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.

42. Chapter 37

Hey all.

First off, I humbly apologise for keeping you all waiting for so long and i thank you for your continued patronage. But, as I think we all know, the world is pretty much upside down now. Nothing has gone to plan and one thing after another just keeps popping up. For me, well, where do I begin? First there was flooding in February from torrential rains which ended flooding my house's lover levels which included my study. Hard to believe when you live on top of a hill right? That was fun, moving everything upstairs and then pulling up the lino so that the concrete could dry, took nearly a month that did before i had to move everything back down again. Then in March I got involved in a minor car accident. Fortunately the car wasn't badly damaged and only the bits designed to crumple did and getting no bits was straight forward. And then to top it all off we have Covid having it's way across the world. something that Australia had, until now, coped with very well. Speaking of which, we are in the midst of a second wave and my state of Victoria is currently under draconian Stage 4 restrictions owing to the monumental hotel quarantine bungle. Unfortunately, like the Ruby Princess debacle, it could have been easily avoided if they did the properly. Third party security with little to no training AND sleeping with potentially infected subjects? SERIOUSLY?! It's suppose to be ending on the 13th BUT there is talks of extending it. In all reality, especially involving the arrest of a pregnant woman for promoting a protest against the lockdown on facebook, the state is quickly becoming a police state. However, where were the police on that BLM protest that saw thousands of people congregating in the city a few months ago? The protest that was a huge slap in the face to all who followed the rules: people who couldn't visit their friends or relatives, grandparents who couldn't see their grandchildren and people who could not be there with their loved ones in their last moments. The protest that basically began the Second Wave. It has become a case of 'one set of rules for them and another set of rules for everyone else.'

-Calms down-

Sorry about that update-turned-rant but it is just beyond frustrating of how these things happened. and it is by no means intended to be political. just venting out some of the frustrations of the year. But anyway, the sooner this year is over the better. So without further due here is the next instalment of Slayer's Vengeance. i apologise in advance if some sections seemed rushed, but honestly i have spent far too long running into writers block on this. As always, be sure leave a comment and i will see you on the next one. Hopefully, that won't take too long.

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Chapter 37 -Duel of fate

Aegis was still standing vigil over Alaric even as the battle was taking a devastating turn for the worst. The undead, tireless and unrelenting, were slowly beginning to overrun the resistance still being put up. The Archangesl were still keeping the defensive ring, their gauss weapon weaponry still managing to keep the reanimantai back. But each time the undead got back on their feet after being slain, they were becoming increasingly armoured with mutagenic carapace to withstand the gauss rounds punching into them. The wraiths, with no plasma bolts to blow them apart, were only kept back by both the plasma whips of the High Priestess and a swirling torrent of flame projected around them by Stonefather Kazrik. Even though the Khazdryn priest was close to the point of spontaneous combustion, his will was proving stronger.

For the rest, exhaustion was starting to set in. A state which the undead were virtually immune to.

Perhaps in urgency, Aegis began to peck at Alaric's helmeted head. His beak rapped loudly on the metal. The helmet's ornamentation flickered in response to this as a slight buzzing hummed from within the armour. Then Alaric convulsed for a moment before falling limp again. Another buzz was heard and Alaric convulsed again. The armour was attempting to kick start him back to life like a defibrillator restarting a heart. With a final surge of power through his battered body, and a slight shower of sparks from the joins in the armour, Alaric was nudged back to the world of waking.

Within Alaric's battered mind, his consciousness began to be roused from it's trauma induced slumber. The sounds of battle were slowly awakening the more primal psyche of the human mind. One that rouses the fight or flight response and in this the fight option. Alaric's hand slowly clenched into a fist as his mind began to stir, the armour shifting around his body, the plating rippling as if turned to liquid. Aegis noticed this change as Alaric slowly dragged himself back to consciousness. All the while, one emotion was driving his will to move. The easiest emotion to rouse up from a temporary slumber.

Anger.

The Primarch was still basking in his successful counter to Kal'deris' smartdisk. Accompanied as he was by Ja'anya and Zel'tyr in their constricting incorporeal prisons. He was content that his undead puppets will mop up the remaining resistance to his intrusion. And he had intentions to pass the time with something more pleasurable in mind before the conquest, and consumption, of Lai'kairis was commenced.

"I hate being interrupted." Typhon said, shaking his head at the elder slowly dying in front of him. "Especially in the presence of desirable company."

"Bastard!" Zel'tyr spat, trying to move her limbs but try as she might, Typhon's mental restraints were just too strong to break.

The Primarch chuckled from this show of defiance that Zel'tyr was showing as he turned to her. From such an individual who was cutting down his puppets of dead flesh with consummate ease, he had expected no less.

"You have a strong spirit." he complimented, running a talon down the side of her face, trailing along her lower mandible. "I am going to have much amusement seeing how long you last until you break. And believe me, everyone breaks sooner or later."

He then turned to Ja'anya, relishing the chance to see if she shared in her mother's defiant spirit.

"And you..." Typhon started before his voice trailed off.

He abruptly paused when he suddenly sensed something. Something buried deep within this abnormally small huntress. It was faint but it was definitely there. Like a dim ember after a fire had burnt itself out. And what was more, it was something that he was not expecting to find from within a yautja. Far from it to be exact.

"Interesting." he said, running a talon down her cheek and under her chin before tilting her head up to face him. "You have a certain... spark in your eyes. Long buried under superstition."

"Fuck you!" Ja'anya spat, taking it as an unwanted advancement upon her.

Typhon chuckled, the purple light pulsating through his armour highlighting his mirth.

"All in good time I assure you." he said, cupping her face in face "But first, I have a little inquiry to take care off."

He then abruptly clasped her head with his clawed hand, his claws digging into her skin in a tight grip as his eyes flashed. Then Ja'anya felt it. A sharp piercing jolt that ran straight through her brain before she heard the whispers as Typhon began to probe mind. Delving into her memories as the huntress saw her life flash before her eyes. Playing back in reverse from this precise moment in a fast rewind like recorded footage. Typhon however paused at various moments which were now doubt significant occasions in her life. First, it was the night before Alaric departed on this hunt, was the reunion with Alaric as he revealed himself and then brief images of her entire life played back. Each with perfect clarity, especially of their last night together. Typhon lingered with that for a notable moment before pushing further back. Her first hunt. Receiving her armour and glaive from her mother upon completing her training with her father looking on in pride.

Typhon lingered at this memory with a hum of interest, everything reducing to a blur except for her father, before the pain intensified. And then, as that vision vanished and another took it's place, she saw something that was not part of her life. But rather a part of her bloodline's past. Her genetic memory. More specifically, her paternal line through her father. Something about him had caught Typhon's curiosity.

It was a vision of her father. Days before he died as a matter of fact, on the mission that claimed his life. Kra'vyn was standing amongst a forest on a far away planet, clad in his armour and harvesting the sap from a tree vaguely resembling a willow tree found on earth. However, he had no tools with which to harvest sap as he had no knife in hand. All he did was gently draw a line on the bark with a finger and within a second the sap was seeping from the bark. Like the tree was willingly giving it's essence to him. This he then collected in a vial before plugging the cork in.

While this was deemed strange to the huntress, the Primarch on the other hand found this to be intriguing.

"Interesting." Typhon could be heard in Ja'anya's head. "Making a tree give it's lifeblood willingly. Not what I would expect from a race of headhunters. Let us delve further back."

This then vanished like smoke emanating from ashes before another vision materialised. It showed Kra'vyn, years before in the aftermath of a difficult hunt,, treating a wounded yautja in the ship's medical bay after ushering his fellows from the room. The reason being that he needed no distractions during this complicated procedure. First, after making sure he was alone, he used a herbal potion to induce anaesthesia and then cleaned the wound to ascertain how severe it was was. It was a ragged abdominal puncture caused by the tail of a xenomorph. The fact that this hunter was still alive after such an attack was a miracle in of itself.

Without even reaching for the tools next to him, Kra'vyn placed his hands over the wound. It would seem that he was applying pressure to the wound but he was making no such action other then softly chanting in a some kind of archaic language that did not sound like any yautja dialect. Then a faint glow began to light under his hands, shining from the gaps between his fingers. When he removed them, the bleeding had ceased and the flesh itself was healed seamlessly. All that was needed was stitches to maintain an illusion of treatment.

This was highly unnatural as Ja'anya thought, the image of her father performing an act only described as supernatural but Typhon was more pleased by this result.

"Healing without need for medicine?" Tyhpon pondered. "I think your father was more then he let on. Let us try even further back."

An abrupt flare of pain surged through Ja'anya as more images of her deceased father's life flashed before her.

But it was the next vision that confirmed Typhon's suspicions. It was Kra'vyn walking in a cave on some planet. The caves walls were smooth and odd pillars were carved into the surrounding rock. Pillars carved by unknown hands and chiselled with runes and glyphs of unknown dialect. And oddly, the pillars glowed as he passed them. Reacting to his presence.

Kra'vyn approached what looked like a massive mural carved into the cave wall. Decorated with figure foreign to her eyes, Ja'anya watched as her father stopped at the mural. Looking at it for a moment, Kra'vyn held his hand up to it. As soon as his fingers made contact with the stone, the whole mural lit up. The mural itself looked almost like a religious stained glass window found in human churches when the sun shone through, depicting a figure clad in both armour and robes with eight wings protruding from it's back. Surrounding this figure were equally strange figures, clad in similar attire and bearing wings too. They looked almost like angels commonly seen in human churches. Rivulets of glowing light coursed around his hand as he traced a hidden pattern on the stone.

And all the while, his eyes were glowing a vibrant shade of amber.

Upon completion, the mural split down the middle in one seamless line and light spilled out from the newly revealed gap, revealing a whole network of glowing lines like roots of a tree. This was no mural but a hidden door. And from beyond that door, hidden in the dark was where something ancient and powerful, boundless for lack of a better word, resided. And what ever this presence was, it did not like curious intruders.

The vision abruptly ceased at that point, a resonating hum filled the air and everything dispersing like shattering glass.

Ja'anya let out a pained gasp for air as she came out of her mental interrogation, glowing blood trickling from her eyes as the whispers left her head. Zel'tyr shouted to her daughter to wake up as the young huntress regained consciousness. While it felt she had been gone for minutes, only a few moments had passed in the real world. And she was trying to come to grasp with what she saw. Her father performing acts that would be tantamount to witchcraft to the yautja. Something that her mother and brother was completely unaware of.

This was all that Typhon needed to confirm that he now had a precious commodity in his grasp. One that he did not expect to find amongst the yautja after so many millennia. He was certain that they had all been hunted down and killed during the Dark Times. But now, he was happily proven wrong.

"As I live and breath." Tyhpon said with new found reverence. "The yautja did not purge your kind from their genepool entirely. An aethereal by her father's line."

Ja'anya's forcefully ravaged mind was too much in a bend at the moment to register what Typhon had said. She was still trying to comprehend what she had just seen. Despite what Alaric had said in warning, it felt too real to be a mere illusion. Felt it in her blood. The sight of her father performing witchcraft. Witchcraft was taboo amongst the yautja, something that was taught to be feared and shunned. Such a craft was seen as an affront to the gods. But her father was a healer, a revered profession off all. And all this time he had been using magic to treat wounded hunters.

If that was the case, why did he not use it to save himself instead of bleeding out on the deck? Was it's secrecy so important that he chose to die rather then reveal it?

The Primarch on the other hand felt like luck had shone upon him in finding a perfect mind to bend to his will. One that could potentially harness the same force that he can. But he would not have long to revel in his newfound discovery. Typhon suddenly felt the unpleasant sensation of being stabbed with something exceptionally sharp, recoiling slightly from the impact and hearing the tearing of carapace infused armour. Deeper then what Lysandros had achieved with his spear. Looking to his right side above the hip, his eyes widened as he saw that it was one of Alaric's hand axes embedded in his side. The ornamentation was glowing bright like a star and the axe had a chain attached to it's pommel. The chain suddenly went taught, tugging at him and causing pain to flare up again.

Looking up, he was in time to see a boot impact his helmeted face in the right cheek with a loud resonating crack of carapace. Time slowed as Ja'anya and Zel'tyr felt Typhon's hold over them vanish and gravity took hold instead. But, looking up, they saw a sight that was much welcome. It was the sight of Alaric driving his boot square into Typhon's face. The impact was strong enough to send the Primarch off from his hovering locale and soaring into the hull of another docked transport ship on the other side of the docks. Typhon, unlike Alaric but much like Igneous, was sent smashing right through the hull before the ship exploded in a huge blue fireball. Obviously, he struck the engines and fuel cells.

Simultaneously, the reanimantai and the wraiths all suddenly collapsed, imploding under their own weight crumbling to the deck into heaps of mutated severed limbs and bone dust. Like puppets that just had their strings cut. The impact of Alaric's boot was so powerful that it had caused Typhon to lose his focus on maintaining them. His army of undead literally collapsed without him holding them together. It was a godsend for the exhausted fighters still standing but not so much for the fragments of ship hull plating that hurtled towards them, provoking a mad dash to evade getting smeared into paste.

They were just moments from being overwhelmed.

But with the advent of gravity threatening to send Ja'anya and Zel'tyr tumbling to the deck, Alaric twisted in the air as his axe retracted back onto his thigh and the chain back into his gauntlet. He deftly stretched out both arms and caught Ja'anya in his left and Zel'tyr in his right by their waists. All this in virtually a blur before they dropped to the deck. Alaric deftly landed on the deck with both female yautja in his arms, his armour giving him the strength to hold them up. And this was not lost on both of them. Especially since Alaric was standing on his own feet after taking such a brutal hit before.

"Alaric?" Ja'anya gasped.

Alaric had no time for another reunion in the same day as he set them down. He did however take note of the drying blood coming from Ja'anya's eyes. That served to further

"Move!" he shouted, pushing them aside.

Zel'tyr got the hint right away as she reached to Ja'anya, picking up her spear as she did. They were of no help in this circumstance but someone else needed urgent assistance. Aegis flew over at this point to land on Alaric's shoulder.

"Ja'anya!" Zel'tyr urged, pulling her daughter away. "Kal needs us!"

Ja'anya kept her eyes on Alaric even as her mother dragged her away. Her mind was in a bend from seeing Alaric back on his feet, especially after such a brutally horrific impact. But she had no time to comprehend that as there was a more pressing need at hand when she turned her head back forward. Kal'deris wasn't moving in the increasingly growing pool of blood.

"Kal!" Zel'tyr screamed, skidding to her knees before the wounded elder.

Kal'deris by now had lost consciousness as his blood continued to leave his body. And it was a traumatic thing to watch for the two huntresses. Bringing back memories best left buried. It was almost reliving that day Zel'tyr's life-mate bled out on the deck many years ago. Only that Kal'deris had one massive wound instead of being torn to shreds like Kra'vyn had. But both instances were distressing to look at.

Kazrik, now having a chance to do so with the unexpected collapsing undead, rushed over towards the fallen elder, Forge glowing in hand as it's pommel rapped loudly on the deck. Despite his robes now emitting a continuous smog of smouldering steam and his white bread now sporting a brown tinge, he had enough power left for one last trick. The High Priestess was quick to follow him and she was horrified upon seeing the wound up close.

"Move aside." the stonefather ordered, shooing them aside. "Quickly!"

With Ja'anya and Zel'tyr out of the way, he quickly evaluated the wound that Kal'deris had received before hefting Forge in hand. This was going to require extensive work and intense concentration. Especially for a branch of the Aethyric arts that he rarely dabbled in.

"This is going to hurt like buggery, but he'll live." he warned, turning his staff so that the anvil was pointing down. "Good thing you have robust constitutions."

The glow in Forge intensified and the metal hissed and cracked with a rippling haze of heat puffing from it. Kazrik's eyes burned with glowing fire as he lowered Forge onto the elder's gaping wound. The moment it touched the blood soaked skin, as would anything hot being dunked in liquid, a loud sizzling fizz was heard as steam began to gush forth violently from the wound. Kal'deris, not surprisingly, was snapped out of his stupor with a pained yell by the intense burning f Forge welding his wound shut. It was a far more intense burning pain then any amount of cauterising he had been subjected to in his previous hunts. It made all those times feel like he was just jabbing lit matches into his skin. And it did make him give out the customary roar that most yautja did whenever a wounded needed to be cauterised.

At this moment when he regained consciousness, sparks begin erupting from his wound like a welding torch would to metal. This was far more excruciating to look at then any field medicine that any yautja had ever seen. Both Ja'anya and Zel'tyr were aghast by the spectacle to say the least, but Kazrik knew what he was doing.

The fires in Kazrik's eyes fluttered out as he finished his work and he pulled Forge away from the wound. Sure enough, Kal'deris' fatal wound had been healed as the the dissipating steam told. The skin was livid as would be expected when burned but it had sealed shut completely and the risk of haemorrhaging any more blood was averted. Unfortunately, or perhaps for bragging rights amongst the race of hunters, a thick scar was left as a reminder of his narrow escape with death. And as with blood loss, Kal'deris was lethargic, slow to move and in desperate need of an invigorating transfusion.

Zel'tyr dragged Kal'deris up as Ja'anya helped her before lugging him off to safety. Kazrik followed after them as his beard smoked more profusely then before, leaving a thick smog behind him. The High Priestess quickly followed suit, stunned to have seen Kazrik call upon his gods to perform a miracle.

Alaric used this lull in the battle to clear the field once again.

"Everyone back to the ship!" Alaric yelled as Aegis jumped from his shoulder. "This bastard's mine!"

Seeing Alaric up and moving was making his squad mates minds to bend as they watched him stride towards Typhon. But they took his advice to clear the area as they hastily withdrew to a more safer location back at the Karak. Zel'tyr and Ja'anya helped Kal'deris to his feet, pulling onto their shoulders as Kra'vyx and his friend's followed. The young yautja were all battered bruised and bloody from their fight with the undead. Lysandros dragged his comatose grandson to safety on his shield.

Varlin gave the order for the cargo door to be opened and the smaller door opened at his request. A squad of dwarf warriors came stomping out, their gauss weaponry primed and ready as they took position at the base of the ramp. Keeping their weapons aimed at the freshly wrecked transport, they shepherded everyone on board. Kal'deris and Cyrus were immediately put on waiting stretchers and hurried off to the medbay for immediate medical aid. Zel'tyr and Lysandros followed after them to have to their own injuries tended to while Ja'anya stayed behind. The High Priestess was also taken to the med bay despite her protests. She had taken a wraith's claw to her exposed abdomen from a near miss and the wound looked as if it had suddenly contracted frostbite.

Apt since the touch of death is reputed to be ice cold.

"What the fuck is going on?" Segei asked as they reached the ramp. "Those bug hunter zombie things nearly had us and they just fell apart."

"Our lord smacked the Primarch so hard that he lost his hold over them." Kazrik answered as they moved up the ramp. "With no hand to control them, the puppets simply dropped."

That answered one question relatively simply. The closest comparison that the Archangels could compare it to was the operator of a robotic drone suddenly severing the connection. Logically, it was the same principle. But the second question was one that they did not have an easy time trying to understand. Especially involving Alaric getting virtually beaten to a pulp.

"How in the hell is Alaric moving around after getting pulverised?" Hicks asked. "He should be dead, even by that."

"That is true." Sarah added. "The last time I saw someone take a hit like that, the G's alone pulverised their internal organs."

"Technically, he shouldn't be alive. The armour is moving his limbs and pumping his blood for him." Varlin explained, retracting his pick back into cane form. "It's the only thing keeping him together. Same with Cyrus getting hit by that lightning storm."

Like a life support exoskeleton for critically ill or wounded people that enabled them to regain some measure of mobility. But for the Archangels, it brought up another meaning entirely. One that did not have healing in mind but rather sowing death and destruction wherever they were pointed.

"Shit, he's a dead man walking." Andrezj gasped as Aegis swooped past them. "Like a Berserker pilot."

Which, in a manner of speaking, Alaric was perfectly compared to. Berserkers, and the pilots who use them, are a form of combat exosuit used by the Earth Federation as unparalleled shock troops. Fast, heavily armoured and armed to the teeth with close range weapons such as 25mm pulse autocannons and flamers, their purpose was to break the enemy line and sow carnage in their wake. Often being dropped directly into the paths of xenomorph swarms to provide a buffer unit. And to achieve this, the pilots; more often then not comprised of the most bloodthirsty and or psychotic individuals available and wired in by neural implants, were pumped with a cocktail of potent stimulants. This not only exponentially increases the reflexes and motor functions of the subject but also greatly increases the aggression factor, giving the Berserkers their name. And when not in use, the pilots were kept in medically induced comas to prevent friendly fire incidents from occurring. It would take only the slightest push to send them over the edge.

Due to this, Berserkers were all considered to be dead men walking. They were dead the moment they were wired up to their suits. Their inevitable demise in battle was just a formality.

"Either case, about time he smashed that fucker into the ground." Karl remarked.

Suddenly, there was an abrupt clanging of metal as the wrecked transport began to shake violently. It then tore completely in half with a shrill tear and deafening crack. Torn apart like a sheet of tin foil. Both halves where then pushed aside by a resonating wave of energy, the massive hunks of space alloy grinding against the stone deck a full ten metres. Typhon strode out from the clearing he had made, now looking more worse for wear. His helmet was now sporting a massive fissure from the impact of Alaric's boot, spreading over his eye. Purple light and ichor seeped out from within as his injury slowly healed.

"Obviously not hard enough." Mac pointed out..

From his narrowing eyes, Typhon was not at all pleased with what Alaric did to him.

"Do you have ANY idea how rude that was?" Typhon asked, cracking his neck. "Interrupting my private time with your lover?"

Alaric had little concern as to the Primarch's supposed insult. Especially after what he had just been put through in having virtually having his ass handed to him. And he was reaching the end of the tether that he rarely wanted to reach. But in this case, it was now going to have to be an exception.

Reaching for his helmet, he undid the seal with a hiss of gas and pulled it from his head. His face, now bare for all to see, reflected just how close to death he had come and it was a grisly sight at that Dried blood caked his face, originating from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears. A typical sign of extreme impact trauma, The metallic root-like tendrils of the suit's life support system were latched to his face in a manner almost reminiscent to his war paint if he had applied celtic spirals instead of flames. His ruby eyes, bloodshot from the impact against the ship's hull, were already starting to glow as the Rage stirred the embers of wrath within him.

To his squad and those watching, he really was looking like a dead man walking. To Ja'anya however, it was a dead ringer of his state when they first met. Battered and bloodied but still very much alive. Alaric fixed his eyes on Typhon as his vision began to grow tunnelled and lined with red. Red that was not his blood seeping into his eyes.

Red as in the red haze that accompanies the sowing of death in battle.

"You are going to wish that you died on that planet when I'm done with you!" Alaric yelled, pointing a finger.

This outburst piqued the Primarch's interest, especially given how forceful it was. Taking on a distinctive flanged tone like a yautja's. His dormant side rising to dominance.

"Is that anger I can hear?" Typhon questioned. "Is the red thirst proving too strong to sate?"

Anger was putting it lightly. Alaric was bordering into the side of anger that completely negated any form of sentiment. Replaced only by the desire to watch the life get throttled out of something living. Be it friend or foe. Pure instinct was starting to overcome reason as his fists clenched and cracked.

However, with Alaric bordering at the edge of his tenuous limit, the armour reacted to this increased aggression that he was exhibiting prior before going into Rage. The plating shifted and the tendrils within Alaric's body writhed as they rewired themselves. Alaric suddenly felt his vision becoming more clearer as the crimson haze subsided. What's more, he felt the fire burning not as an inferno but as a single yet intense flame like a cutting torch. Alaric felt his mind with such clarity then ever whilst in Rage. Things were no longer but a blur but a clear and concise image perfectly translated in his mind. For the first time in his life, he felt in total control and not a puppet to bloodlust as before.

Better now?" Gri'nyr asked from within Alaric's head.

It was obviously better then before. He was able to think straight rather then going to the nearest threat and eliminating it without regard for his own life and regard for anyone unlucky enough to be in his way.

"Are you doing this or the armour?" Alaric questioned.

"The armour helps to control this urge." Gri'nyr cautioned. "Controls the fire that tempers the blade, so to speak. But, don't let the fires rage too long or the blade will shatter."

Alaric did not need to guess what blacksmith analogy Gri'nyr meant. He could literally feel it in his braced bones. He slipped his helmet back on and the lenses flashed on as, invigorated by this new found control over his wild card, he prepared for what would be the last battle of this long hunt.

"Time to go full Slayer on this bastard." Alaric decided.

"By all means." Gri'nyr agreed. "It is our oath after all."

And, reading his mind, the armour did just that. It was re-configuring itself to fit this new role of offence over defence.

The sound of rapidly shifting metal was head as the armour changed it's appearance in front of everyone. The linothorax vanished as if strand by strand and was replaced with the muscled inner suit that was now reinforced with said armour plating. It was visually evoking the muscled cuirass worn by Lysandros while not giving the visual impression of armour. It was essentially making him looked bare chested. On his back, the cloak vanished as it turned to light and shrank back into the suit. Covering his spine from neck to waist was a new piece of formed armour, long and segmented lust like the spine itself with each plate no doubt protecting that specific vertebra.

To compensate for his lack of torso armour, his limbs became more armoured. Covered in armour plating that protected him from the waist and shoulders down. The gauntlets protecting his forearms became marginally oversized, as did the greaves protecting his lower legs with the pteruges still remaining attached to the belt. He was almost looking like a gladiator from ancient Rome then a warrior from Greece. However, it was not uncommon for some warriors of the ancient world to be dressed in a similar fashion. Typically those of a barbarian background and there were gladiator types representing specific cultures that Rome had encountered and or conquered.

As for the corinthian helmet, that was completely gone, leaving only the face plate that had become more armoured to compensate. As such, his armoured hair was now completely exposed for all to see. And to top it all off, the armour now had it's own rendition of the warpaint that Alaric would have daubed himself in if he had the chance. Warpaint that was glowing like azure fire.

Now, Alaric was looking less of a hoplite and more like a slayer. And this was not lost on the Primarch nor those who were watching. To the Archangel's, it was reminding them of the occasions when Alaric went completely mad against the enemy and they knew now that the shit was going to hit the fan. For the dwarves and the spartans, it was a reminder of an oath that had been sworn so long ago. For the yautja, it reminded them of the ingrained fear towards berserkers. Ja'anya on the other hand was more confidant in seeing him in this more familiar garb.

But for Typhon, all he saw was the same challenge that he was sure of defeating once again. Only with a fresh lick of paint and the dents hammered out.

"So, you have learned to use the armour to temper your lust for blood." he said, interest now resurfacing. "Now, you should prove to be of some small challenge at least."

Alaric did not answer as he drew his hand axes instead of Spellbreaker whom he still had attached to his back. For the time being, speed was going to have to take priority over power. Not until he had a clear shot for the kill. Considering their previous round, he was going to need all the manoeuvrability he could get for this battle. The runes appearing on the hands axes started to glow as Alaric focused his mind. And as he did, the armour began to augment his weapons further. The chains snaked out from his gauntlets and attached themselves to the pommels. When they did, an energised hum reverberated through the metal. As though some hidden mechanism within the weapons was suddenly activated.

He heard electrostatic cracking and Alaric looked as the runes on the axes glowed and arcs of electricity danced along the chains and his hand, wreathing them with raw power. Flicking them and grabbing the chains, Alaric was treated to the sight of lightning dancing along the links.

Now this is more like it, he thought as he gave his weapons a flourish.

The energised blades cast a glowing trail through the air as he swung them by the chains in a wide arc. He then brought his arms down sharply and both axes slammed into the deck, cutting through the stone with hardly any resistance. Typhon on the other hand looked as though this was nothing to be concerned about.

"Come at me then, Slayer." Typhon dared, beckoning with a finger. "You'll find I won't go so easy on you this time.

"And I won't be so easy to knock down either." Alaric countered, pulling his arms as the chains retracted his axes back into his hands.

It was now time to finish this. Finish this hunt, finish this battle, that had raged for too long. Alaric's eyes flashed into their crimson hue of battle, his hair stood up on end with a shrill metallic screech. Arcs of blue lightning coursed over his body as the armour glowed once again centering around his hands and boots.

"Time to die!" Alaric roared as he charged forth.

His boots thundered on the deck as he charged, his hair rattled loudly and trailing arcs of lightning coursed over his hands as he moved. Typhon channelled his powers as his aura burned into existence again, levitating into the air as his wings unfurled.

The phasecasters on Alaric's back pivoted outwards before powering up as he ran towards Typhon. Then, armour flashing, he jumped and both barrels lit up with a loud energised roar. In a blur, he shot out like a shell out of a cannon as the jets engaged. To those watching, it was indeed like he had been shot out of a cannon. Be it a plasma cannon of the yautja or a railgun from the humans and dwarves.

Alaric just took the the bolt of flame head on like it was not even there. Engulfed in fire, it would seem that he would be reduced to ashes. Ja'anya and her mother would have been gravely concerned but the Archangels, Kra'vyx and his friends however had seen this trick before. And their confidence was vindicated when Alaric blitzed out of the flame gout like an actual cannonball. The shimmering field of energy, his armour's personal shield, was buzzing around him. This time around, it was more then capable of blocking the flames then Typhon's kick.

Typhon eyes widened as Alaric got through his defence, his jets firing at full thrust, his eyes glowing a penetrating shade of crimson with a bestial roar of pure undiluted rage coming from his chest. Considering that Alaric had barely survived his fiery breath the last time, it would have been suicide to take it head on. But a ferocious punch to the other cheek nailed into Typhon's head that this fight was going to be more difficult then he anticipated. The Primarch's head rocked violently to the side, the sound of snapping bones being heard as he was thrown back into the deck, striking the stones with enough force to make a massive network of cracks ten feet in diameter and bouncing several meters away.

The Archangels took a moment before they let out a collaborative whoop of celebration as they watched Typhon crumple into the deck like a collapsing house of cards while Alaric landed deftly on his feet. Especially after all the pain, grief and horror they had been subjected to. The yautja and dwarves with them could only gawk at this sudden but much welcome twist. Ja'anya herself had a smile on her face as her mandibles curled up.

"Kick his ass, Alaric!" Sergei shouted.

"Beat the shit out of him!" Hicks added.

Igneous rubbed his scratched face as Alaric boosted his jets and shot after the prone Primarch.

"I could've done that." the golem grumbled.

Alaric landed right next to Typhon as the Primarch shifted to his knees, snapping his neck back in position again. Alaric followed up his from his previous punch and gave Typhon a fierce roundhouse kick to the head before he could react. Typhon was rocked back from the sheer force of another boot to the head. The Primarch rolled violently over several metres onto his feet before jumping into the air once more. That kick to the face proved more then enough to snap him out of his minor daze as crackling arcs of energy coursed over him.

Alaric jumped into the air again, his jets flaring behind him as he gave chase. Typhon shot out a lightning bolt at him but now sooner did he cast it, Alaric was already right at him as it blasted the stones deck below. Suddenly appearing out of nowhere above him, Alaric drove his foot right into Typhon's chest in a deja vu of the Primarch's previous attack on him. In a bright flash of sparks, not made by talons but through sheer blunt impact, the Primarch was brutally slammed into the deck once again, bouncing several metres into the air accompanied by shards of stone. This time around, he was quick enough to avoid Alaric's follow up. The hand axes bit into the broken stones as Alaric landed right where Typhon was as the Primarch vanished into thin air.

Reappearing high in the air above the docks, Typhon soared in on Alaric from behind with his spectral sword trailing mist and counter-struck with a ferocious strike. Alaric, sensing this attack with his newly augmented senses, parried with his handaxes in a blinding eruption of sparks before sidestepping a jab from the Primarch's wings. Typhon landed on his feet, pivoting as he brought his sword in for another swipe. Alaric retaliated with his axes and a swift clash of blades ensued. Both combatants attacked, parried, dodged and countered, sparks flying from their weapons in a multicoloured rain of light as their pace steadily increased. The sound of clashing weapons and counteracting energy fields became a continuous resonating buzz as they fought. And Alaric was matching each strike coming at him with precision even as they were rapidly becoming a blur.

It was a sight that blew the minds of anyone watching. No one watching could even follow the attacks with the naked eye as both combatants turned into blurs. Only the eruption of sparks illustrated where impacts occurred and those trying to keep up found their eyes physically aching from the effort. Not even Kazrik could follow their movements, but that was owing to his more tired state then anything else. But most importantly, Alaric was now standing toe to toe with Typhon and that meant that the battle was not in Typhon's overwhelming favour any more.

They now had a chance.

The Primarch, for the second time, found himself at a sudden loss by this stark turnaround of their previous clash. He had wiped the floor with Alaric with one strike before and now he was unable to land a hit on him. And what was more, Alaric was now landing hit after hit on him. The axes struck his body with bright sparks, little by little whittling his armour away. Minor but telling. Typhon had concluded that the armour was augmenting Alaric far beyond what the human body was physically capable of. It was the only explanation that made sense, aside from the unique unpredictability of their kind.

And it was all the more reason to kill him as soon as possible.

This mindset was the same case for Alaric. The armour was now completely negating any form of weakness that he was feeling before. He did not feel exhausted and he could feel no pain from his braced and shattered bones. The root tendrils that coursed through his body were bracing his bones together under a strong lattice. His blood was being infused with oxygen and nutrients at a greater rate then what was normal. His reflexes were further enhanced then when even in rage, seeing time slow down and Typhon moving at a speed that was considered normal. And best of all, he was able to fully control the Rage. This armour was allowing him to fight at his full potential without fear of losing himself to blood-lust.

But there was a cost to this increase in power. Alaric was already pushing his battered body past it's limit, supported by the armour's life-sustaining properties. But it was only a temporary measure, no matter how advanced it was and even it had it's limits. Every hit he took would further reduce the regeneration factor of the armour. And that carried the risks of his wounds reopening.

If he did not end this duel soon, he could die.

And he was not the only one who was under such a strain. Varlin suddenly felt a buzzing coming from his wrist. It was his comms unit and someone was hailing him. He held his arm up and Stonefather Kazrik approached him, holding his head as he did. He was receiving a message too. A message of agony as Varlin projected his holoscreen. Kila was on the other side, standing in front of a glowing standing stone. And she was looking terrified.

"Thane! Stonefather!" Kila on the other side said, desperation in her voice. "It's Korrina, she's in a bad way!"

"Show me, Kila." Kazrik firmly ordered.

The view was then turned from Kila and onto the person in question. Korinna, still upon her throne, looked like she was in the midst of a seizure. Here eyes were still shut as she quivered in her seat. Blood was trickling from her nose and her breathing was becoming more and more laboured. Despite being an Unbound, she was reaching her limit in trying to contain Typhon. Her mind was strong, continuing her vital role in maintaining the containment field but her body was nearing the point of no return.

Several dwarves were already administering medical aid to her in the form of intravenous injections. No doubt a regenerative serum to patch up and halt the bleeding which was being mopped up with cloths. The standing stones around them were ebbing, signifying the decline of control Korrina was having over the inhibitor field.

It was now abundantly clear that Alaric had to kill Typhon now before she herself dies and her inhibitor field with her. If that bubble of nullification goes, Typhon would have access to his full power and then nothing would stop him. But, perhaps Kazrik could buy them some more time. By sharing the burden and with his more robust constitution, he would significantly increase the time the inhibitor field could be maintained.

It was an ability that Aethyreals can do with each other. A practice that was called Aethyric Choirs. Not singing in a literal sense but rather attuning their abilities together as one. The more minds that are linked, the easier certain tasks become.

"I must get to Korrina." Kazrik decided as he walked to the elevator with his smog cloud following him. "She needs assistance."

"Stonefather, you're in no condition to assist!" Kila protested.

"In which case, get a keg of Mother's Draft ready for him when he arrives." Varlin ordered. "He'll need a boost for this."

Back in the docks, which were getting increasingly more dilapidated with every passing moment, Alaric and Typhon continued their epic clash of titans. Spectral blade met energised axes and blows were exchanged when the opportunity presented itself. Both were evenly matched in terms of blocking and attacking, with Alaric able to incrementally increase the amount of damage he was inflicting on Typhon from either blade, fist and boot. And Typhon was doing the same to Alaric.

Alaric was knocked back hard by a ferocious kick to the chest from Typhon that sent him hurtling back metres away. He recovered from this disengagement by throwing one on his hand axes back at Typhon. Typhon evaded and this was what Alaric was hoping. The axe punched into the deck behind the Primarch, who looked at this near miss with contempt, and provided an anchor point which he pulled himself along. His jets fired up and he rocketed lashed out with one of his axes, extended out on it's chain, downwards right at Typhon with lightning arcing from it. The Primarch jumped backwards to evade this but was just a fraction of a second too late and misjudged the length of chain that Alaric had used. The axe sliced down the right side of his face from the forehead to the chin with a massive eruption of spark. And slicing out his eye in the process which ruptured in a torrent of ichor. Typhon yelled in pain, clutching his haemorrhaging face before Alaric was on top of him, giving him a brutal drop kick to the chest.

A spitting image of what Typhon had done to him in their previous duel.

The sound of fracturing carapace was heard and a cloud of carapace shards erupted from the Primarch's chest as he hurtled backwards. Alaric followed through after him, landing on the deck and pulling his axes up as Typhon flipped back around and, his aura erupting once more, soared right back at him. Alaric brought his axes back up as he prepared to counter his next attack. Typhon, with millennia more experience then Alaric, would get the upper hand this time. And he did at that the moment Alaric swung both axes out on his chains in an effort to disrupt Typhon's charge. Typhon twisted through the air, evading the two energised arcs in one fluid motion, and struck Alaric in the face with his glowing fist with a resonating impact. Strong enough to make something odd occur as the Primarch delivered blow after blow upon the momentarily stunned slayer like a ragdoll. In the manner of trying to beat something other then his life from his bones.

As he was struck repeatedly, Alaric was enveloped in some kind of energy field in the location where he was struck. At first it could be assumed to be the armour's protective energy shield. But, this field did not correspond to Alaric's form. When the strikes impacted his armour, the energy covering the armour assumed a different configuration. It was not just more armour plating but robes also. Robes that envisioned the role of a priest like Kazrik. But the most telling of these changes was when Alaric was struck about the face.

Taking an outstandingly brutal uppercut punch to the face, Alaric was launched several meters into the air in a high arc before Typhon teleported above him at the peak and, with an equally brutal kick, sent Alaric slamming hard into the deck shoulder first and a loud bony snap was heard. Alaric bounced several times before he rolled to his feet and skidded to a halt, his axes trailing behind on their jingling chains. Standing up, shakily as he recovered from the blunt force, Alaric just stood as he regained his strengths in deep growling breaths. His left arm was hanging limply and lopsided, having snapped right as the shoulder. His helmet had taken a notable crack to the face plate where Typhon's fist connected. But that was not the most odd thing that happened. Appearing in stutters like a failing holographic projection was what looked almost like a yautja's mandibles. It took several moments for this optical disturbance to subside but Typhon's interest grew with a more malicious intent.

It indicated that he was damaging more then just Alaric.

Alaric, as soon as he stopped seeing double, started to walk towards Typhon in his usual defiant manner even as his left arm dangled limply beside him. His will to fight would not be broken as the armour repaired the damaged limb. The sound of snapping bones could be heard as his arm twisted around, making a full revolution before being fixed in place. Blood seeped out from the joins in his suit as the limb was fastened into place by more roots growing from the material. Alaric hissed loudly through his teeth as he felt a dull throb shoot up his already rickety spine but he forced it back as before as the roots grew over his arm. This was the first injury he was able to feel in this fight but that would pale in comparison to what he was going to do to Typhon.

And the Primarch, riddled with extensive fractures all along his body from strikes that connected to him, was starting to lose his patience with Alaric not staying down. His eye had now reformed itself, standing out in the massive fissure that Alaric's axe had created. Underneath the helmet, his host body's skin could be made out. Grey and clammy with purple veins pulsating and the eye a shimmering shade of green. But beneath the green, traces of brown stood out under the sheen.

"You are proving more trouble then I thought possible!" Typhon raved as glowing ichor dripped from his slowly healing wounds. "Don't you realise by now that I cannot be killed? I have every advantage!"

Alaric holstered his hand axes and drew Spellbreaker from his back as his face plate regenerated. The weapon glowed in his hand as lightning crackled around the glowing runes lining the blades. As if thirsting for blood to spill. The blood of a coward as Alaric could sense the fear coming from Typhon. No matter how buried the emotion could be, Alaric had a knack for drawing it out. It was one of the most primal fears of any living creature.

"Then why do you sound afraid?" Alaric demanded, pointing his axe at the Primarch. "I thought dying all those times before would have hardened you. Instead, it made you more fearful every time you come back!"

That accusation of cowardice drove at Typhon's ego even as his helmet completely healed over, hiding his human host once again. But at the same time, he did not regard his earlier evasion of death, or the many beefore that, lightly.

"You know nothing!" Typhon shouted back. "You have no comprehension of what waits beyond. Every time I come back, it hungers for me more! Wanting to devour my essence into the void."

"Death always gets it's due." Alaric reminded. "Sooner or later, we all pay our dues!"

"Then you will pay yours!" Typhon roared, jumping into the air and rocketing towards Alaric with his tulwar in hand once more.

Alaric charged forth with Spellbreaker held high as his jets fired to match Typhon's own speed. The impact was deafening as spectral sword and rune axe struck, casting a shock wave that blasted nearby debris away like leaves in a storm. Sparks of blue and purple erupted violently from the shoving match the devolved between the two combatants. Both were equally matched in this regard as Alaric's phasecasters kept up their jets to keep the momentum going and Typhon's wings continued to beat hard as his aura intensified. Burning to the point where Alaric could feel the heat through the armour.

"Is it so difficult to understand? The premise too complicated?" Typhon questioned, as he pushed harder with his blade. "I am trying to create a perfect world. No more fighting, no more wars, no more suffering. All life united under one banner, one goal. Your race above all others should know all about that!"

Alaric was not convinced by this motive as he pushed back with Spellbreaker. He knew that this was just sanctimonious preaching to justify an extreme ideology. Something that was normally spouted by xeno extremists and other religious cults that came before them. He had learned much through this whole journey that had been his life. He had read of the history of the earth, how through all of it's ages that individuals tried to bring about their interpretations of a perfect world. Either by religion, creed or race. Through good or ill intentions. The only thing that these attempts accomplished were nothing but death to those who were deserving and, as was always the case, those who were not. Individuals like Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot and other tyrants throughout history with absolute power at their disposal. Purges and genocides of undesirables and perceived traitors. But none of these came close to the founder of the Xenomorph Cult, Salvaje. The man who nearly brought about the extinction of the human race through a religious fanaticism of Xenomorphs being God's will.

And from what little he learned of these beings called Ossians, they were the epitome of failed idealism. And the Primarch trying to kill him, along with his kin, was the pinnacle of their failings. A perfect slave which was to create a perfect world for their masters. And the Ossians paid for their mistakes when they were wiped out by their creation. For the Xenomorphs care only for the hive and everything else was but cattle to birth the next generation. And the galaxy was almost consumed as a result of the Ossian pursuit for perfection. So perhaps in irony, they may have achieved their goal all along.

But, humanity had succeeded where the Ossians and other races had failed. They fought back against the xenomorphs and reclaimed their homeworld. Despite all their differences and conflicts, when faced with a foe greater then themselves, humanity stood together and emerged stronger then it ever had been. They had adapted and defeated their foe. The Ossians on the other hand, despite their greater power, were unable to adapt to their 'perfect organism'.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Alaric said as their blades continued to grind against each other. "Perfection and the drive to make a perfect world? It is just one big lie. The saddest truth about Perfection is just that. It doesn't and could never exist. Perfection is subjective. You are incapable of understanding this because the Ossians didn't understand it when they made you."

Typhon's eyes flared into burning orbs at the mention of his creators. Creators whom he had drawn great satisfaction in killing and assimilating into his own ironic slaves.

"I made myself!" he roared, pushing harder with his blade so that Alaric was almost bent over. "They were too arrogant to even accept that their creations could rebel. And they proved to be blind even in the face of their own extinction."

"Then the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree!" Alaric roared back.

The phasecasters suddenly stopped their function as jet engines and pivoted over Alaric's shoulders, right in Typhon's face. The Primarch barely had time project a barrier around his head before the two barrels discharged their payload. A blast of accelerated particles right in the face, while mostly deflected by his barrier, was enough to make Typhon stagger before Alaric riposted the sword with Spellbreaker and drove his knee into Typhon's gut. The attack had enough kinetic force to knock the wind right out of Typhon. To the point where it looked as if his glowing eyes were ready to bulge out of their sockets. Typhon buckled under the blow before Alaric jumped up and struck him in the back of the head with the greataxe's pommel, exposing his neck as the Primrach fell to his knees.

Alaric had a clear opening to end this duel with a swift decapitation of the head. The only sure way to kill Typhon.

Before he could deal the mortal blow, Alaric found himself launched backwards by Typhon's wings striking him with incredible force, tumbling through the air before flipping over to land on his feet. It was enough to knock the wind out of him as he held his abdomen and raggedly sucked air back in his lungs. Typhon levitated up into the air, wings stretched out and glowing as he held his hands in front of him. And in his palms, particles of black light was starting to gather into a ball of pure darkness highlight by a white ring.

"No, it hasn't fallen far from the tree." Typhon agreed as the ball expanded into a crackling arcing sphere of impeding death taking up the entirety of his hands.

Alaric eyes widened when he realised what this was. The cracks coming from the snapping arcs were sounding like distorted screams. This was a disruptor bolt Typhon was charging. And the armour was not going to protect from an attack like this. Gri'nyr's memory of his fellow clansman being blasted apart by disruptor bolts and him getting impaled by a phase-blade by Xel'khalos played back in his mind. He was going to get ripped apart molecule by molecule if that hit him.

But, as if reacting to this new variable in the battle, Alaric felt the armour buzzing in his head and most notably in his hands. A signal as it were. The gauntlets glowed as Alaric heard his ancestor's voice within the armour.

"Shield Sign!" Gri'nyr warned. "Shield Sign! Do it!"

Alaric, remembering the image of Gri'nyr performing it against that disruptor bolt, did the same. He held his hand in front of him, crossed at the wrists and all he could do was concentrate as hard as he could. Concentrating on the mental image of a sheild. Then he felt the armour shifting around him as it reacted to this action of defence. And he felt the tendrils buried in his head twitch and writhe. Unsettling as it was, Alaric could not help but feel like the armour was adjusting something about him.

The bolt of black light struck him as he knew they would. But, it did not have the effect that Typhon was hoping. For one, in a manner similar to that of a water balloon bursting against a wall, the black bolt struck an invisible barrier in a flash as Alaric was pushed backwards, his boots sparking on the deck. He skidded several feet back from the impact and almost lost his balance which he quickly regained.

Typhon was once again stunned by this sudden turn of events against him. But his frustration bubbled back as he realised just how Alaric managed to withstand this attack that he had deemed capable of killing him. Seeing that no physical armour could withstand a disruption attack, and he had destroyed many a sentient race who thought they had created impenetrable armour, he knew there was only one thing that allowed Alaric to survive.

"You lucky bastard." he growled. "You picked up a Sign!"

Alaric couldn't believe it himself. The fact that he had not had his body disintegrated from the impact, armour or not, filled him with a new sense of strength.

"Gri'nyr?" he asked. "It worked?"

"Focus your mind and let the Aethyr guide you." Gri'nyr preached. "You have the Gift. We share the same blood after all."

Alaric felt the suit adjust once more, even feeling the tendrils keeping his brain in one piece writhe in his head. In his vision, Alaric was seeing spectral glyphs as the armour unlocked specific areas of the brain and transmitted the knowledge of their meanings directly. One glyph above all others was more bright, ebbing with crackling power. Lightning to be precise.

It was the Sign of Wind. And as Alaric focused on it, the glyph surged brighter before lightning filled his vision. And he could feel an energised buzzing in his hand.

Alaric held his hand up, looking at the armoured appendage as he focused his mind. Focusing on the aspect of Wind. Wind and all associated with it. As he did, glowing particles of energy began to coalesce over his palm, rushing to collect and condense like water droplets. With a snap of his fingers, Alaric watched as a lightning bolt flashed into life in his hand like a spear. Like a thunderbolt of Zeus himself as surging arcs of electricity danced around his arm and scattered in all directions.

Ja'anya's eyes went wide at the sight of Alaric wielding wielding lightning in his arms. The Archangels too were amazed by this feat and Kra'vyx was shaking his hands in anticipation. Varlin on the other hand was smiling.

"We gotta get ourselves some of that armour." Andrzej said in admiration.

Alaric smirked at the sight of this new power before hurling the bolt of lighting towards Typhon, the projectile itself causing a clap of thunder as it soared through the air while sending out sparks at it flew. Typhon avoided that throw with a duck of his head, the projectile exploding behind him with a loud static clap before Alaric shot out another. The Primarch evaded and parried incoming deluge of lightning bolts as Alaric gained momentum. Very soon it turned into a veritable deluge of lightning bolts. And it was not long before he copped one right in the face with a loud deafening bang. Knocked around, another bolt struck him in the back, sending him rolling over before summoning his own shield to deflect the continuing barrage.

Empowered by this rush, Alaric charged towards Typhon, drawing both his hand axes. Typhon decided to keep his distance now that Alaric was capable of utilising what he thought was entirely his advantage. He needed time to think of a counter to this unexpected variable as he deflected the incoming bolts of aethyric lightning and jumped into the air. Alaric gave chase as he threw one of his hand axes right at Typhon, trailing the chain behind it.

Typhon felt the axe bite into his back, followed by the chain going taut as Alaric left the deck and was taken up into the air with him. The Primarch roared in frustration as he soared around the docks with Alaric trailing behind him, the weight of him tugging at the axe embedded in his back.

"Don't you fucking run away from me, you coward!" Alaric roared, as he heaved himself up the electrified chain closer towards Typhon.

"Stubborn parasite!" Typhon roared back, swiping his hand and launching a bolt of flame at Alaric.

"Says you!" Alaric spat back, dodging the fireball as it streaked past him.

Typhon continued to fly at a blistering pace, arcing and turning abruptly to try and shake Alaric off. He made soaring arcs and sudden stops that would leave Alaric swinging into walls, the deck and parked or wrecked ships in sparking impacts that was sure to be pulverising Alaric's bones further. But, Alaric was weathering each blow even if the impact was damaging or even destroying whatever he was hitting. The armour was holding up for now as Alaric took each hit and he was dodging energy projectiles that Typhon was tossing at him, even firing back with a blast or two of his own, be it a lighting bolt from his hands or a beam from his phasecasters. The Primarch's protective barrier was deflecting every shot coming at him.

The axe finally came loose as they reach the height of the arc. Alaric was flung high up above Typhon as momentum carried him off. But, before Typhon could ;let off a bolt from his hands, Alaric flung his second axe at Typhon, trailing it's chain behind him as it struck Typhon in the chest. It was a shallow hit but it was enough to anchor in and Alaric winched himself back towards the Primarch. Typhon almost had the wind knock out of him as Alaric ploughed into him, hands covered in lightning as his axes retracted back to his thighs, sending them plummeting back down down.

Alaric grabbed Typhon around the neck as they plummeted, the armour flashing more brightly as he delivered blow after electrified blow into Typhon's face. Sparks erupted with each impact like a smith's hammer striking red hot metal. After several blows, Alaric held open his hand in front of Typhon's face before searing light burnt out from his palm like the heat of a sun. and as he did, Typhon watched as the features of his nemesis materialised over Alaric's features. Seamlessly as a shell of light.

Both struck the stone pavings with a loud thundering crash that completely sundered the deck and erupted a large cloud of stone dust and electrical sparks. With an impact like that, it was expected that they could have punched all the way through and into the dock below. But there was no sound of explosive decompression to be heard so the hull was still intact. As the dust and sparks settled, the sight of Alaric continuing to pummel Typhon further into the deck could be seen. But now he was seen in a different light. Quite literally in this case.

Gri'nyr's robed form projected over Alaric as aethyric energies cascaded from Alaric as the armour's previous wearer manifested himself. It was a flawless assimilation between the two, right down to Alaric's hair matching Gri'nyr's dreadlocks exactly. It was almost like two separate beings inhabiting the same body, to smash the Primarch further into the deck. It was a shocking but pleasant surprise for those who had not seen him for some time. Especially after trying times.

"Lord Gri'nyr!" Varlin gasped, before holding his cane close.

The other dwarves present knelt, holding their weapons with the stocks down on the deck and held their heads down in respectful manner. This was indeed strange to the Archangels and those yautja present to see them react to a hologram. Albeit one that was covering Alaric.

"Who?" Andrzej asked.

"The armour's previous owner." Varlin answered. "His ancestor. How else could he even use the armour and open the Karak's door in the first place?"

The Archangels paused from that confirmation. Of all thing that Varlin could have said, 'Ancestor' was the last thing.

"Wait a second, run that by us again." Andrzej asked. "What do you mean 'Ancestor'?

Varlin grumbled at the question, inwardly berating himself for mentioning it at such an inappropriate time. Curiosity had always been something of a quirk for humans. Always poking their noses in things best left alone. More then enough legends of their race had stories of fools opening boxes.

"Long story and this isn't the time to explain." he told them before pointing back to Alaric. "But surely you must have known that he was not like other humans by now."

This was a fact to those who knew Alaric. It was apparent that he was different to the rest of humanity in several regards. He had greater stamina, strength and agility which were all boons to being a soldier. He had an didactic memory which allowed him to remember specific details which were essential for the missions he was sent on with the Archangels. All these factors are what got him through many missions that were deemed suicidal. They are what got them all off of that planet.

But upon seeing how similar the silhouette covering Alaric was to him, from the same eyes of dark ruby red and and the hair style of distinctive spikes that now perfectly matched the apparition's dreadlocks, the more the pieces were starting to fit together. It did not click into their heads of such a similarity until Varlin pointed it out.

"You can't be serious." Hicks said, checking to see if he was bleeding from the eyes again.

"No way, he can't be part predator." Karl said. "He can't!"

"Is that even possible?" Sarah questioned. "Humans and predators... interbreeding?"

Hybridisation, or cross species reproduction, was a controversial topic amongst the Earth Federation. Generally, while such instances are rare and mostly found in the Frontier Worlds, it brought with it ethical dilemmas in terms of racial identity. It was generally consigned to couplings between near humanoid species where the borders of other powers meet. Such as with alpha strain Arcturians, the more evolved and civilised cousins of the typical beta strain, which were the more common but less evolved. Arcturians have always been welcome company amongst the soldiers of humanity

But in a broad sense, if such an individual was born in Federation Space, then they were regarded as human. Those born outside however were regarded with suspicion unless citizenship was earned. It was not unheard of some insidious races to use hybrids as sleeper agents. And the Federation did have one instance of this event happening.

While the humans and Kra'vyx were dumbfounded by this claim of Alaric having non human blood in him, Ja'anya was however was more perplexed then stunned. She knew instinctively that Alaric was not like other humans, his superior abilities that allowed him to stand toe to toe with hunters was evidence enough with his Rage being the most obvious factor. But this was not what she was thinking of.

Alaric is a descendant of a hunter? She thought with confusion before she realised something she knew but the Archangels didn't. Gri'nyr... Grimnir.

The similarities between the names of two supposed individuals were now obvious. And the time when she heard his voice while he was in Rage, it had a distinctive vocal flange like a yautja's. But this revelation also brought up a burning question that she had in her breast. If he indeed had yautja blood in his veins, was indeed a descendant of hunters, then does that mean it was possible for him and her to have a child?

Varlin, noting that his pipe had gone out, reached for his box of matches. He then thought, that since he let slip Alaric's secret, he might as well throw another variable into the mix. Striking the match, he looked up at Ja'anya with a frown. He saw the trepidation about her lover's heritage in her body language as he lit his pipe.

"To be perfectly honest young lass, his ancestor was not pure yautja either." Varlin added as he looked back to the battle. "He has something else in his blood besides mandibles and dreadlocks. Something far older."

This caught her attention as she looked down on the dwarf puffing on his pipe.

"Something older?" Ja'anya said. "Like what?"

Varlin shrugged and blew a smoke ring from his mouth. The ring of smoke hovered outwards for nearly a metre before it dispersed.

"If we're lucky, we may get to see." he warned.

A pained yell from the docks brought their attention back to the fight. Typhon was writhing in the crater as purple fire erupted from him. Alaric, with Gri'nyr taking the reins, had grabbed Typhon around the neck with one hand and drove his other hand into the Primarch's chest. A ring of fire erupted around his fist as Alaric began to push harder and harder.

Whatever this attack was, it was having a clear effect on the Primarch as purple smoke began to emit from the cracks in his carapace. Like a fire had been lit within an empty shell and Alaric, or rather Gri'nyr, was trying to pull it out. The Archangels quickly realised what Alaric was trying to do.

This was an exorcism in action. An attempt to tear Typhon out from his current host just as what Alaric did for the colonist back on that planet. And Typhon knew this full well as the drive of self preservation manifested itself. With a roar, an inferno erupted around him, engulfing Alaric in a concentrated jet of fire. Alaric could certainly feel the heat this time as the inferno coursed around him. The armour itself was reacting to this under Gri'nyr's form as more roots were growing from the undersuit to act as a buffer against the flames.

Typhon was not defeated yet as he suddenly drove his fist into Alaric's chest. A bright flash and a thundering boom like a clash of thunder was heard as Alaric was sent flying back. His chest was blackened and smouldering, having taken a lightning bolt at point blank range. The apparition of Gri'nyr vanished in a shower of light like a failing hologram as he flew far back, trailing purple sparks. Alaric struck the deck with a loud splintering of stone and metal as he found himself momentarily paralysed before his limbs regained control.

The sensation of getting hit by a lightning bolt is often described as being 'lit up'. And Alaric certainly felt that way as he felt pure crackling pain shoot through every inch in his body. Especially his heart as he felt irregular beats in his chest before the armour corrected it.

Alaric slowly got to his feet, coughing up blood as he felt the suit repair this latest injury to his collection. That being fractured ribs. The roots slithered out from the armour, enveloping the damaged area and strengthening it against further damage. Typhon stood up amongst the broken stones and twisted metal, his aura flickering like a stuttering flame about to lose it's source of fuel. He was now appearing to be reaching the end of his tether and possibly his sanity. His host body was all riddled with networks of fractures and large gashes in it's carapace as ichor dripped out. Purple light ebbed from within, seething pure malice.

Malice that came whenever a tyrant had been denied his victory for too long.

"No more games!" Typhon shouted, his body fracturing further as if struggling to contain his fury. "No more delays! EVERYONE DIES!"

Alaric hefted Spellbreaker up as Typhon started to summon the full extent of his powers. Inhibitor field or not, the Primarch was going to brute force his way through it to kill Alaric. And he would do just that, even if it meant destroying Lai'kairis in the process and denying himself a valuable resource. But, he was fully capable of surviving in the vacuum of space and they were not.

Electrostatic sparks began to crack through the air around the Primarch as his aura began to burn once again. Purple flames emanated form the cracks in his armour as his wings unfurled out to their furthest extent as he levitated into the air. These too were burning with both fire and lightning. Within seconds, Typhon was beginning to affect their surroundings as an unnatural wind began to blow up dust and small fragments of rubble. Lightning began to spark and arc through the air, coupled with the rumbling of thunder.

Alaric's eyes widened when he realised just what Typhon was doing. It was an Aethyric Storm. Just as he had used to blast his prison apart on the planet. And he was going to do the same to Lai'kairis to eliminate all opposition. It was a clear move of desperation on the Primarch's behalf. But an equally destructive one at that. Larger chunks of debris were now being picked up by the winds and flung about with incredible force. Some were even beginning to strike at the Karak itself with thundering impacts with one landing just inches from the open cargo hold, the cracked block of stone exploded into sharp fragments, prompting everyone to take cover from the hail of metal splinters that was growing increasingly larger

"Incoming!" Sergei yelled, diving to the side as a massive girder clanged right past him.

It was now too dangerous to continue watching the battle. Safety had to take priority. Especially when a massive chunk of hull plating smashed into Igneous with enough force to topple the golem. It that had hit anyone else, they would be a smear on the Karak's deck. The golem on the other hand held his head and grumbled.

"Seal the door!" Varlin shouted as the deafening winds picked up beyond gale speeds. "Seal it!"

One of the dwarf warriors by the door quickly pulled the lever and the whining of servos and grinding of gears was faintly heard as the doors began to shut. More and increasingly larger chunks of debris were starting to pummel the Karak like a hailstorm. Some of which were starting to arc through the opening and almost struck those seeking refuge in the ship. As the door narrowed closer to shutting, the winds grew into a high pitched whistle that was painful to hear. Thankfully the unearthly winds were muffled the moment the hatch sealed itself but the sound of impacts against the hull was not. Thundering reverberations could be heard coming from outside, giving a hint to the forces generating beyond the safety of metres of armoured hull.

It was all up to Alaric now.

Weathering another intense backlash that surged through his body like being struck by lightning, Kazrik coughed up a splatter of blood onto the floor as he kept his grip on Korrina's hand. Kila rushed to him with a cloth to wipe his mouth and beard but Kazrik shooed her away. He lifted up the tankard in his free hand for another gulp of sustaining ale. He only got but a mere dribble before he tossed it away with a annoyed grunt. It landed with four other empty tankards as another dwarf came rushing up with another frothing draft. The stonefather took it, downed it in one long gulp and tossed it to add to the pile next to him before grabbing Forge in hand. The staff glowed in his hand once more as he resumed his focus.

Korrina had thankfully stopped having seizures, now that she had someone to share the burden with. Her breathing was now steady, even though she continued to periodically bleed out form her nose and eyes. Kazrik's stronger fortitude was not showing such signs but it was only a matter of time before he felt the strain she was subjected to. Both were being tended to by the medics at hand, monitoring their life signs with a medical scanner.

Forge's anvil head was emitting it's namesake glow as Kazrik channelled his own powers to supplements Korrina's. But not being an Unbound such as her, all he was able to do was to take the brunt of Typhon's probing for a weak point. The standing stones around them glowed brightly as the inhibitor field continued to be maintained. Through his link with Korrina, Kazrik was able to keep a check on the conflict erupting outside. Sensing the two powerful forces clashing against each other. One of dark, representing the Primarch, and one of light that represented Alaric.

He was proud to have sensed Alaric keeping the battle going despite his own wounds. And, for a brief time, he could feel the presence of an old friend helping his descendant.

But then, he felt another piercing jolt through his spine and this time blood came weeping out from his eyes in a sudden trickle. That one was stronger then the rest, almost like he felt his heart getting squeezed in a vice. It was now evident that Typhon was pushing harder and harder against the barrier. And it was getting more and more difficult to hold him back, like trying stem back the flooding of a sinking ship's hull. The ebbing glow of the standing stones and Forge's dimming was evidence that time was fast running out. And he could hear the whispers despite his continued efforts to block them out.

"My lord, hurry." Kazrik prayed, blood running from his nose as he saw Korrina starting to quiver again. "We can't contain him much longer."

All around Lai'kairis, the effects of the supernatural storm gathering in the docks was manifesting itself in everything. Tremors was felt on all levels in increasing strength. Holographic systems were being disrupted or failing altogether. Buildings and facilities were reporting failures all over the ship. It was so sudden that many were caught in the midst of their normal day routines, oblivious to the virtual war erupting in the docks. Merchants and craftsman watched as their wares and tools tumbled to the floor. Hunters saw their prize trophies crash to the ground and shatter into bony splinters. In some areas of the ship, micro-fractures were beginning to form as engineers hurried to halt the damage.

In the levels nearest to the docks, where the tremors were originating from and could be felt the most, word of what was going on was spreading like wildfire. Talk of a giant xenomorph praetorian that had cut through seasoned arbitrators like they were not even there, with the survivors sporting horrific wounds, and impervious to plasma bolts was the catalyst. Panic was all but in force as yautja scrambled to get to safety by any means. Arbitrators were hard pressed to keep some semblance of order. Some tried to get to the docks to their ships but the docks had been sealed off by order of Kal'deris. Yautja law enforcement did not screw around when it came to holding back the mob, forcing some to flee from their own private docks. Which was limited to the elite of society. Lower ranked hunters were left to their own means of escape.

There were cries from the more religiously fervent that the End Times, the end of all things, had finally come. But there were those who stubbornly claimed that Lai'kairis survived the Dark Times before and would endure anything coming afterwards. But so far, Lai'kairis was still standing.

It was a testament to the builders, be it Kai'rys as the legends told or the beings called Architects as Typhon had claimed, that Lai'kairis had not been torn apart. But how long the station could withstand the cataclysm about to be unleashed in the more vulnerable column docks remained to be seen. It could see both hemispheres being severed from each other and cast into space or fall into the planet's gravity well and burn up through the atmosphere before impacting the surface in an extinction event or could even see the whole ship torn apart by the aethyric energies.

Only time would tell. And time was fast running out.

The situation was now abundantly clear. Only one course of action remained as the winds began to pick up around the docks to velocity that could only be described as an EF4 tornado on the verge of become an EF5. Otherwise named the Finger of God on account of the destruction they cause, often wiping out virtually anything in their path. Stone chunks, metal scrap and all other rubble made in this battle began to be flung around, caught by this unnatural breeze. Alaric had to gamble everything on an all out assault through that storm and kill Typhon before he could overcome the inhibitor field. With the Primarch focused on overcoming that obstacle, focusing on concentration then attacking, he was exposed and vulnerable. Alaric was not going to get another chance.

If he failed, Lai'karis will be torn apart, everyone will die and Typhon would have nothing standing between him and the rest of the galaxy.

"Gri'nyr, I'm gonna need every bit of power you can get to punch through this." Alaric prayed, tightening his grip on Spellbreaker.

The gauntlet's chains extended and wrapped around Spellbreaker's haft in recognition to the plan. The armour glowed more intensely and the shimmering shield flickered around him as the phasecasters pivoted and extended from his back. The ferocity of the aethyric winds was now picking up and flying debris was gradually orbiting further and further around. It was now starting to pick up those closest ships that were not destroyed previously in the battle. Tearing from their berths like wrenching a plant from soil, the newly made hulks ploughing through anything caught in their path, be it the decks or other parked ships that had not been wrecked beforehand.

Typhon was continuing to amass the full extent of his power, confidant that the storm cascading around him would protect him from Alaric. The docks were a far more confined location then that planet's barren surface. Alaric would have less room to manoeuvre and coupled with the flying hunks of spacecraft, most of which were of cruiser class, he might as well be running into a minefield blindfolded. And Alaric had indeed crossed a minefield in pitch dark once before in a previous mission. Possibly the longest night of his life aside from psychosis inducing pipes.

But Alaric was not entirely without help in this last gambit. The Karak's point defence arrays pivoted towards the storm, powering up before a fusillade of gauss shells and pulse beams filled the air in concentrated volleys. The gunners on the Karak were shooting down incoming projectiles to clear a path for Alaric through the debris field. The shots themselves were low powered to avoid potentially destroying Lai'kairis from stray shots, serving more as a buffer to deflect incoming debris. Like an asteroid defence system used by ships navigating asteroid fields. Any shots that were shot towards Typhon were merely deflected or stopped entirely by intervening debris.

"My Lord, we'll keep the skies clear for you." Varlin voxxed to Alaric from within the Karak. "Finish him!"

With his new provided supporting fire, Alaric hefted Spellbreaker to the ready and charged towards Typhon in the eye of his storm. His shields buzzing around him as shards of stone and metal peppered him. His jets burned behind him to provide momentum to counter the increasing winds. He evaded incoming chunks of wreckage as they loomed in, the larger ones of which were blown apart by the Karak's guns. Sometimes within mere feet of him. Jumping in the air, his phasecasters boosting him along, he hopped from debris chunk to starship panelling. He pushed harder and faster as he tried to close the distance against this ungodly storm. Several times he was struck by hurtling wreckage, knocking him around before he got his balance back. Once he had gotten struck by violet lightning but he still kept going, the armour willing his limbs to move against electrical induced paralysis.

Typhon, despite focusing all his might on crafting this storm to break the inhibitor holding him back, took delight in seeing Alaric struggle. Watching someone he regarded little more then an ant ready to be stepped on getting pummelled by his orbiting barriers. But Alaric persisted in his commitment to take the Primarch down. Despite the number of impacts and strikes he was taking, Alaric was getting ever closer towards him.

A flash of his eyes and one of the largest hull panels caught in the winds was wreathed in purple light. Taking more direct control with this particular piece. With a foreboding gleam, this panel of starship plating was sent hurting towards Alaric just as he was getting within range. Alaric was swatted out of the air with a loud clang and launched high up into the air on the hull panel. Like a bug on a windscreen. He barely had time to recover from his jarring sudden stop before he was smashed into the ceiling of the docks. His jets flared up just before impact, slowing down just enough before he could be pulverised. Even so, he struck the ceiling with enough force to dent it and send a quake of fresh pain through his body as his bones shifted against their bracing roots.

The armour by now was starting to lose cohesion and it's regeneration factor was getting critically impeded. Blood began to seep out from the joins in the undersuit as old wounds started to reopen from the force of the panel trying to render him into a smear on the ceiling.

"You have already lost!" Typhon roared over the cacophony of destruction around him. "Accept it!"

Alaric continued to push back against the hunk of metal that was threatening to reduce him to paste. His phasecasters continued to burn their jets to counter the force pressing against him. So much so that the metal behind was starting to glow hot and gradually began to warp. With nothing solid push against, he started to get pushed into the soften metal by the slab forcing him back.

That was when he heard the voices in his head. Not the whispers that Typhon loved to inflict pain and insanity with but those he had heard when Qul'dan had nearly beaten the life out of him. He could recognise the chant, the words written for it and the accents singing it. He was wondering when those voices would turn up again. And, considering that they had given him the strength to beat that sadistic yautja Qul'dan to near death without this armour, Alaric could do with an urgently needed boost to kill Typhon.

He was starting to believe that his ancestors were truly watching over him now. Regardless of... mixed heritage.

Alaric's eyes opened as the chant ended and, instead of crimson red as per Rage, they had become crystalline orbs. Just like back on the ice planet. His strength suddenly emboldened, he started to push back against it. His hands began to glow with white light as the phasecasters on his began to extend the vent panelling as more energy particles began to gather into the jets. A bright flash erupted from behind the hunk of metal as the hull panel was sent hurtling back towards Typhon. It struck with such force that Typhon's protective barrier buckled before it was bounced away. Indeed, it certainly gained Typhon's attention. Looking high above where the metal plating came from, Typhon saw Alaric speed down towards him and his eyes widened. Alaric, eyes a shimmering ruby red, was covered in glowing spectral plating emulating that of Gri'nyr's. Spellbreaker was held high, lightning arcing from the runes and projecting from his back were two large fiery wings. He had become an angel of fiery retribution coming down from the heavens themselves.

To achieve this level of power, in his already precarious state of health, Alaric was courting sheer death. He could feel his blood burning. Typhon knew this and was confidant that he would live long enough to see Alaric burn from the inside out. Alaric on the other hand was counting on killing Typhon before he died from over exertion. As he soared closer and closer, Typhon's barrier made it's presence known as the Primarch channelled his protective cocoon to withstand Alaric kamikaze run. But he was about to get a horrible wake up call.

Alaric, his armour shimmering brighter then ever, punched through the aethyric barrier in a blinding flash, shattering that protective barrier with an unearthly shattering of glass. Time slowed down as he closed the distance between him and his target, his spectral armour dissipating after taking the impact. He continued on as his energised wings propelled him towards Typhon who quickly summoned his own weapon in defence. Just as Alaric swung Spellbreaker at him, the weapon giving off a deafening crack of raw power.

Spellbreaker's aim was as true as Alaric could have hoped for. The glowing axe, wreathed in electrifying arcs, smashed through Typhon's hastily summoned blade in a bright shower of glittering glass-like dust and, with momentum not so much slowed but amplified, struck dead centre in the middle of the Primarch's chest with a loud crack of splintered carapace and metal alloy. Typhon let out a loud and blood-curdling scream as he felt the axe punch through his chest. Momentum then took them crashing into the deck once more, impacting with enough force to make a crater. Blue lightning and purple flames coursed around them as they were locked in their death struggle. All around them, the storm intensified as Typhon lost control of the energies cascading around them. Unintentionally allowing the raw power of it take it's course and decimate anything caught in it's path.

The Karak's shields engaged as crackling bolts of lightning and flying wreckage struck the hull. The barrier of protective energy sparked and erupted flashes of light with each violent impact. In some places, the shields appeared to be warping. Like the storm was trying to rip the protective bubble off from the Karak itself.

Typhon, despite taking Spellbreaker right in the chest, was far from finished. Growling with an almost bestial fury, born from constant setbacks by a persistent adversary, he latched a fiery hand onto Alaric's face over his left eye. Alaric hissed loudly through his teeth as he felt searing fire burn across Typhon's palm, feeling the intense heat surging right down his optic nerve and that gave him more impetus to drive Spellbreaker even further before his brain ignited. Another crunch of bone and Spellbreaker had now fully punched through the Primarch, the bladed head now protruding out of his back between his wings. Typhon let out another scream as he felt it tear through his host body.

"FUCKING DIE!" Alaric roared behind Typhon's burning hand as he activated Spellbreaker.

The axe lit up even bright as the energies contained with were discharged. And as before, lightning from the heavens cascaded. Not from the sky as before from from within Typhon. The storm itself intensified as the aethyric energies was unleashed in a great blinding flash of light. Typhon's screams filled the entire docks and even Lai'kairis itself. Alaric on the other hand felt his entire body light up as had happened before. Feeling raw power fill every part of his being. Threatening to tear him apart. The sheer force was enough to melt the deck they were on, stone turning to slag and metal turning liquid.

The armour did what it could to protect Alaric as more roots rapidly grew around him to provide a buffer against this force akin to a blast furnace. Molten stone and metal splashing all around them and painting them in glowing slag as they burned further and further into the deck. Typhon finally let of Alaric's face as the roots covered his mask and his view with the outside world was severed. The last thing he saw was the sight of the purple light within Typhon changing to blue.

And just as suddenly as this torrent began, it ceased as with an almighty crack of lightning, the light show died out like a candle blown by the wind followed by a shock wave that sent debris still in the air to catapult all around the docks and bouncing like massive marbles. As the storm faded with a last rumbling of thunder, a tense silence filled the docks. Barring the sound of crackling flames, tumbling rubble and sparking electrics from the damaged portions of the docks, there was not a sound to be heard. Dust and smoke obscured everything in a thick smog of destruction. It would be hard to believe that anything could have survived that explosion.

After a long tenuous minute, just to make sure that the storm had indeed ended, the Karak's cargo door opened up once more and lights immediately shone through the dust. The Archangels cautiously moved down the ramp with their gauss rifles at the ready, the lights on their gauss rifles casting beams through the dust. Varlin followed behind them and, despite warnings to stay in the ship, Ja'anya and Kra'vyx followed after him. She had to know if Alaric was alive after this.

While they had an inclination of the carnage going on outside the Karak, as the sound of cannon fire, thunderclaps and impacts against the hull suggested, it was another thing entirely to see it in person. To the humans it looked as if the entire dock had turned into a desolate no mans land where nothing could survive. Wrecked ships of varying classes, and some reduced to mere frames, littered every inch of space. The stone decking of the docks was virtually reduced to gravel with not an intact slab to be seen. Exposed metal plating and piping was torn and twisted like the mutilated remains of a mechanical animal.

It was just mind boggling.

"Holy shit." Mac gasped, surveying all the destruction he could see through the dust.

"I'm surprised this place is still standing." Karl said, pointing at the support pillars which were now leaning precariously on varying angles. "Those pillars are more bent then the Leaning Tower of Pisa."

"The Architects build things to last." Varlin assured. "May get scratches and chipped paint but it always standing. Hell, if built right, not even a supernova could destroy it."

Which was a bold statement made even by a dwarf, considering that supernovas were one of the most destructive forces in existance. While the confirmation that Lai'kairis was still structurally sound was reassuring to those present, with the threat of a fission reactor going critical non existent, a far more important issue needed to be resolved. That of the Primarch being finally dead and Alaric hopefully surviving.

"You think Alaric finally killed it?" Hicks asked, looking around at the ruins through the haze. "After all this?"

"I hope he did." Andrzej prayed. "I don't think we or the docks could handle a third round with that fucker."

"He better have." Varlin hoped, drawing his revolver. "Kazrik and Korrina are still alive. Bloody, but alive. The Primarch took everything out of them."

And that meant that the inhibitor field was no longer operating. But hopefully, if Alaric had succeeded in killing Typhon, it would not be needed. Even so, Kazrik and Korrina were going to be out of commission in the med bay for a while.

"I just hope Alaric is alive after that storm." Andrzej hoped as he signalled the squad to advance.

The Archangels carefully navigated their way past the flaming debris and scorched decking, littered as it were with the remains of the reanimantai. Nothing more then ragged shreds of yautja flesh, xenomorph carapace and metal armour. Some of the squad were taking the precaution of stomping them into smaller bits or kicking them away to make sure they don't suddenly rise up again. After nearly being killed by the undead puppets, it was more for psychological reasons then practical.

As they cautiously moved towards ground zero, it was becoming increasingly clear just how unworldly intense that storm was. The metal and stone was becoming increasingly warped and in some places had melted. Like how lightning strike in a desert can cause the sand to fuse into glass when struck. Some of which were still hot to the touch. The only other thing that could achieve this outcome was a tactical nuke.

Images of cities that had been nuked in the past, from Hiroshima being the first to the latest colony in the Frontier nuked from orbit to cleanse a xenomoprh infestation, filled the human's minds. Such methods were never used lightly unless deem absolutely necessary. The yautja equivalent would be orbital fire with a massive plasma cannon in a process known as Glassing. Literally melting the surface of the planet into glass. And that was considered the closest approximation to this particular occasion.

Sergei was up on point while Karl brought up the rear, leading them through a safe passage through the increasingly devastated docks. The sniper held a fist up to signal a halt as they neared the crater. Despite it being substantially smaller when Alaric and Typhon slammed into it, the sheer intensity of Alaric's final attack had widened it considerably. It measured over thirty metres in diameter and was over ten feet deep. Literally burned and melted through the deck like a massive blowtorch or even a starship's main engines on launch.

Such an incredible amount of power focused on one point.

As he moved up to the rim, Sergei's sharper eyes saw ground zero which caused him to stop in his tracks just as he was about to enter the crater. In the middle of this massive scorched basin, obscured by the haze where the entirety of the stone pavings turned to glass and metal turned to slag, was Alaric and Typhon. Spiked hair was the definitive proof as to Alaric's identity and the sprawled out wings signified Typhon. And, to Sergei's horror, it appeared that both combatants were dead in the crater as Alaric was knelt over Typhon and both were deathly still. Held up by the axe that was lodged within Typhon's chest. Smoke emanated from their bodies as if plucked from a furnace, coming from the cocoon of glassy slag that encased them. Locking them in their final moments of life and battle.

"Oh god." Sergei gasped, holding a hand to his mouth.

"What is it?" Andrezj called through the fog. "Is it Alaric?"

Sergei didn't turn around to see them as his gauss rifle dropped from slackened fingers. He rubbed his eyes with his now free hand as he tried to think how to best tell them. How could he tell them that their fellow soldier, possibly the most ultimate of bad asses, was dead and turned to glass? He took his hand from his mouth as gestured his squad to approach.

"You know how they... found those bodies in Pompeii?" he started, pointing down the crater.

The rest of the squad joined him up at the rim and, once the smoke cleared more and they could make out what Sergei meant, their reactions spoke louder then words. A mixture of shock and abject horror. Kra'vyx arrived next to them and his eyes widened when he saw what was in the crater. Clicking his mandibles nervously, he looked back to Ja'anya who was approaching them. Her face betrayed the fear that she kept bottled up.

"Sister, don't look!" he urged, rushing to hold her back.

"Let me see!" Ja'anya demanded, pushing him aside as she reached the mouth of the crater.

She reached the edge of the crater and she stopped in her tracks. She didn't utter a word from what she saw but simply fell to her knees. Kra'vyx knelt down to hold her as she bowed her head and shut her eyes.

"I'm sorry, sister." Kra'vyx consoled, holding her close.

Varlin by now had joined them and saw the remains of Alaric, pulling the pipe from his mouth in controlled dismay. Dwarves were never ones to lose to their emotions, outside jovial occasions involving typically involving drinks and raucous singing.

"...I'll get Krags and his crew to come and... dig him out." Varlin sighed. "Give him a proper burial."

Andrzej nodded in agreement with the thane's order. It was the least that they could do for Alaric. The only question was wither cremation or space burial. Perhaps he could be buried on the planet below. Until then they had to figure how to get Alaric out of his crater grave.

"Squad, fall out and... get ready for burial detail." Andrzej told the squad.

"I'm gonna need drink." Sergei muttered as the squad left.

"Second." Karl added.

The Archangels left the crater, soon followed by Kra'vyx. Varlin started to follow after them when he noticed Ja'anya hadn't moved. He sighed as he walked towards her.

"Lass?" he asked.

"I'm fine, I just... want a moment alone." Ja'anya told the thane.

Varlin nodded as he understood her request. Some things are best left private.

"Take as long as you need." Varlin assured her before he left. "Let it all out."

It was only after everyone had left and she was alone that she finally let the tears flow. It was not a torrent but a slow and steady trickle. In yautja culture it was not permitted to weep over the death of a hunter on account of their death. Rather one should be proud that they faced their death with honour. Alaric did just that and Ja'anya was proud of that. But at the same time, she was sad in that the life she had envisioned with him was no longer possible.

The thought of raising a family with him. The chance of him becoming a father a second time. She would have gladly carried his child.

Wiping her eyes, Ja'anya stood and was about to leave when she heard something. There was the sound of crystalline cracking. She stopped misstep when she heard it. At first she though she had stepped on from slag but it did not come from her feet. It was faint at first but then started to get louder. And it was coming from inside the crater.

Turning back to the crater, Ja'anya saw the impossible made possible. The remains of Alaric were moving. Slowly, jerkily, but definitely moving. Like some kind of butterfly trying to push out of it's petrified chrysalis. Small flakes of slag chipped off from the joints that was soon followed by larger larger chunks. Underneath this slag was a layer of burnt metallic tree roots. Roots that were slowly writhing underneath that layer of crystalline matter. As more parts of Alaric was being exposed, more of those flexing roots were seen. These then dropped off shortly after the slag fell off. A loud crunch filled the air as the slag covering his hands fell apart and she saw his fingers flexing open stiffly. Then the slag covering his hair slowly chipped off as his hair drooped down.

Finally with a loud ringing shattering of glass, the slag encasing Alaric fell off completely and released a very much alive but almost suffocated Alaric who tumbled on top of the remains of Typhon. The impact of his fall knocked the air from his lungs as he let out a pained groan. Ja'anya's eye went so wide that they threatened to pop out of their sockets as an ecstatic smile curled her mandibles up.

"Oh fuck, that hurt!" Alaric cursed, holding his head.

Everyone still walking away from the crater stopped when they heard Alaric's cry. They couldn't quite believe what they just heard. And then they heard Ja'anya's cries of joy.

"Alaric?!" Ja'naya said, hope rising into her voice. "Alaric! He's alive!"

Against all odds, Alaric had survived once again. Albeit just barely alive as he slowly but surely got up on his arms with a quiver. Slag and burnt roots flaked off him as Alaric heaved himself up on his feet, coughing hard as he sucked precious air into his lungs and just as quickly coughed up blood. He was truly a sorry sight. His already battle damaged armour was now burnt, pitted and cracked from both flame and lightning. Even crystallised in some areas. Dried blood from his many wounds painted him in faux war paint and his let eye was clenched tightly while his right was wide open.

He looked more then ever like a dead man walking.

Kra'vyx was the first to rush up and his mandibles widened before he gave out a roar in absolute joy. The Archangels reached the cusp of the crater and, after it clicked in their heads that Alaric was indeed alive and breathing, let out a much relieved cheer. Varlin arrived and he loudly gave off a yell of surprise and then relief in his native tongue. Praise that his lord's bloodline had not ended as he feared.

"By the ancestors, it is a miracle!" Varlin praised, holding his cane up in celebration.

"Alaric, you lucky son of a bitch!" Hicks cheered.

Alaric on the other hand was not celebrating his survival as loudly as his onlookers were. He was still getting over the fact that he narrowly avoided death yet again. And this was far closer then any other time he had previously been in. He was almost certain that he was going to die taking Typhon down. But once again, despite insurmountable odds, he had survived. And it was the armour growing it's protective roots that ultimately saved him.

Barely.

After getting to grips with his survival, he looked down at his latest kill to add to his long and sortied list. Though technically speaking, this was a repeat of his second last kill. Typhon was still laying motionless on the deck, his host corpse smoking and smouldering. Spellbreaker was still lodged in him, the weapon dormant once more. It would seem now that he was finally and definitely killed. There was no other hosts for him left to assume control over. His praetorian guard, the only possible candidate to house his soul, was slaughtered by Alaric before hand. It took a few agonising tugs to wrench his weapon free of Typhon's corpse. Spellbreaker left it's petrified prison with a loud glassy squelch before Alaric tumbled painfully back onto the slag field around him. Part groaning and part cursing as he hefted himself back on his knees, he surveyed the dead Primarch before him. There was a massive void carved out of his torso by both Spellbreaker's blade and the aethyric energies that burned through him. A wound that still smouldered black and acrid smoke.

"You really fucked him up, Alaric." Sergei called.

Alaric looked up at them with a exasperated frown before looking down on the broken corpse in front of him and spat blood right on it. While partially aware that this was Dioneke's body that had been used as a host, his anger towards Typhon was still bubbling in his breast.

"Do us all a favour and fucking stay dead." Alaric spat. "Don't make me kill you a third time."

Though he wondered whether or not he would be actually able to kill Typhon a third time if he suddenly came back to life and attacked him. He certainly did not feel in the best of state to do so as he slowly trod his way up the crater. Each step felt like it was going to be his last. He was sluggishly using Spellbreaker as an anchor point as he neared the peak.

"Stand back, give him space." Varlin ordered, ushering everyone form the crater as Alaric reached the summit.

And it was here that they could see just how severe the wounds Alaric had endured in his duel. Alaric reached the top before he retched hard, coughing up more blood onto the deck as he fell to his knees. He could feel his entire body flare up with every movement and he could feel his bones shift and grind against their new neighbours. A sensation that was now more notable then before, even with the suit holding him together. Pulling himself on Spellbreaker's haft, he got to his feet once more. Blood continued to drip around him, making a steady foot more difficult to gain on the increasingly slippery ground. He was having difficulty walking too as his strength kept giving out every other step and using Spellbreaker as a walking stick for balance. His left eye had taken severe damage from Typhon's incendiary grip as he forced it open. The skin that was exposed was red and blistered and his eye was now completely red with blood slowly trickling down his face like it had nearly burst. He was now blind out of that eye as evidenced by the dilated pupil when he waved his free hand in front of his face. He quickly shut his eye after accepting the extent of the damage.

Without the armour, he would be as dead as Typhon was. He was practically nearly dead at this moment. It was through sheer stubbornness that he didn't just drop unconscious there and now. Not until he knew that Ja'anya was safe. He saw Ja'anya standing amongst the squad and he cracked a pained but relieved grin of bloody teeth.

"Alaric, you look like shit." Andrzej called out.

Alaric coughed and spat some more clotting blood from his mouth before holding his head from the exertion as he sat down.

"And you're still the master of the obvious, captain." he chuckled before the pain made him stop. "Seriously, don't make me laugh. I felt my skull shift." he said, holding his head.

Sarah walked over towards Alaric and started to inspect the damage up close. It was not something that the medic had lack of experience doing, seeing as it became a certainty whenever Alaric was on a mission and there was a notably savage opponent to defeat. She could definitely confirm that the armour been taking the majority of the damage inflicted upon him with exception for areas where it was lighter on protection, his left arm being the main indicator from having his shoulder shattered. The most pressing issue she saw, aside from any internal injuries that the armour was supporting, was Alaric's eye as she gently peeled the eyelids back. Seeing how it was akin to a blood bag, there was a high chance that the eye itself would have to be removed and replaced with a cybernetic replica. But then, Alaric had a knack for retaining body parts even after severe injury.

"Well, your eye is mostly intact." she reported dryly, checking with her gauss rifle's lamp and seeing no pupil response. "Won't be seeing out of it for some time."

"Hey Alaric, how many fingers am I holding up?" Hicks asked, holding up three.

Alaric, promptly and with a smirk, gave Hicks the finger. The squad laughed at the typical marine gesture as Alaric started to heave himself up on his feet.

"His sight's fine." Karl confirmed with a chuckle.

Alaric got to his feet with a slight shake. Sarah reached to assist him but he waved her off. Looking at his hand that was just barely grabbing onto Spellbreaker's haft, he saw his blood seeping into the leather grip from fingers, welling up when pressure was applied. Like the axe itself was bleeding from the battle. The weapon was going to need a serious clean up after all of this. He would need a good clean up after all of this.

"I think I'm out of action for the next month." he muttered, getting to his feet and nearly slipping again. "Make that two."

"Come, my lord." Varlin beckoned, pointing back at the Karak. "We'll get you fixed up in no time. In fact, we can all do with a fix up. And a nice ale to go with it."

That was met with agreement from everyone present. The though of a cold drink after a hard pressed battle did wonders for morale. Karl heartily agreed, stating that good drink was mandatory after a successful operation. With that, everyone proceeded to go back inside the ship. The Archangels moved on with Varlin as Alaric, insisting that he was not helpless, began to walk at a slow pace while trying not to fall over. Ja'anya saw through this and rushed over to him as one leg gave out under him, threatening to send him face first into rubble. She deftly caught him before he fell. Alaric looked up at her as she hefted him up and pulled his arm over her shoulder. Almost like like that day they first met.

"I suppose this brings back memories?" Alaric asked her as she took his weight on her shoulder.

"Yes it does." she said as Kra'vyx hurried over to support Alaric's other shoulder. "Yes it does. Only you were was less fucked up back then."

"You really are the most badass warrior I've ever seen." Kra'vyx praised, his joy apparent on his smiling face. "Better then the Black Warrior himself."

Which in of itself was a bold statement. The Black Warrior, the yautja equivalent to the Grim Reaper, was considered to be the unbeatable foes that always claimed his due. But that also brought up a burning question in light of a key moment of the battle. Light figuratively being the form of Gri'nyr projecting itself around Alaric.

"Alaric, was what the dwarf said about you true?" Ja'anya asked.

Alaric looked to her with concern in his eyes.

"About what?" he questioned, inwardly dreading what she was about to say.

"Being part yautja." she clarified.

Alaric simply shrugged indifferently now that the secret was out. It was perfectly laid out bare for all to see the moment Gri'nyr showed himself. This was all they needed to know.

"...I see." Ja'anya said before she adjusted his arm around her shoulders. "Well, it... certainly changes things."

"I was going to tell you." Alaric told her, sighing dejectedly. "I just needed time to figure how. Had trouble comprehending myself. Stretches so far back."

"You'll find somewhere to start. I know it." she assured him.

But where would Alaric start? How could he start? In less then a day he had his whole world turned upside down from Gri'nyr's revelation about his lineage. Perhaps, maybe he could be the one to explain. At least in the stage where his spartan ancestors entered the equation. But, that could wait for now. For now, a visit to the medical bay and a good night's rest was on the agenda.

As they walked back to the Karak amidst the debris field, with thoughts focused on a much need drink and medical attention, everyone bore witness to a strange phenomenon. It looked like a power failure happening in the docks. All the lights were dimming and flickering like candles blowing in a draft. On a ship or space station, this was a troubling sign. It was an indication of imminent power failure. And without power, there would be no gravity to keep them from floating and no air to breath.

"Shit, looks like we're getting power failures in the docks." Karl pointed out.

"It's not a power outage." Varlin said. "Architect constructs don't just lose power."

"Either case, that storm certainly compromised something" Andrzej surmised "Lets hurry and get aboard before the whole dock vents us into space."

"Second." Mac agreed. "I don't fancy getting spaced. Again."

But at that moment, something more perplexing was occurring then flickering lights. Not the lights of the docks dimming. But rather, every source of light was dimming. The lights in the dock. The lights on the Karak. Even the lights on their weapons were losing power. Only that it was not their power source being dampened but rather darkness was overcoming the lights. It was almost like a black mist had suddenly emerged.

"What is this shit?" Sergei said, looking at his dimming lamp.

There was nothing natural about this. Alaric was the first to hear it. Not a noise from around them but from within his head. It was a voice. A voice that he did not want to hear but it filled every corner of his being as his eyes suddenly began to weep blood and the whispers began to make themselves known.

"I'm growing weary of your insolence." Typhon growled.

Kra'vyx looked at Alaric when he heard dripping next to him. His eyes widened when he saw the blood trickling down Alaric's face.

"Alaric's eyes are bleeding!" Kra'vyx cried.

The Archangels' hurriedly turned to Alaric, shocked by his weeping eyes before their gaze slowly looked upwards. Pure terror was painted on their faces as they frantically brought their weapons up.

"Alaric, behind!"Andrzej yelled, aiming his gauss rifle.

Alaric looked behind him as and his weeping eyes widened in barely contained shock. Emerging from the crater was a great menacing cloud of pure darkness. It was Typhon but not of physical form. Rather it was an incorporeal form. A ghost. And this was nothing like his previous form. Instead of any form; be it human, xenomorph or whatever, it was an amorphous mass that was vaguely humanoid, lacking legs but definitely sporting arms and a head. Six massive black wings that sucked the very light out of the air unfurled from his back. But perhaps the most horrifying aspect is that this darkness appeared to have been made up of faces. Many thousands of faces. Some of which were humanoid but many others were completely alien. The remnant of the many races that Typhon had consumed.

It was demonic in every sense of the word. A physical manifestation of the hive mind. Many individuals melded to form one.

If he had the strength, he would have push Ja'anya and Kra'vyx to safety. But he had difficulty walking, let alone fighting. Varlin, the old dwarf whose calm was considered rock steady, began to waver, sputtering on his pipe.

"It's not possible!" Varlin gasped. "He hasn't got a host to take!"

"Get out of there, Alaric!" Andrzej shouted, priming his gauss rifle. "Covering fire!"

The Archangels fired their weapons at the apparition of Typhon as Ja'anya and Kra'vyx hurriedly heaved Alaric away but the rounds just passed right through. There was nothing physical about it at all to hit. Typhon chuckled in sadistic malevolence at this futile show of resistance as the rounds passed through him like smoke. Each round dispelling one of the many faces, only for another to reform. Seeing that this was not effective, the Archangels primed their grenade launchers, setting the shells to airburst. Hoping that explosive force could destabilise his form like how plasma bolts disrupted the wraiths, the Archangels fired a volley into the towering behemoth of shadows. The grenades punched into Typhon before detonating with only dim flashes and a deafened cacophony of explosions. The grenades proved to be just as useless as the bullets as Typhon suppressed the explosive force within his fleshless form with a haunting chuckle of malevolence.

Malevolence born from a disdain of lesser life.

"The Ossians fathered your bastard race and crafted me to be your end!" Typhon roared like a storm just as Alaric was hauled past the Archangels.

A powerful wave of concussive force blasted everyone back, fast and brutally hard into the debris field. Ja'anya found herself torn from Alaric, as did Kra'vyx as they hurtled after the Archangels and Varlin. Alaric was the only one not affected even though everyone else was blasted back like leaves in a gust, him suddenly stopping in place, He looked down and saw that he had been actually impaled by glowing slivers of black energy. They did not actually puncture the flesh and armour but they certainly felt like it as Alaric felt the sharp agonising jolts right up his battered spine. Looking down, his weeping eyes saw tendrils of dark matter pouring out of these blades like a spider's web to restrain the already weakened marine.

The Archangels, Varlin, Kra'vyx and Ja'anya crashed into the debris field fast and hard. The humans felt the impacts more as they writhed on the ground in clear pain. Their armour, showing the sheer force of the wave, had buckled like they had been hit by a speeding truck. Varlin, his constitution far more robust, was less affected despite landing head first with only disorientation. Kra'vyx landed relatively safely but then had to hastily catch Ja'anya from striking on a jagged support beam, taking the impact for her and tearing himself up in the process. Even so, it was enough to incapacitate them.

With them out of the way, Typhon focused on Alaric trapped in his spectral prison of spikes. The focus of his wrath born from millennia of imprisonment beforehand at the hands of his ancestors. And he would do so in a fittingly sadistic manner. Alaric yelled in pain as he felt himself being lifted up from the ground, impaled as it where by the spectral blades. Spellbreaker fell out of his grasp and clanged to the deck as the runes' glow died out. His hand axes then suddenly fell from his thighs, disarmed by the black tendrils snaking around his limbs. He was carried high up until he was face to face with Typhon. Those on the ground, dazed and battered, were helpless to do anything but watch.

The Primarch's face, while distinctly still in the image of the corinthian helmet of his previous host, was changing. Not the multitude of ghostly faces that was constantly shifting but the face plates were merging into one seamless mask as nubs grew out of the brow into curved and wicked points arranged like the spines of a crown. And eyes flashed purple in a fashion that the yautja used to unnerve their prey.

Typhon's many faced visage had taken of the image of that horned mask. An image he never forgot since that traumatic day on that forest world. Of the yautja who had taken everything from him twice. Alaric's eyes widened as he felt the whispers deafen him.

A loud avian cry was heard, catching Alaric's attention and Aegis came swooping in. His feathers bright with power, the sheildhawk tried to save his master from Typhon's clutches like before. But the metallic hawk was not close to even standing against Typhon now. Another punishing wave of force was shot out from the Primarch's ethereal form and Aegis, plus everyone on the ground were blown back once again. Those already on the ground found themselves skidding all the way back to the Karak, amidst a tumbling deluge of rubble. Aegis on the other hand slammed into the Karak's hull with a notable thud. The hawk bounced off before tumbling to the deck, fortunately landing on Ja'anya's lap.

For Alaric, more black shards punched into the armour of his forearms and on his back, smoky chains wrapping around his limbs like snakes made of mist and pulling them taught. Like he was nailed of a crucifix The gauntlets and phasecasters glowed in resistance to this intrusion as mist latched onto them and Alaric could feel them being pulled with increasing force. Such force that he could feel his skin underneath tugging. Like he had hundreds of fish hooks stabbed into him. Sparks started to buzz out of the joins as the plating began to move further from his body.

Everyone could only watch helpless on the deck as Alaric was getting tortured right in front of them. Seeing his forearms wreathed in black light and seeing the plating of protecting them tug and wrench, they were certain that Typhon was trying to rip his arms off. Varlin reached for his comms.

"Stonefather!" he hailed desperately. "Kazrik, answer me!"

There was no answer on the other side. Bringing up his holoscreen, he was greeted with a horrifying sight. Korrina was slumped on her throne, limply twitching with blood trickling from her mouth and nose. Kazrik was face down on the ground in front of her, smouldering profusely and his beard stained red. Both were being frantically seen to by Kila and the medics, the priest being rolled over onto his back. The priest's eye had rolled to the back of his head in a comatose stupor. The diamon on his circlet had now turned black as obsidian. Kila frantically started to try and resuscitate him.

They were in no state to even try and suppress Typhon now. No state to help Alaric escape from the Primarch's clutches.

Looking up, Ja'anya saw the armour protecting Alaric about to give out as the lights suddenly ceased and the undersuit began to stretch beyond what it could tolerate.

"Alaric!" Ja'anya screamed.

With a sickening tear and flash of sparks, the gauntlets on his forearms detached from the suit, the metal plating tore the under suit and most of Alaric's skin with it as it did. And then his phasecasters followed suit, plucked from his back like plucking the wings off of a bothersome fly. Alaric let out a genuine scream of pain as blood streamed from his exposed flesh, lacking both armour and skin now, as his forcefully relinquished armour clattered to the deck. It was enough to make anyone watching flinch from this act of flaying as his blood dripped down to the deck.

It would appear that the notion of the armour acting as a 'second skin' was fully validated as the armour tried to stem the bleeding with more roots. But with such damage already sustained in the battle, it was severely impeded as the roots failed to cover all of the exposed flesh as the bleeding continued.

While the yautja did practice flaying bodies to some extent, it was done on already dead individuals as a means to deter intruders or signifying unworthy prey. Only bad bloods practice flaying live subjects.

Alaric had effectively been disarmed now in every way possible. No weapons to attack and no armour to defend. Not that Alaric was not in any state to resist any further. Battered, bloody and utterly exhausted. And now at the mercy of the incorporeal primarch. For the first time in his life, Alaric felt utterly helpless. And afraid.

And Typhon could sense that. In fact, it emboldened him in his plan to cheat death once again. His form engulfed Alaric like ink in water. Ja'anya could could only watch in horror as Alaric was pulled into Typhon's abyssal form. Just as her nightmare had predicted.

"Let the Dark inside, Slayer!" was the last thing Alaric heard before he lost consciousness as the darkness overtook him.