with that declaration of war, the battle began.

Typhon pointed a finger at the assembled combatants. The undead, with a speed defying their broken forms, charged forward with bestial ferocity and an unnatural screeching that tore deep into the psyche of those who heard it. Animated by the Primarch's will, and tapping into the baser instincts deep within dead brains, their minds were set solely on killing the enemy. The wraith's purple haze intensified as the energy holding their bone limbs directed them to the battle. The spectral constructs glided over the deck, propelled by an unnatural wind.

Varlin quickly aimed his revolver and fired. The round cracked through the air before impacting the closest reanimantai in the head. Half of the undead yautja's head exploded in a green explosion that splattered onto nearby reanimantai, leaving only the lower skull and jaw. But, even after the loss of the nerve centre of the senses, it was still coming with not so much as a pause in it's stride.

Often, when a shot to the head fails to bring them down, reanimantai must be damaged to the point where the binding force holding them together collapses. Either by dismemberment or, and more favourable, killing the controller. But seeing as the controller is the Primarch, that option was clearly out of the question. And Typhon would simply be able to hold the severed limbs together through sheer will alone. It was not going to as simple as that.

"Decapitation isn't going to work." he said, holstering his revolver and drawing out what looked like a mundane but oddly thick cane. "Going to have to do this the old fashioned way!"

He slammed the base of the cane into the deck and, with the sharp clicking of internal mechanisms, the cane had became an ornate warpick. A sharp curved spike folded out on one side and a stout hammer head slid out the other. An obvious homage to his miner roots. And each should prove suitable in the upcoming battle. Whether to smash or pry apart the undead piece by piece.

Lysandros looked to Cyrus and the younger spartan nodded as a plan of attack formed in their minds. With a war cry, Lysandros and Cyrus charged into the fray, spears held high. The Archangels, who were busy coming up with their own strategy, were surprised to see them just charge right into the fight without so much as conferring with the others. However, they had the advantage of having fought undead before from previous battles against the Primarch's kin. And this was demonstrated as soon as they reach spear distance. The elder spartan, holding his shield up, smashed right into one of the incoming wraiths akin to a speeding truck smashing into an unsuspecting animal. The shield's protective energy shield flared upon impact with the aura of the wraith in a massive flux of power. A pulse powerful to completely blast the wraith's bone body apart into dust, it's aura cancelling out against the spartan's shield.

This was evidence that energy based weaponry, rather then kinetic, were more effective at combating incorporeal forms. No doubt it was a reaction that an opposing energy field disrupts the containment field that held the wraith together. But that was but a temporary setback as Typhon would no doubt reform the wraith with but a thought. In fact, more bone fragments were being harvested and assembled into a replacement.

Cyrus jumped into the air, his greaves flashing into life as the young spartan soared through the air with his spear poised. He landed on the shoulders one reanimantai, driving his spear down through the head and out of it's lower back. The undead yautja jerked as the weapon destroyed it's nervous system before Cyrus jumped off, pulling the spear back out. The lifeless body tumbled to the ground but was not still for long before the purple haze intensified and the undead yautja was back on it's feet. The young spartan was already engaging the other undead with disciplined swipes and jabs with his spear.

While the spartans were busy battling the undead, cutting down the reanimantai and the wraiths sequentially, Igneous looked to the Archangels as Varlin climbed up onto his shoulders like a mount. His usual grimace was back on his stony face as he saw that the humans were just gawking from the show that Lysandros and Cryrus were putting on.

"What are you waiting for?" Igneous asked, pointing at the shambling horde of undead yautja and wraiths and the two spartans fighting them. "They're not going to kill them all by themselves!"

With that the golem charged into the fray, the runes and ornamentation on his stony skin glowing bright as Varlin rode atop. Thundering into the reanimantai, he scattered them like pins in a bowling alley. The bodies of the reanimated yautja crumpled into the deck, limbs snapping into unnatural angles that spoke much for the damage inflicted. But no sooner did they stop tumbling, the undead yautja were lifted up on their feet mere seconds later by the force controlling them. Broken limbs were knitting together as purple strands of light weaved through flesh and bone. Then they began to swarm around the golem. Jumping with unnatural ferocity and speed, latching onto Igneous like xenomorphs would. But their attacks of banging onto stone with bare fists was doing squat as the golem swatted them off and smashed them into the deck like bothersome insects. Varlin was swinging his pick, picking the brains of any undead that got close and firing his revolver at them.

Andzej looked to his squad before slamming his visor once more.

"Kill or be killed!" Andrzej said, quoting Alaric.

And with that, the Archangels engaged with their undead opponents. Their swords sang through the air as they started the dangerous task of dismembering the reanimantai apart into tiny pieces. Their swords proved up to the task now that Kazrik and enhanced them by imbuing aethyric energy into their blades. They were able to engage any wraiths that approached them, the energy hammered of the metal disrupting the energy field holding the hovering shards of carapace aloft.

Alaric in the meantime, in the midst of all this chaos in the docks, was still unconscious from the impact of smashing into a starship's hull. Regaining consciousness after such a bone jarring impact was not something that came quickly. Considering the damage that had been inflicted internally. even though he was wearing near impenetrable armour, virtually every bone in his body had suffered damage and his internal organs were, for lack of a better word, tenderised. Aegis was keeping a silent vigil over him, watching as the armour did it's work in keeping him alive.

The armour, to further reflect it's symbiotic nature as Alaric first learned when it bonded to him in the prison temple, was repairing his body on a molecular level. Moving and realigning his broken bones back into position as Alaric's limbs moved and shifted on their own accord and knitting together ruptured organs and blood vessels within. And to aid this, the armour's undersuit grew further into Alaric. Aside from acting as a second skin and interface, it was threading root-like strands of seemingly organic material, similar to the root-like tendrils seen in the Karak's cryo-pods, throughout his body. Acting as a secondary circulatory and nervous system as they latched onto bones and flesh, supplying them with much needed rejuvenation.

But, it was still taking precious time to repair his critically damaged body. Time that the rest of his allies are running out of.

The Reanimanti were proving to be a serious problem. While it was not difficult to bring them down, it was getting them to stay down that was difficult. Typhon's influence over the dead was so strong that he was holding the increasingly battered and eviscerated corpses together through sheer will. Limbs snapping back into alignment or reattaching by themselves was unsettling to say the least. And now the Primarch was starting to make them harder to kill. For every injury that the undead were taking, xenomorph carapace was growing to fill the gaps. Provided by the carapace of the Primarch's former form as more shards of the stuff was implanting themselves into the sundered flesh. Increasingly, the former yautja were becoming less and less yautja with every wound they were taking. They were becoming twisted animated constructs of both yautja and xenomorph tissue.

Out of all the humans fighting the undead, Lysandros and his grandson Cyrus were the most deadly. Hailing from a society and culture that epitomised warfare, the spartans were cutting down the reanimantai with precision and efficiency. Their spears granted them superior reach over the Archangel's swords. Lysandros' shield proved to be highly effective as disrupting Typhon's hold on them, granting temporary respite from the undead onslaught. Igneous was settling with just pounding the undead into a chitinous paste under his stony fists and feet. The more pulverised the undead was, the longer it would take to pull themselves back together.

Zel'tyr and Kal'deris, seeing that the undead's numbers were more then the humans and dwarves could handle joined the fray. Mostly on account that some of the reanimantai were shambling towards them. Hinting that some semblance of tactic persisted in their dead brains or just instinct from the race of hunters resurfacing. Either way, they determined the two yautja before them as high priority targets.

Kal'deris handed the kopis to Ja'anya for protection before grabbing his smartdisks from their thigh holsters. Activating them with a shrill metallic whine, he threw them at the former arbitrators shuffling towards them. The bladed disks sliced flew through the air and sliced right through their necks. Zel'tyr rushed forward to exploited this opening volley as the disk whizzed past her back to Kal'deris. With the the skill that a veteran huntress could muster, she became a whirling cavalcade of death as she wielded Alaric's spear in hand. She was highly impressed that the blade was cutting through flesh and armour better then her own spear. She felt hardly any resistance, even by yautja standards with their own weapons. Ja'anya despite being unarmoured and not at all prepared for any battle joined her mother in the fight.

Kra'vyx, Fel'tak and Mal'fax brought their own weapons to bear as they charged into the fray. In contrast against the Typhon's kin back on the planet, they ir weapons were proving highly effective. Mal'fax's hammer was especially effective from the sheer impact that the heavy head inflicted devestating damage, breaking bones with ever strike. Fel'tak's combi-stick had more versatility and gave him superior reach to maintain his distance. Kra'vyx, as it was, had the literal short end of the stick with his kataras. This meant that he was right within attack range of the undead and at greater risk of being torn to shreds. But, having been hardened by his experience on the ice planet, he was now more aware of the dangers and would not make the same mistakes again. Their encounter with the renegade yautja on the planet taught him that.

The wraiths on the other hand were a more dangerous adversary since they lacked a physical form. They were the main priority of the Archangels, the spartans and Stonefather Kazrik. Their weapons possessed the necessary energy field that served to disrupt the wraiths' own energy field. And it was here that the yautja plasmacaster would truly shine. Zeltyr and Kalderis learned that when they fired theirs at the wraiths and the bolts of ionised gas blew apart the hovering bone shards.

The dwarven priest in the meantime was using his powers to counter the incorporeal wraiths that were more inclined to engage him then the others. Partly because the beings are attracted to those with aethyric tendencies. Flourishes from Forge generated plumes of flame that ignited the wraiths upon contact and strikes from the anvil head caused them to burst apart in a shower of embers. The High Priestess and Ly'enta were safe behind him as he incinerated any undead that approached them. They, awestruck that the dwarf was wielding power akin to a god, had to wonder, had begun to wonder if he was a disciple of their fiery smith god.

Not an unfair comparison since the Khazdryn revered the forge and the art of smithing.

The High Priestess watched as Kazrik swung forge around. The anvil head of the staff glowed as it had when enchanting the human swords, erupting into a flash of embers and flame whenever he stuck a reanimantai or wraith. While he was knocking down any that came near, there was one wraith that slipped past him and streamed right for them with bone claws glinting with menace. The High Priestess however had a surprise trick of her own to show. She reached under her cloak and with a speed and precision that would make any huntress' jaw drop, lashed out with an attack of her own. A bright fiery flash erupted as the wraith was blown apart and its bones tumbled to the deck st her feet.

Kazrik heard and felt the conflagration erupt behind him and he turned around. His eyes widened when he saw the High Priestess standing amongst fragments of bone and brandishing a highly ornate, almost a holy relic, segmented whip. A plasma whip as the burning field of energy told, the secrets of which had been lost to the yautja. And she was clearly a master of this style of fighting, no doubt the one who taught Ly'enta her skill with the whip, as she coiled the whip in hand with one flourish. The weapon glowed in her hand, waiting for the next demon to purge.

"Impressive." Kazrik complemented, nodding his head. "A fine weapon."

"You're not the only one with a gift of the gods." she said, reaching to her belt and pulling out another plasma whip identical to the previous. "Ly'enta, let us banish these demons back to the void." she ordered, handing her granddaughter her new weapon.

Ly'enta took it in hand and gave it a flourish, her eyes wide with amazement as she watched the weapon leave a burning trail through the air. And not a moment too soon more wraiths came towards them. Kazrik readied his weapon but Ly'enta and her grandmother rushed forwards. Their whips engaged their energy fields and the air was filled with fiery swipes and sharp resonating cracks as wraiths were dispelled left and right. Suffice to say, how she moved and struck down the spectral attackers with consummate ease, the High Priestess was a formidable combatant even at her current age. In her youth, she must have been a truly formidable huntress. Who better to train Ly'enta with the whip then her own kin?

The stonefather was quick to join his yautja counterpart in battle once more, Forge glowing bright and his eyes burning with aethyric flame. So the two representatives of their gods battled with the dark that their faiths had preached, cutting a burning swathe the horde of aetyric monstrosities. And to their efforts, the Archangels now had an opening. By using their superior numbers, they hoped that they would be able to find a gap in the Primarch's defence. Any soldier would be hard pressed fighting against two opponents and six would now doubt be overwhelming. As one they fought their way through the gap and stopped before Typhon who was still orchestrating his puppets of dead flesh. And the Primarch was quick to notice this change in strategy.

He felt almost insulted that these humans would try their luck again.

"So, you want to push your luck again, do you?" Typhon questioned, lowering his arms. "You didn't learn your previous lesson?"

The reanimantai in the meantime continued their instinctual urge to main and devour the living. They did not need Typhon guiding their every move for the moment. Base instinct was more then enough to drive them on. And by his signal, they were ignoring the Archangels. The humans in the meantime were still keen for a little payback for what Typhon did to them and Alaric. And the Primarch would deal with the persistent vermin personally.

"We'll see how well you do without your little mind tricks." Andrzej dared, twirling his glowing blade in hand as he advanced towards him.

The rest of his squad followed suit, following their captain towards their intended target of assassination. They had plenty of missions under their belts on taking out xenomorph queens and queen mothers to know that it was no easy feat. And with Typhon, a being more powerful then any queen mother, this was a new and unexplored rung in the xenomorph hierarchy. His previous attack of almost ripping their brains apart was evidence enough. But with Korrina on the Karak dampening his power, they may just have a chance with their advantage of numbers.

Typhon sighed in a concise manner, held his hand out and in his hand, flaring into life like the flame of a blowtorch, a large curved sword appeared. It was almost like an Indian tulwar, a long sabre but with a distinctive xenomorph aesthetic to it's form. This caused the Archangels to come to a halt in their stride from this unexpected reveal of offensive intent.

"Very well then." Typhon said, giving his newly created weapon a flourish."En Garde, as you would say."

The Archangels looked to each other before mentally signalling the charge. With swords at the ready, they engaged the Primarch. Surrounding him on all sides, they attacked as one cohesive unit. The standard protocol when engaging anything the size of a praetorian or larger. Attack on all sides so that the target could not focus on any one threat.

But as they fought against Typhon, it was blatantly apparent that he could focus on all six of them simultaneously. He was able to detect when each of the Archangels was going to attack, possibly from the sound of the air moving around them or from the increasing beats of their hearts that would betray their intentions, and responded accordingly. Typhon was proving to be a far better swordsman then all of the Archangels combined. Despite being completely surrounded, he was effortlessly parrying their attacks with amazing speed and precision, using both his sword and his six wings.

No doubt that Typhon had absorbed the knowledge of swordplay, or some alien variation of it, from the many races he had consumed. This, coupled with his powers of aethyric perception, made the notion of landing a hit on him a difficult proposition. But regardless, the archanghels pressed their attack in search of a weak point. The runes of power that Kazrik had forged into the Archangels' swords ensured that they would withstand Typhon's own incorporeal blade. Bright flashes and sparks of flaming orange and eldritch purple erupted from each impact as the two different aethyric fields conflicted with the other.

Their armour on the hand was another story entirely. While khazdryn forged armour was far in advance in terms of materials and construction to the top of the line armour used by Spec Ops Division, Typhon's aethyric blade was cutting through it with ease. From moments they failed to evade Typhon's attacks and ripostes in time. It was almost like they were not wearing armour at all. The growing number of hairline slices filling with red was telling. But so far, it would appear that the Primarch was simply playing with them. If he wasn't he would have kiilled all of them within a heartbeat.

"I have the knowledge and experience of countless races that ruled before your ancestors crawled out of the oceans." Typhon boasted as he flourished his sword in a wide arc that made the Archangels back off momentarily. "You are severely lacking in comparison."

The Archangels ignored that criticism on their skill as they renewed their attack with added impetus. Typhon as before continued to parry and evade their attacks. But he was soon bored with their attempts to cut him up and subsequently finished toying with them. With a whoosh from his wings, the Archangels were propelled back with the force of a strong gale. The elite soldiers rolled on the decking with brutal results as they crumpled and their swords flung from their grasps. They were slow to pick themselves up as their swords clattered around them, nursing bruised bodies and limbs that had nearly been wrenched from their sockets.

Typhon was unrelenting in his attack as he held his hand out. The Archangels swords levitated into the air, enveloped in an eldritch haze before they could grab them. The humans saw the swords point at them as the aura made the blades glimmer with malevolent intent. They were already readying themselves to having to evade their own weapons. But then, Typhon tilted his head when he noticed something about the blades. The way that they were glinting in the light. With a gesture of the hand, the swords hovered towards him as he started to examine them more closely.

The Archangels in the meantime, noticed some reanimanti hobbling towards them with the intent of mauling and most likely devouring them while they were prone. Knives were drawn as the humans retaliated against the intruding undead. While knives were not the most suited against zombies, they did allow the advantage of being quick and nimble enough to get a well placed stab in tighter quarters. And it allowed them to use their side arms, their conventional human sidearms, in tandem with their knives in typical military fashion. These were used to maintain a measure of space from the undead as bullets struck heads left and right.

Typhon in the meantime was busying himself on his latest discovery of humanity while the humans went about picking brains. He saw that there was something odd about the swords. They did not look like anything that he had seen humans forged in ages past. Nor did they look like the same metal that he had seen back on the planet from the colony's mining equipment. But it did not take him long before he noticed a similarity between these blades and Alaric's axe.

"Humans have managed to replicate aethyric weaponry too?" he pondered, grabbing hold of Andrzej's broadsword and looking closer at the metal as the runes burned in the blade. He could see that was was a definite dwarvern influence in the way the metal was forged. "Elements of Khazdryn design. No energy in the metal but the construction is near the same. No wonder these runes took hold so easily."

He was now seriously considering the possibility that humanity has advanced further from their dark age then he had originally thought. Where they getting close to developing Aethyrials once more?

But no sooner was he was appraising human craftsmanship, the spartans singled him out amongst the chaos of the battle. Lysandros and Cyrus cut down any reanimanti and dispersed any wraiths that stood in their way as they carved their way towards the Primarch as the Archangels withdrew to comparitve safety. Typhon responded to this incoming threat as he simply held a hand out towards the Archangels and shot their swords right back at them. The humans, seeing their own swords coming right at them and punching through any reanimantai in the way, were just barely able to dodge the incoming blades, all of them getting nicked in one area or another. The swords impacted the deck with such force that they were buried right up to their hilts in the locales they were just moments in. it was now clear to the humans that their attempt of trying to kill Typhon was over and they had to deal with the prospect of just staying alive. Especially since their blades were thoroughly nailed into the stone decking.

"Now this will be more of a challenge."Typhon praised. "Show me that you can do your dead homeland justice."

Both spartans, not rising to this goading, circled around Typhon as the Primarch watched them size him up. They were already assessing the challenge before them and how to best overcome it. Typhon watched them as they silently came up with a battle plan,

Lysandros led the charge from the right as Cyrus followed suit from the left. Typhon held his tulwar up as his wings spread out as both spartans reached spear range. Both spartans struck out with their spears at Typhon and the Primarch parried both with his sword in one timely sweep of his tulwar. Then Lysandros and Cyrus commenced a highly disciplined and unrelenting sequence of thrusts, swipes and jabs. Cryrus, lacking a shield, was using his spear as one would use a quarterstaff. His grandfather used his in conjunction with his shield, using the large defensive piece as a bludgeon when opportunity presented itself. Typhon was using both his energy blade and his wings to both defend and attack.

Suffice to say, these two spartans were faring much better then the Archangels during their bout with the Primarch. Their attacks were able to penetrate Typhon's defence at times though not enough to cause anything other then sparks to erupt as their spears glanced off his armour. Even so, the Primarch was holding his ground against this new offensive.

Cryus swung his spear at Typhon's head and the Primarch deflected his attack with his wings before responding with one of his own. He lashed out with his taloned foot dead into Cyrus' chest. The talons raked across his armoured chest in a bright shower of sparks and the young spartan was sent careening back for a dozen meters. He rolled on the deck, sending more sparks as he did before he rolled to his feet. His grandfather was quick to fill in the gap to keep up the pressure on Typhon while his grandson recovered.

Lysandros thrusted his spear right at Typhon's head while the Primrach was distracted. Typhon merely focused his mind to this attack and a ring of runes suddenly appeared at the point of impact. Darkness filled the ring and the spearhead passed through this void. The old spartan deftly held his shield up by his own head as another ring of runes suddenly appeared beside him. His spear emerged out of this miniature gate and impacted his shield with a loud shrill clang and a shower of blue sparks as the energy field covering both weapon and shield collided.

Typhon turned around to Lysandros as the warrior pulled his spear back, withdrawing it from the displacement field.

"It will take more then that to kill me, Spartan." Typhon revealed as the hovering void rings vanished.

The spartan responded by swinging his spear at Typhon and the Primarch evade the attack. Typhon responded by lashing out with his tulwar and the spartan blocked the strike with his shield. Now a duel between the old veteran and the demonic ancient started.

Lysandros, despite his more advanced age suggesting otherwise, was proving to be a formidable obstacle for Typhon. He was relentless and coordinated on the offensive while being deft and nimble when on the defensive. Each movement of his spear and shield carried out with discipline and precise timing that few could match. Having been trained since childhood for a life of war and having survived decades of service, not to mention the armour he was wearing enhancing his strength and speed, he was proving to be more then a mere bump in the road. In this human, Typhon found something close to a competent rival.

"Exemplary." the Primarch praised as he deflect another spear thrust. "Show the younger generations how it's done."

Lysandros did not answer to this goading, instead resolving his attack further. Either by blind luck or the gods of Olympus smiling down on him, managed to thrust his spear through a gap in Typhon's side. The spearhead managed to punch between the ribcage-like ridges with a bright blue flash and a spurt of glowing fluid that could very well be a primarch's version of blood seeped out. It was an eldritch shade of purple infused with the green acid blood of the xenomorphs. But, it did not deter the Primarch from retaliating.

Typhon grabbed the spear with his own hand as Lysandros tried to withdraw the head lodged in him. The Primarch's aura at that point glowed brighter as shimmering forms began to form around them. Forms that evoked a foreboding sense of dread. Ghosts to be precise as to fit the role of a necromancer, with elongated skulls and fangs. Vaguely human or at least humanoid. Lysandros anticipated an impending attack as he held his shield over his head. Then unearthly shrieks came from the hovering spectral skulls as they soared right at him.

He held his shield up as the glowing crystalline spectres dove towards him. They impacted the shield in bright flashes like glass breaking in light. Impacting with enough force that was making the spartan gradually bending his knees as blue and purple flashes erupted from his defences. And he could feel that the impacts from the ghosts were not meaning to break through the shield but rather to divert it. Pulling his shield with his arm as he felt his muscles and tendons flare up.

It took all of Lysandros' training and conditioning to not let out even the slightest yell of pain as he felt his arm bend the wrong way as he felt his shield being wrenched aside by the spectral onslaught. A good spartan was taught to show no pain no matter what. With his arm dislocated and unable to properly bear the weight of his shield, he was encumbered, overbalanced and thus more vulnerable to attack. Typhon took advantage of this moment of weakness and exploited it with brutal precision. Evading the retaliatory spear thrust from Lysandros, he brought his right set wings forth in a powerful thrust right to the chest. The wing tip dug deep into the metal of his muscled cutlass before the kinetic impact took over, sending the old spartan flying back in a massive eruption of sparks.

Lysandros felt that impact right to the core as he slammed into the deck, skidding for ten meters before rolling to his knees. His breathing suddenly became more laboured as he heaved himself back on his feet, using his spear for support as his left arm dangled limply by his side, his shield still locked onto his gauntlet. His coughing returned as he retched hard, sucking air back into his lungs and each coughing breath sending bloody mist forth.

This display of a significant internal injury caroused the Primarch's interest. He had seen this sort of ailment before and was mildly entertained to see it.

"An old wound?" Typhon taunted, wiping his side of glowing ichor from a rapidly healing wound. "Something that tore up your lungs in a previous battle with my kin?"

Lysandros grunted belligerently at that assumption but it just confirmed the Primarch's suspicions. It was a persistent and painful reminder of one battle with another primarch's hive twenty years prior in his life. He had been fighting without a helmet at the time, having lost it during the battle and he was subjected to hazardous miasmas generated by the hive. Almost like poisonous gasses used in the first world war that would burn and scald the lungs of any who breathed it. Extremely debilitating and nearly always fatal. Lysandros had survived his brush with death but paid the price for it. He suffered heavy scarring on the lungs that inhibited normal breath function. While it was treatable, with medical compounds used to alleviate further scarring and inflammation, there was no cure outside a lung transplant, biological or synthetic. And Lysandros was not keen on either.

Cyrus, who had recovered from his previous fumble was quick to step in front of Lysandros with his spear poised as the old spartan brought his coughs back in rein. His mouth and beard was heavily stained red from his blood that slowly trickled from his gasping mouth, his arm hanging limp from his side with the shield still attached. Dislocated arm or not, he was not dropping his shield. All Lysandros did was hold his arm in place by grabbing his shield's rim to stabilise the limb before his armour began the process of repairing his arm.

"Ah, the next generation to fill in your shoes." Typhon praised, flourishing his tulwar. "Can you live up to your lineage, I wonder?"

The lenses in Cyrus' helmet narrowed in response as he advanced towards the Primarch. Reaching to his belt with his free hand, he pulled out his second weapon. This was not a kopis like Lysandros' but a leaf shaped xiphos. However, while the xiphos was typically two feet in length, this variant was unique amongst the Spartans in that it was half the size. More like a large knife then a sword. But this had the advantage of nimbleness in the mess of colliding phalanxes where a longer blade would be more hindered.

Indeed, a famous story is told of an Athenian asking a Spartan why his sword is so small. After a short reflection of the question and looking at his blade, the Spartan laconically replied: It is long enough to reach your heart. The Spartans were well known for their one liners and are the originators of the term 'Laconic'.

Cyrus flipped his xiphos around with the blade down as he held his spear forward, pointing at the Primarch and held his inverted sword in line with the spear in a duelling gesture. A clear sign of his intention to fight.

"Very well then." Typhon agreed, assuming his own duelling stance with his sword held diagonally in front of him in a guard stance. "Come at me."

The spearhead flashed as Cyrus sprinted into range and another duel began. Without a shield to block Typhon's sword, Cyrus used his xiphos as a parrying dagger and had to stay on his toes. However, to those watching, the young spartan moved with an almost unnatural grace. Fluidly attacking and evading in equal measure with his spear and sword combination. His shorter sword allowed for much swifter movement when it came to parrying and attacking. His fighting style, while similar to that used by Lysandros, was entirely different. Meant more for a swift moving form of individual combat instead of a slow phalanx lumbering across the field.

This meant that he was more then able to hold his ground against Typhon. More so then Typhon had originally estimated. He was expecting to have killed this young human in at least five minutes.

"Very commendable." Typhon praised with mocking intentions as he parried a spear thrust. "You do your grandfather proud."

Cyrus in turn parried Typhon's sword with his xiphos. Deflecting the spectral blade away as he dodged the menacingly sharp points of Typhon's wings. Watching from the sides, Lysandros was reluctant to leave his grandson to face the Primarch but at this moment, exhausted, injured and nearly coughing up his lungs, he was in no state to continue fighting. Cyrus now had to face Typhon alone. The young spartan was holding his ground well but it was only a matter of time until the less experienced warrior made a mistake.

Overextending a spear thrust, Cyrus was smashed hard in the helmeted face by the Primarch's back handed blow, sending the young spartan flying through the air as his helmet was flung off with a jarring clang. But with a deftness that defied any human, save for Alaric, he flipped through the air several times before landing on his feet into a skidding halt. Sparks shot from his boots as he skidded several feet from where he landed in a crouch. His helmet clattered a few feet from him, the visor smashed and useless from the impact of the Primarch's blow.

Without his helmet and his shoulder length hair tied up into a ponytail, everyone could see a unique and previously hidden trait of his as he stood up and flourished his spear in readiness. Cyrus, bizarrely out of place on any normal man, had long pointed ears and his skin bore a distinctive reflective sheen. It was almost like the sheen found on a fish's scales. And his eyes had taken on a fluorescent aqua blue glow.

It would appear that Cyrus wasn't entirely human at all.

The Primarch was quick to see just what was standing against him. In fact, it was but one race that he and his brethren had fought and consumed in ages past. One that he was certain to have taken down to the last individual. But standing right here was evidence to the contrary. Albeit not a pure individual.

"How interesting." Typhon mused, cupping his figurative chin in thought. "A descendant spawn of the Aos Si standing before me. That would explain your inherent finesse."

Aos Si, to the modern mind, was the name given to the Celtic interpretation of Elves.

Cryus held his spear up at the mention of his lineage, his eyes brightening with defensive hostility. Typhon looked at Lysandros, who had now gotten to his feet after fighting off that coughing fit, and a chuckle emanated from him as he put the pieces together. Taking into account some of the more popular interpretations involving ancient greeks and the mythical beings who inhabited their land, it did not take much to surmise just what entity that the spartan had gotten involved with in his younger days

"Judging by your oily appearance, I'd say your forefather fucked a naiad." Typhon taunted. "Greeks and their fish fetishes."

This jab towards his grandmother was enough to make the young spartan charge back at him. Typhon, satisfied that his goading worked, hovered back into the air as he drew back his head, taking in a deep breath. And with a loud incandescent roar, purple flame shot out from where his mouth would be. A massive conflagration befitting a dragon. But the young spartan kept running towards the Primarch, set on his attack as he jumped forth even as the flames engulfed him. Cyrus felt his armour flash into a searing hot glow as the flames made contact with him. But, the naiad blood running through his veins ensured that he was protected from the worst of the heat. The sheen of his skin flashed into bubbling steam that buffered the searing effect of the flames. Water naturally beats fire in almost any circumstance as he bent his legs and pushed hard. In this circumstance, the Leidenfrost effect.

The young spartan came soaring out of the flames, his entire body steaming profusely and his eyes glowing a piercing aquatic blue. Typhon's eyes widened when he saw the spear coming right for his head and he dodged to the side to evade the attack a fraction of a second too late. Cyrus' spear ran right across Typhon's helmet, just missing his left eye which was the young spartan's target. The spearhead scraped the carapace metal plating in a large eruption of blue and purple sparks. Cryus landed on the deck, skidding for several feet before spinning around and levelling his spear at the recoiling primarch.

Typhon held his head in mild frustration for letting his guard down. He should have realised sooner that the quadroon human would have inherited a naiad's power over water. Water was the natural counter to fire. He rubbed the cut by his eye, trailing a talon across the torn surface as glowing ichor seeped out of the wound and trickled down the cheekplate. He was lucky to have not lost his eye from a thrust like that. Cyrus' aim was not as precise as his grandfather's but still effective nonetheless.

The Primarch grumbled loudly at the sight of his blood being spilled a second time by a human. Mentally scolding himself on his sloppy defence. Which he blamed on not getting fully used to his newest body yet. In fact, all the times that he had gotten hit, it was almost like the armour was fighting his movements. Sabotaging his defences at a crucial moment. Given enough time, he would have full control over his host body. But until that time, he was more vulnerable then he deemed

Looking back at the hybrid human before him, he nodded his nodded in feigned recognition of his skill. All around them, his undead minions were still trying to kill their living enemy. The dwarves, the Archangels and yautja were still holding their ground. The Archangels had managed to retrieve the former arbitrators' weapons from the deck and were using them to adequate effect. The mauls, a decided upgrade from their knives, were perfect for either chopping or crushing the reanimantai but not the wraiths. That was the sole task for Kazrik, Igneous and those yautja with plasma weaponry.

Typhon, satisfied that the battle was still under control on his terms resumed his attention to Cyrus.

"You are real credit to your grandfather." Typhon congratulated Cyrus with barely disguised disdain. "You are the first to do some significant damage to me in this clash." he then wiped his fingers across the rend, purple light filling the superficial wound that began to seal. "But, it'll take more then that to kill me." he assured, his wings unfurling once more.

Taking the young spartan more seriously now after his unexpected injury, Typhon started to generate more energy for the battle as his aura intensified. Again, he was brute forcing his way through the inhibitor field projecting from the Karak. But instead of the usual embers and flames that accompanied this show of power, sharp sparks of electricity began to gather. The Primarch was generating an electrostatic field, ionising the air around him as sharp cracks of lightning sparked around him.

It was strong enough that those with exposed hair were starting to feel it stand on end. And humorously, the beards of Varlin and Kazrik were getting slightly fuzzy.

"Care to ride the lightning?" Typhon asked, as he held his hand back as said lighting gathered in his palm.

Cyrus held his spear closer when he saw this demonstration of elemental power as he sheathed his xiphos. While he did not show any fear, as spartans were trained to never show fear, Typhon however was able to sense it buried within. An inherited fear. A deep ingrained fear stemming from the naiad blood running in his veins.

"No?" Typhon said with a taunting tilt of the head. "Too bad, you going for a ride anyway!"

The Primarch clenched his fist and a bolt of lightning shot out from his aura. Swiftly followed by another and another. Typhon shot out a continuous barrage of bright and deafening lightning bolts from his hands, arcs of power coursing over his body and his outstretched wings. Cyrus was hard pressed evading the bolt of electrified death snapping towards him, each missing causing a bright flash to erupt from the deck, scorching the stone panelling. Wearing armour made of metal was not helping in the slightest to his evasion as lightning was more attracted to metal.

A few stray bolts shot out in all directions, striking the deck in bright searing flashes. Several times a bolt nearly struck one of the Archangel, eliciting a shock yell from them. Other times one of the reanimanti was struck, frying the undead and momentarily disrupting it's cohesion.

Lysandros hit his fist in the deck as he urgently willed his armour to repair his arm faster. Not intending for a complete fix but enough to get him back in the fight. In response , the tendrils sped up through his flesh and bone, forcing their way through them to reinforce them instead of delicately weaving through. Essentially, it was nailing him back together as piercing spikes held his bones in line. The pain was intense as he felt sharp jolts erupt in his arm, not giving so much as a hiss from his teeth, but it was not fast enough.

As exhaustion set in and the lightning became more unpredictable, Cyrus made a misstep. And before he could react, he was struck by one of the bolt of lightning as it arced right into him. It struck him right in the chest, inflicting a searing jolt of intense burning pain through him. And when one bolt managed to latch onto him, the rest swiftly followed suit. Striking him all over his body with ferocious momentum. Within moments, Cyrus was enveloped in a purple crackling field of agony.

"Got you now!" Typhon celebrated. "Caught you in my net!"

Cyrus felt his body seize up when the lightning struck him, enveloping the young spartan in an electrostatic field as his hair stood on end. His limbs seized up as he felt searing pain shoot up his spine and his spear was locked in his hand because his fingers would not let go. The weapon was now ironically acting like a lightning rod, attracting the energy sparking out from Typhon. As anyone with a basic understanding of electrical currents would know, water is a conduit for electricity. And since his naiad ancestry was based entirely on water, he was far more susceptible to electric shocks.

It was a horrific sight to say the least. Most lightning strikes were mercifully quick, nothing more then a bright flash and a thunderous crack. This was more like an execution by the electric chair. One long continuous burst that would literally cook the subject alive from the inside out.

Another rippling surge of energy suddenly emanated out from the Karak. It passed over the docks again and extinguishing Typhon's aura once more as the lightning shooting from his hand suddenly ceased. The reanimanti and wraiths too were affected by the wave, their aura's extinguishing and the bodies and bone fragments tumbled to the ground as their control was severed once again.

Without the lightning that was the only thing keeping him on his feet, however unintentionally, Cyrus collapsed into the deck in a smoking and still heap. Barring the occasional twitch as sparks danced across his prone body. Lysandros grunted loudly in anger as he forced himself back on his feet and dragged himself to his critically wounded grandson. He swore in ancient greek when he saw that the skin on Cyrus' face had actually blackened as he burnt up from the inside. It looked like he had suffered second or even third degree burns. But, thankfully, he was still alive. His armour was seeing to that as he saw metallic tendrils creep from the undersuit across the young spartan's face. And, now seeing that they too were in no shape to fight, Lysandros dragged his grandson to safety while his armour went about healing the damage Cyrus had sustained.

His grandson's health had now taken priority over killing the Primarch.

Typhon, having his flames blown out a second time, merely looked back at the Karak as he could sense the Unbound within. A chuckle rumbled from him when he could feel that her power, innumerable as as Unbound was, was starting to dim. It was now evident that Korrina was now starting to struggle with containing him to the docks.

"That's it, Witch." Typhon said, malevolence seeping into his voice. "Burn yourself out trying to contain me."

His aura burned into existence once again, having to use much more power to counter the nullification field that Korrina was projecting. It was now starting to show on his assimilated body as tiny hairline cracks of purple light started to form on the carapace. But regardless of this faint show of strain, he was once again recalling his undead back to their feet. There was almost nothing left of the arbitrators now, barring the occasional scrap of armour that had not been replaced by carapace. Their hands, vestigial at best now, were replaced by the organic blades that extended from their arms. And even more wraiths were being fashion of a literal stream of bone harvested from the giant corpse. A virtually infinite supply of minions ready to obey Typhon's will.

And those still fighting were now getting to the stage where exhaustion was beginning to take effect. The Archangel were feeling it the most, not having the stamina of the yautja or dwarves or the powered armour of the spartans. They took the chance to regain their gauss weapons, dumping the arbitrator mauls and fight from a distance, unable to recover their swords from their unintended deck scabbards. This was effective in holding back the undead, punching through their increasingly thickening carapace armour and blowing them to pieces.

Igneous, unhindered by detriments such as hunger and sleep, continued to bulldoze anything in his way. While he was virtually impervious to conventional means of harm. However, the increasing amount of wraiths he had to deal with meant that he was effectively bogged down. Varlin had no choice but to vacate his platform and hurry back to safer lines.

Kazrik was feeling the increasing strain as he continued to channel his power. His robes were even now starting to smoke as the flames coating his body were now starting to flare more violently. He had no choice but to stop using his power and 'cool off'. Unfortunately, Typhon suffered from no such limitations as he continually raised his undead horde. And his foes were now forced ever more on the defensive.

The Archangel's were forming into a defensive circle through which Lysandros dragged Cyrus in. Varlin had somehow managed to join them, his pick covered in ichor and carapace shards, his furs scuffed and his armour damaged. But owing to Khazdryn endurance, he was not seriously wounded.

Aside from Kazrik, the humans were effectively cut off from the yautja. Typhon had succeeded in cutting their line in two. Which was what Typhon was planning from the start. Separate them and then crush each section one at a time.

Amongst the chaos, he saw Ja'anya dispatching an increasingly mutated reanimantai with Alaric's kopis. While she had little experience of using a blade of this kind, being more proficient with pole arms liker her mother, she was proving to be a quick learner as she cleft the claws from the arms before chopping right through the neck. The kopis was demonstrating it's ability to hack limbs and extremities flawlessly to the huntress.

And she was catching Typhon's eye. Having sense her bond to Alaric, he relished at the thought of making his lover his own. A new queen was needed.

"Now to claim my prize." Typhon said, reaching out a hand towards Ja'anya.

Forcing another reanimantai to the ground after nearly lopping it's arms off, Ja'anya reared up her blade to finish it off when she stopped. Unnervingly, she felt herself suddenly freeze in place. Something unseen was constricting her movements and now she was suddenly top heavy as the kopis held aloft started to overbalance her precarious posture. Exposed and vulnerable, she was certain that the undead before her was going to tear her apart with it's regenerating claws.

The reanimanti silently rose to it's feet as fresh xenomorphic claws grew from it's forearms, it's body now almost completely subsumed in xenomorph tissue. Ja'anya watched with wide eyes, filled with tense terror, as it looked at her. Tilting it's head, like it was regarding her predicament and vulnerability with in manner that vague spoke of curiosity, before it shambled off for another target to kill. In fact, as Ja'anya quickly realised, despite being open for the kill like on a hunt, the undead were ignoring her.

Unable to to move her head, she could see as far as her eyes could move in their sockets. She saw how all the reanimantai and wraiths were focusing on everyone else but her. She was being singled out as not to be killed for some reason. She almost toppled to the ground as she felt her feet suddenly slip up from under her as the purple haze enveloped her. She then felt her limbs being moved into an outstretched position, her fingers stretching out and making her drop the kopis. Then she found herself being pulled through the air as she felt an ugly winds carry her aloft.

Zel'tyr thoroughly decimated the reanimanti in front of her with a powerful thrust of her spear through the neck that severed the spine. The head was sliced cleanly off with one tug before the huntress delivered a punishing kick on the torso. It was enough to momentarily disrupt it's binding and it fell to pieces on the ground. But as she had seen, it would be back on it's feet in short time. She looked around her to get her bearings and she noticed that Ja'anya was not where see was last seen. The kopis she was using was laying discarded on the deck.

The she saw it. The sight of Ja'anya in the grips of Typhon, his talons around her neck and caressing her face.

"Ja'anya!" Zel'tyr screamed when she saw her daughter in Typhon's grasp.

Ja'anya struggled to move her head from Typhon's gaze to see her mother coming from Typhon's.

"Mother, no!" she struggled to yell.

Typhon, still holding Ja'anya in one hand, idly pointed a finger at her mother as she leapt at the primarch. Zel'tyr felt her momentum abruptly stop and her limbs wrenched back in a crucified manner. She too was now enveloped in a purple haze. Her spear was then pulled from her grasp before it was held in front of her. The head was glinting with purple light as it was slowly drawing closer to her neck. The huntress felt the sharp point press into her skin neck, the mono edged blade almost drawing blood.

The Primarch chuckled as he saw Ja'anya's reaction to this torture that he was inflicting onto the both of them.

"Don't worry, Your daughter will make a fine concubine." Typhon assured before tilting his head. "And maybe you too. I'm not fussed either way. It not everyday a mortal woman could bed with a god."

Back in the furious and desperate melee, dispatching the reanimantai with a swift cleave through the shoulder with a smartdisk, Kal'deris turned to see both Ja'anya and Zel'tyr in Typhon's aethyric grasp. His mandibles widened as he saw the two of them being examined by Typhon. But, he felt something grab his ankle. Looking down, he saw the same undead he just 'killed' clawing at his armoured leg. The elder was quick to hack at the reanimantai's head from it's shoulders with one swipe of his disk. The undead yauta was now motionless, it's grip slackening. But, considering what was happening, it would not stay down for long before it's head either reattached itself or grew back.

Kal'deris ran through the chaos, cutting down and blasting any undead in his way. Carving a way to Ja'anya and Zel'tyr. The elder quickly locked onto Typhon with his mask's targeter as he hefted his disk. He threw it with all the strength he could muster. The disk soared through the air, slicing through a reanimanti's neck before continuing to the Primarch. The headless undead stumbled for a moment before tumbling over as it's head bounced a few feet away.

The disk hummed loudly as it soared through the air, it's trajectory aiming for Typhon's head. It was a risky throw in that Typhon could suddenly change his position and Ja'anya or Zel'tyr could be in the firing line.

The Primarch's eyes flashed brightly and the disk stopped just scant inches from striking Typhon in the head. It hummed loudly in place as it's momentum ceased, caught by the Primarch'smental grasp. Kal'deris was completely stunned that such a thing had occurred. Normally the only thing that stopped one of his disks was if the prey had a sufficiently tough hide. As far as he could see, there was nothing in the way to stop his disk.

Typhon's eyes flashed again as the disk become enveloped in the purple haze. Then, it shot back at Kal'deris at a speed greater then anything he could throw. Kal'deris, faster then the blink of an eye and before the thought of dodging could even manifest in his brain, felt the unpleasant impact of being struck with his own disk. The weapon, propelled to unimagined speed that was little more then a bright shining line, punched vertically right through his abdomen before punching out of his lower back in a shower of bright green blood. He could only give out a shocked shout of pain with wide eyes as he tumbled back onto the deck as his legs gave out from beneath him. His disk, like the Archangels' swords, was thoroughly nailed into the stone deck.

Ja'anya and Zel'tyr could only watch with shock as they watched Kal'deris bleeding out on the deck. In almost identical fashion to how Kra'vyn had perished many years prior. The others were too busy fighting the undead to be able to help him. Exhaustion was starting to set in for the Archangels against an enemy that had no need for rest. Lysandros was fighting with only one functioning arm while Cyrus lay vulnerable on the deck. Varlin stood beside him, his bloody warpick tucked under his arm swapping the empty cylinder in his revolver with a full cylinder before firing once again. Kra'vyx and his friends had managed to fight their way to Ly'enta, the High Priestess and Kazrik. The stonefather was clearly showing signs of fatigue and inner harm, even for a dwarf, as his robes smouldered, his nose bled and his eyes burned with an ebbing dull light. He was not going to last much longer at this current rate of exertion. Igneous was on his own as he became enveloped in a swarm of wraiths, the spectral assailants bogging him down with sheer numbers, merging into one amorphous bone cage to restrain the golem.

Kal'deris, the undead ignoring him for the time being, was feebly trying to plug his grievous wound with his hands, even as his blood began to rapidly pool around him He was for all intents and purposes taken out of the battle. And it would not take long for him to join the dead with every drop of blood leaving his body.