Let us begin with the finale; once again this chapter will be divided into two parts, and I'll publish the second as soon as possible. I'd like to thank AlwaysBetOnVoid(now MALsaint) and AlbertSteiner134 for their support for all my stories and those in planning; thank you guys, very much appreciated.
Also as its October the 29th, happy Cyrus Day to all of you! This day is in honor of the Persian Emperor Cyrus the II, also known as Cyrus the Great.
Chapter XII
Part I
After Seneca's injury had been looked after, as best as circumstances allowed, and Pericles believed to have located the nearest mansion, the Kill Team got moving again. Everyone was tense, troubled by the thought of going into the forest below that was swarming with Tyranids. Cyrus caught a glance of the medicae, who forced herself to remain calm and controlled on the outside, though her whole body was undeniably tense, fear in her eyes. Her gloved hands were still covered with blood, the Apothecary's, almost clinging to her Hellgun. Captain Pericles shared her tension, even if his fright wasn't as apparent. The Untouchable on the other hand seemed surprisingly calm; perhaps these "soulless" truly felt no fear. Still, he looked less than thrilled.
With their faces hidden beneath their helmets, Cyrus couldn't read his brothers, and while neither of them felt fear, not in the sense that a normal human did, at least the Blood Raven's nerves were frayed. He still carried his sniper rifle across his back; in the coppice the long weapon was a hindrance, and so he once more had drawn the Plasma and Bolt Pistols.
The three uninjured Astartes had taken the Acolytes and Seneca in their midst, all staying close together. Cyrus couldn't deny that the Untouchable's presence was affecting him as well, and being so close again was highly uncomfortable; it felt like a migraine only that it began to spread throughout his entire body. But pain was an old acquaintance to an Astartes, and he would endure this as well, besides, his focus was required on other things.
The team wandered down a serpentine path that went along the mountain side, deeper and deeper until they first got beneath the tree tops, and finally reached the forest ground. The coppice was thick, shrubs, leaves and branches hindering the view, the trunks of trees covered with twines and thorny flowers in shining colors. The light itself was dim, even more than in the little forest on the mountain, and from everywhere they heard Tyranids. They could hear countless of them rushing through the forest, but were as they had heard them merely snarling and hissing before, screeching and squealing had joined in. It were sounds of pain.
They moved cautiously through the coppice, guided by Captain Pericles, who was using a compass to navigate them. They were going south and further away from the citadel, everyone on constant alert. For a few minutes they saw none of the aliens, but as soon as they spotted the first ones, they knew that their efforts had been met with success. Hormagaunts ran through the coppice, aimless attacking everything on sight. Cyrus watched, not without a certain satisfaction, how two of them began to hack a third into pieces, before going at each other. Their scything talons cut deeply into their bodies, finding soft, weak spots at joint and between the external skeleton. With their pointy fangs they tried to bite through each other's throats, until both lay dead, their bloody limbs still entangled.
"Instinctive behavior." Apothecary Seneca spoke, his voice lower ever since he had lost his arm, and Cyrus briefly looked at him, before returning his attention to their surroundings. "Without the Tyrant they are left without anything to guide them."
"And if other synapse creatures were around?" Nadim asked, regarding the dead Tyranids.
"Some might be powerful enough to keep order among the xenos near them, and do not rely on the Tyrant to convey the will of the Hive Mind, such as the Zoanthropes we killed, but there won't be a large scale attack. Others like the Genestealers are designed to work independently from the Hive Fleets, but the countless Gaunts are mindless on their own, with only the instinct to kill and to survive. They will kill everything in their path, so I fear that those already in the citadel will still continue to slaughter the defenders."
"And us?"
"Well, Nadim that depends on how much Mr. Taylor's aura agonizes them." Seneca replied, nodding once towards the Untouchable. "If we are fortunate, their instincts will tell them to run away from it."
Cyrus frowned; he knew that Hormagaunts were known to pursue their prey without any regards to their injuries or pain they suffered. If this was true for even those uncontrolled by the Hive Mind, it would be a long and bloody way to the mansion. But for the time being they were not attacked. Mostly they only heard the creatures rushing and fighting through the forest, and often they passed trees and plants covered with dark alien blood, limbs that had been severed, as well as claw marks in wood and stone.
Whenever a Gaunt came bursting out of the coppice, it would suddenly hold in, screech and shake its head, sometimes its entire body, and run away again, while the few that dared to attack them died swiftly and without causing harm. Like a bow wave the Untouchable's aura pushed every creature aside as it seemed, and more than once they could see the Tyranids simply running away from them. Hormagaunts were not the only creatures roaming the forest; Termagants, similar to the Gaunts but with range weapon rather than scythe-like talons crossed their path as well. Whatever else lurked in the darkness escaped their eyes. They also came across a great number of dead Rippers. Most were uninjured, simply lying dead.
Rippers were only teeth and a body to store what they devoured, no brain, no mind was wasted on them, only nerves to relay simple impulses, and so the death of the Tyrant had cut them off the Hive Mind, and with no control, their bodies ceased to function. Some had been hacked to pieces by other Tyranids, or torn apart by the organic weapons of their ilk.
They marched on, weapons ready, pointed at the shadows of the forest. The Blood Raven heard something nearby, and through the broken branches of a nearby shrub he saw one of the creatures, ignoring the presence of the few humans nearby, perhaps just out of the Untouchable's aura's reach. With disgust and repulsion, Cyrus briefly watched as the Hormagaunt hastily tore flesh from its dead ilk, hungrily swallowing the chunks of meat as if it was starving. Its fast metabolism probably constantly demanded more food, and indeed, Hormagaunts were known to always took a bite from their victims whenever they killed. He also remembered that unlike most Tyranids, this kind could reproduce on its own, lay eggs to produce exact copies of itself in order to provide a new wave of attacking creatures, once the parent had died. Cyrus lifted his Bolt Pistol and fired once, the round tearing the Gaunt's blood covered head apart, the body collapsing on top of the one it had been feeding upon.
It had probably been a needless kill; if Victoria Primus survived this battle, this entire forest would have to be burned down to ensure that none of the aliens survived. The cities would suffer the same fate, destroyed and turned to ash to be rebuild anew, and for decades to come the Inquisition would have its wary eyes upon the planet. Still, Victoria Primus would live; if they won.
They had marched for about twenty minutes when Cyrus spotted something between the trees. Like fog, sickly yellowish vapour crawled around the trunks and branches, approaching them from the shadows. "Hold on." The vapour alarmed the Blood Raven, who knew only one thing that could have created it, the team stopping in their tracks as well. "Move back now!"
"What is it?" The Untouchable asked puzzled.
Nadim answered, having come to the same conclusion as Cyrus. "Venomthrope; Acolytes stay away from it!"
"And keep away from the vapour!" Apothecary Seneca added. "It's a spore cloud with highly sophisticated phage organisms, inimical to all non-Tyranid life." The team moved back, against the wind, however light it was in the forest, thankfully still keeping the approaching fog in front of them. They returned to a location nearby, where the vegetation was not as dense, and would soon allow them to see their real enemy. Seneca turned to Cyrus. "We better keep our distance as well; my wound will easily get infected by it, and your scout armour I fear won't be sufficient either." Nadim and Quintus were in front, the only ones whose armour protected them completely and Cyrus switched to his sniper again; here he had actually room to operate this long weapon, and apparently only a single enemy.
The medicae had lifted her weapon as well, aiming into the forest from where the vapour was coming from, her voice displaying her concern. "What will it do to us then? The vapour."
"At first nausea, and uncontrollable muscle spasms." The Ultramarine explained, his sword in his remaining hand, glowing comparatively brightly in the forest, small blue flashes dancing over the blade itself from time to time. "After being exposed too long the phage, they gain a foothold your body, multiplying, spreading through the system and breaking down organs and other tissue."
"With all due respect, Milord, but there is no need to go on."
"There isn't any more, Mr. Taylor." Seneca remarked. "At that point you die, drowning in your own fluids."
"Delightful." Cyrus heard the Untouchable mutter dryly.
The scout sergeant watched the vapour through his scope, but received no clue as to where the Venomthrope was hiding in it. All they could do now was wait, and watch the vapour crawling closer, slowly surrounding them.
The first thing they saw of it was its tentacles, pushing aside branches, as if they themselves were growing from the undergrowth. They were pure muscles, swaying back and forth, with hooks and single talons like sharp daggers at their ends, their surface shimmering with what Cyrus assumed to be poison. The vapour grew thicker, and even the leaves began to turn brown. Briefly Cyrus looked over his shoulder; the Acolytes were still behind him out of the yellow fog's reach, while it reached his feet, and began to crawl up his legs. Soon he felt the uncovered skin on his face prickle and burn, proving Seneca's earlier assumption, and he took a few more steps back, as Nadim and Quintus were more and more swallowed by the vapour.
It was at this point that the Red Scorpion had enough of waiting. His bolter roared in the twilight of the forest, its wrath aimed at the center of the tentacles. Indeed they shivered and quickly retreated, disappearing in fog and shadows. "That beast will plague us no longer." Quintus proclaimed confidently.
Cyrus raised his eyebrow. "Assuming you actually hit it."
"You saw it flee, Raven."
"Leaving our sight and running away are two very different things, Quintus. I doubt we've seen the last of it."
"If it does show itself again, I will simply finish what I've started." The Scorpion replied venomously, reminding Cyrus why he disliked this particular brother so, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Quintus. Someone who served the Deathwatch should know better than to underestimate the xenos, but due to his fanatical hatred, Qunitus thought them inferior to himself in any way.
As if to prove a point, tentacles shot out of the coppice, not from where Quintus had driven the Venomthrope off, but directly to his left. Even with his fast reflexes, three tentacles had swiftly wrapped themselves around him, restricting any of his movements. Nadim and Cyrus raised their own weapons, but the Tyranid was somewhere behind their brother, using his body like a shield in front of it. They heard Quintus curse, as he vanished more and more in the fog, and he reached with one hand for his combat knife, his bolter kept in check by one of the Venomthrope's limbs. Cyrus meanwhile changed his position, looking for one that would allow him a clean shot at the beast's head.
"Don't shoot it!"
The Blood Raven stopped, while in confusion Nadim turned his head to the Apothecary. "Why?!"
"The gas in its sacks could explode!" Seneca answered him. "As long as it has Quintus in its grasp, it would injure or even kill him!"
Cyrus snarled; this hadn't been in the Tyranid profiles he had received. Likely as the Apothecary, Seneca had received more detailed reports, especially about something like a Venomthrope and the vile toxins it spread.
"I thought it was merely poisonous!" The Salamander replied, the helmet making his growling sound even deeper.
"The components that make it float reacted violently, mostly the hydrogen, not the toxin itself!" The Apothecary explained.
Quintus meanwhile was trying to cut off one of the tentacles holding him. While the body of a Venomthrope was light, the muscles of its tentacles were strong in order to retrain its prey, the hooks trying to stab through the weaker parts of the Scorpion's armor at the joints. One successful scratch, and the poison would enter his system, and even an Astartes would struggle with something so potent. Cyrus had little doubt that it had been created with enemies like the Emperor's Angels of Death themselves in mind. "Then we cut it off." The Blood Raven noted.
Nadim, who needed both hands to carry his cannon, would be of little help, but Seneca was going to Quintus' aid, despite the stump. They would have to deal with that later, should it get infected. Cyrus was drawing is combat knife as well, when he heard something rustling to his right. Swiftly he turned around, lifting his arm just as fast, when a tentacle came at him, aiming for his unprotected head. A second Venomthrope had appeared, and Cyrus growled, angry that he let himself get ambushed by such a creature. Could there be even more in the fog? It was the first time he got a good look at it; the Venomthrope looked like a mix between a Zoanthrope and a Lictor. The body was long and snake-like with no legs, all six limbs ending in venom-dripping tentacles of different lengths and thickness. It's head was very much like that of a Lictor, the same short feeder tentacles instead of a teeth-filled snout. Excrescences, like small shields grew from its hunched back, the yellow vapour rising out of them, and under the large scales of its back, Cyrus could see round sacks, a green, doubtlessly poisonous substance covering them.
The beast was wrapping one of its tentacles around his gauntlet and the combat knife, though it avoided the blade, while Cyrus' right arm remained free; still he was holding his sniper with it, which was rendered useless at this point. He felt how it tried to pull him closer, through while its muscles were quite strong, they didn't match those of an Astartes, and its light body was clearly a disadvantage in this struggle. It would have been easy to pull it close, but then the Venomthrope's other, shorter tentacles would be in reach. Already the other two longer ones were reaching for him, and Cyrus was forced to use his sniper rifle to keep them at bay, disgusted by the poison that began to run over his favored weapon as they wrapped around it. He needed to act fast; the hooks, while not being able to pierce power armor, would certainly not be stopped by fabric, even one as durable as that used for his uniform.
"Nadim!" Cyrus called for his brother, getting the Salamander's attention immediately. "Tackle!"
Needing no explanation Nadim charged at them, the Venomthrope's yellow eyes spotting the Astartes as well. The Blood Raven saw how it tried to detach itself from him again, realizing the danger, but he stabbed his knife into the thickest of the tentacles, twisted the blade once to keep it from getting away. The Tyranid struggled, hissing in pain, but the blade only cut deeper. Like a freight train Nadim hit the beast, its lighter-than-air body offering next to no resistance. At the same time Cyrus pulled, tearing off one of the tentacles, while the beast was slammed against the nearby tree. Both Astartes could hear not only the wood crack, but the chitin scales and body of the Tyranid break. To finish it off, Nadim delivered a powerful kick, breaking the chest, caving it in. The limbs twitched for a while, and less and less vapour emerged from its body, until it was utterly still. As soon as Nadim had removed his boot however, the corpse floated again, if only a few centimeters above the ground, as not all sacks were empty, with still some gas in them.
Meanwhile Cyrus tore off the rest of the tentacle that was still around his gauntlet, pulling his knife out of it before tossing the limb away. "Nasty things." The Salamander noted. "I hope we won't meet any more on our way." Both turned to their brothers, the yellow vapour beginning to lift, the view clearing; the other Venomthrope was dead as well, Seneca having hacked through the tentacles and then stabbed the Power Sword's blade into its head. Still the body kept floating, sinking only slowly, as Quintus tore off the last of the tentacles from his body. Neither of them appeared to be harmed.
"Come; let us get out of this mist." Cyrus told Nadim; his skin still felt irritated, and he could only imagine what the phages were doing to Seneca's wound.
They rejoined the Acolytes, at first only three dark shapes in the slowly clearing fog, who had been fortunate enough to have stayed out of it. Indeed the vapour stopped a mere meter in front of them, the weak breeze helping at keeping it at bay. The other two Astartes joined them as well, and it was just after stepping out of the fog that Cyrus staggered. For less than a moment the world had turned back in front of his eyes, sensations left his limbs, but quickly he caught himself again, a hand supportively against a tree's trunk.
"Brother, are you alright?" He heard Nadim's concerned voice next to him.
Cyrus shook his head to clear it. "I'm not sure." He admitted, the sudden symptoms troubling him. There was only one explanation. He searched his arms, first the right, then the left, finding a hole in the fabric of the latter, just underneath the gauntlet.
"Venomthrope poison." The Apothecary deduced, having come to their side as soon as he'd seen the Blood Raven staggering. "You are lucky it has only scratched you. What you received was likely merely a drop of its poisons." Indeed beneath the hole was a very fine and small cut. To Cyrus' surprise it had not closed, still a red line, fine as a hair, yet a drop of blood was running from it, and he assumed the poison was keeping his Larraman Cells' from working properly.
When his head began to feel lighter he sat down; if this substance had such effects on an Astartes like him, what would it have done to a normal human? "Do you have an antivenin?"
To Cyrus' relief the Apothecary nodded, though his remaining hand twitched once. "I managed to extract the specific Antibodies from the Genestealer blood last week. Without them the other Tyranids would fall victim to the poison as well; the Antibodies will bind with the toxin and allow your body to catabolise it, and since they are specific to the poison, will not be able to bind to any cells of your body."
"And you took it from Genestealers?" Cyrus was admittedly a little repulsed by the idea of getting some alien proteins injected into him; Quintus as a Red Scorpion would have rejected it without question.
"Designing an antivenin without a poison is impossible; it's either the Genestealer antibody or your body must deal with it on its own, and there is no telling what damage the poison will have done until then. You might even lose your arm."
The Blood Raven sighed, still not comfortable with the idea. "Fine; I take my chances with your antivenin."
Seneca nodded. "Good, one warning though." Cyrus raised his eyebrow suspiciously. "As it's not protein produced by your own body, you will likely have an immunoreaction."
"How severe?"
"I'm afraid I can't say, though as an Astartes you should be able to deal with it." He sounded confident, but it was difficult to tell with the helmet distorting his voice; once again Cyrus saw his hand twitching.
"You truly know how to inspire confidence in your patients." The Raven noted dryly, a grim smile hidden by his mask.
Seneca didn't reply, only turned to the nearby Acolytes. "Medicae Pravin; I gave you a few small vials before the mission."
The young woman reacted promptly and nodded. "Yes, Milord." She confirmed, already searching her pouches for something. "They are still all intact."
"You gave them to a medicae?" Quintus asked, his dismissive tone recognizable despite his helmet. Cyrus saw Nadim straightening his posture at the nature of the Scorpion's remark, and he could imagine how the Salamander's eyes narrowed. Cyrus sympathized; the haughtiness of their brother was growing insupportable.
"I was only able to extract small amounts of antivenin, and I tried to get vials for each one of us. I could administer it by my Narthecium, but just in case I have also given her some vials." The Ultramarine sighed. "Truthfully I feel it would be safer it she gave you the antivenin. The phages of the vapour are affecting me, and it would be irresponsible of me to tend to patients in my state." This certainly explained the twitches; if one occurred while administering the antivenin, the Narthecium could cut Cyrus' arm open, since it was as much tool as it was a weapon. No wonder he wanted medicae Pravin to aid him again.
"Can you tend to yourself?" Nadim asked concerned.
"I will be able to treat my symptoms." Seneca assured him. "Medicae, when you're ready I will also need you to change the dressing of my injury."
"Of course, sir." By this time she had prepared the antivenin, checking the fine needle to make sure she wouldn't inject air. With one hand she opened the hole in the fabric wide enough for her to operate, while Cyrus presented his arm to her. The scratch was very close to the bend of his elbow, the skin around it already dark blue by now. She was concentrated, if the look in her eyes was any indication, though he noticed a light tremble in her hands. Briefly he wondered whether it her momentary nervousness was merely the effect of their mission, or because she was not used to treating Astartes. The medicae injected the antivenin next to the scratch, Cyrus hardly noticing the fine needle, perhaps also because the tissue around it was dying off.
He gave her an appreciative nod, which she timidly returned, causing him to smile in brief amusement. Seneca meanwhile had injected himself with something from his Narthecium, managing not to injure himself while doing it. Medicae Pravin assisted him with removing the dressing of his wound, the stump already looking infected, pus gathering in some places. Carefully she began to clean and disinfect it, Seneca holding still as best as he could. Whatever he had treated himself with seemed to do its work, the twitches of his hand and arms lessening.
"I don't understand." Nadim spoke suddenly, breaking the silence while he regarded one of the Venomthrope's corpses. "Why did they engage us? Why weren't they driven off by the aura?"
"Venomthropes don't share the innate psychic link to the Hive Mind as other Tyranids." Seneca explained, as the medicae began to dress the wound again. "They are left to their own device, driven by their hunger and predatorily instincts. While they are to a lesser degree psychic, like all of their ilk, I assume the pain they suffered from Mr. Taylor's aura was only minimal."
"Have you seen the marks?" Cyrus added, pointing at long cuts across their carapaces none of the Astartes had inflicted. "The Hormagaunts must have attacked them. Perhaps they have realized that those beasts kept away from our position and sought refuge in the aura, same as us."
Slowly Nadim nodded. "A headache or being cut to pieces; not much of a choice."
"They chose wrongly." Quintus merely growled hatefully. No one replied; while their choice certainly had proved fatal, Cyrus would have preferred it, if they'd taken their chances with their uncontrolled ilk.
They only rested for a few more minutes. When he got back on his feet, Cyrus was glad and relieved that his condition seemed to be back to normal, minus a small rash around the scratch, the immunoreaction the Apothecary had mentioned, though at least the color had changed into a light blue and green, much like a healing bruise. The fingers of his left hand still felt a little numb, but he wasn't too concerned about that. By that time even Seneca at least appeared to be fine, and the vapour was all but gone, leaving behind brown leaves and dead plants. Only around some roots, some of the yellow fog was still lingering, and the Tyranid corpses were no longer floating. As they walked past them, Quintus kicked the Venomthrope that had attacked him once again, knocking the light body again a tree a few meters further, where it then disappeared in the coppice.
For a psyker like Nicomedo the Tyranid's advance was trying in several manners. He could feel them scratching inside his mind, screaming, so many voices all at once, like a crushing wave upon him. He felt weakened after taking out the Tervigon, the shields protecting his mind were weaker; to his horror he felt something trying to enter it, or was that merely a delusion? More spores were raining down upon the citadel, though the density of the shower had lessened significantly. Reports were coming in from all over the stronghold, telling of Tyranid encounters and losses in almost every sector.
Thankfully it seemed that it were mostly smaller beasts like Hormagaunt and Termagant the defenders faced, yet the Inquisitor had also heard of Warriors leading smaller hordes; well, small by Tyranid standards. A few Raveners had sown terror in one of the lowest sectors, tearing apart the entrenched Guardsmen, before heavy guns had ended their assaults, but as the attacks of Gaunts and Gargoyles continued, moral continued to suffer. Several smaller barricades had already been abandoned, the Guardsmen and PDF troops regrouping at better defended locations, usually junctions between individual sectors, where they were supported by tanks and walkers.
Mandrake and the remaining three men of the Governor's Guard had escorted Nicomedo back to the cathedral, taking cover in the central and largest of the three archways, where he could recover more safely from the effort of killing the Tervigon. He sat on the ground, his back leaned against the cold stone wall, his sword lying across his leg, and he still held on to it with one hand, the other limply on the ground. Artillery, bolter and las fire still filled the air, mixing with the screams of dying soldiers and attacking Tyranids, the combined sound deafening. Even through all of that, Nicomedo could hear the shrill screech of the Harpy somewhere in the distance.
"Mandrake." The Inquisitor was displeased with how low and weak his voice sounded, and he tilted his head slightly.
His Interrogator had watched the plaza with a concerned frown on his face, but swiftly turned when his mentor addressed him. "Yes, sir?"
"Tell me, where is the Harpy now?"
Cautiously the younger man left the cover of the archway, searching the sky, though one hand remained on the wall, as if he wanted to be able to pull himself back at any given moment. "Closing in on Spire Fiducia." He finally said.
Fiducia; the Adrastos had sought shelter at that spire. He needed to warn her. "Ship Mistress Sammael." His vox was buzzing with static, and he felt the anxiety crawling up within. Had they already been slain? What if something like the Tervigons had landed at their position as well? "Vivian!"
"I read you, Basil." Nicomedo breathed a sigh of relief, when he heard her voice, distorted, but undeniably hers.
He set aside his personal concerns, and quickly conveyed the situation to her. "A Tyranid, a Harpy is heading your way; it will look like a giant Gargoyle, and I want you to bring it down. Have all your guns target that beast, if possible before it screams, or it will incapacitate your men."
"Understood." Sammael didn't seem to be interested in more details, her response kept short. Nicomedo heard bolter fire in the background; there was likely no time for a more elaborate briefing. "We'll take it from the sky." She simply assured him.
Nicomedo smiled dryly, but was satisfied with her answer; he had no doubt that she would see it done. Few had managed to intimidate him during his career, but Vivian Sammael was one of those few individuals. "Emperor guide your aim." He told her.
"And yours, Nicomedo. Sammael out."
Nicomedo looked back at the sickly green sky; the Gargoyles still dominated it like a swarm of locust, while the clouds prevented him from seeing what was happening in orbit above the planet. Was the Fleet still holding out? One of the dangers was that should one of the ships fly too low and get destroyed, it would fall upon the citadel, like others had done during the Genestealer attack, crashing into Victoria Primus' cities. The Navy's ships were simply too large to burn up completely in the atmosphere.
He turned his attention back to the plaza, covered with bodies of Humans and Tyranids alike. Almost every one of them displayed the pain and suffering of their last moments, and Nicomedo prayed for their souls, a thought that he had avoided sneaking into his mind; perhaps he too would receive the Emperor's peace today. Would his Lord be satisfied with his deeds, he himself was not. It had been his mission to prevent the Tyranid Hive Fleet from reaching Victoria Primus, but now they were here. Briefly the Inquisitor wondered as what the aliens perceived humanity, as what the Hive Mind had labeled them. As he looked upon the dead, seeing how Gants had tried to bite pieces of their victims' flesh, Nicomedo had a suspicion; it was likely that the Tyranids only knew them and everything else in this galaxy as one thing.
Prey.
…
Ship Mistress Sammael tore her gaze from the skies, looking at her men protecting the walled platform with the Adrastos. Being relatively protected as it was located between two other Spires, Fiducia had not suffered as much as other parts of Seraphim Citadel, still her crew had taken down a fair number of Gargoyles and spores from the sky, their remains partially covering the platform as well as Sammael's beloved ship. Troubled and with sorrow she looked at her fallen men, few in number, but still she had handpicked them all, needing to be able to trust them, especially since she worked for the Inquisitor, known each of their names, their lives before their service on the Adrastos. Those who yet lived operated the Heavy Weapons, most courtesy of the Inquisition, others from her time as a Rogue Trader, while the rest kept close to the battlement's walls or took cover in the shadow of the ship, firing at any of the leather-winged monsters that came in sight.
The Ship Mistress herself had remained close to her ship as well, though Tyranid blood was already dripping from her saber, a few drops across her face, both on the mask and her brown skin. Whenever a Mycetic Spore had managed to reach the platform, she and her men had opened fire and often killed the beasts before they had been able to reach them. From Nicomedo she knew that those creatures had been Termagants and Hormagaunts, small compared to other aliens but fast and vicious. One of the later had leaped at her, its scythe-like talons outstretched to slice her to pieces, but her Plasma Pistol had put an end to it, shortly before her saber had beheaded another xeno.
As soon as Nicomedo had informed her of the Harpy creature, she had relayed he information to her men, ordering them to search the skies for it, declaring the Harpy a priority target. When a shrill shriek sounded from a distance, Sammael knew that it was closing in, briefly shaking her head once at a sting of pain that pierced through her head. No wonder Nicomedo had advised to kill it before it could scream; what would it do to them once the Harpy was circling over them. "All Lascannons and Autocannons hold fire! I want none occupied when the Harpy comes around for another attack!" The Ship Mistress bellowed into the vox, making sure everyone heard them, even over the bolter fire. "Heavy Bolters keep at the Gargoyles!" Against singular monster the other weapons at their disposal were simply more useful, and they couldn't neglect the smaller beasts either. "And bring the Grav-cannon into a better position; I want it to be able to cover the entire sky!"
This weapon was something Nicomedo had added to their arsenal. Usually this kind of weapon was only employed by the Adeptus Astartes, but as they were currently with the Deathwatch, the crew of the Adrastos had been allowed to operate it. Like all Grav-weapons it could fire a stream of graviton particles which affected the local gravitational field of a target area, making the targeted object either far heavier or lighter depending on the weapon's setting. It was sufficient to rupture organs and crack bones even inside armor, though its primary use was to counter enemy machinery, by turning a target's mass against it, crushing it to pulp under its own weight. Involuntarily Sammael shivered when she remembered how Nicomedo had mentioned a case in which a Terminator had been crushed by the bulk of his own ceramite plates; certainly the Harpy with its exoskeleton would not fare better.
Suddenly a Gargoyle tumbled to the ground, mere meters in front of her, it's wings gone, but it was still alive, lying there on its side, struggling hissing and screeching. Sammael approached it, her cool glare fixed on the alien, unintimidated by its fierce glare. The pointy tail of the creature came around, aiming for her legs, but it only met her sword, the energy blade cutting through the slender appendix effortlessly. The Gargoyle screamed again, dark blood spitting from the remains of its tail, drops falling upon the Ship Mistress' leather boots. Uncaring she stepped closer, and brought her sword down. She stabbed right through the Tyranid's chest and into the stone beneath, it jerked a few last times, as life leaked from its body, before lying still and dead.
Only a second later her vox came back to life, one of her men calling for her. "Milady, Harpy approaching! Coming from south-south-west."
"Concentrate fire! I want that beast dead!" Sammael looked over to the team that was driving the Grav-cannon to a more central position on the platform; the one barrel-weapon was so heavy, that it was mounted on a small track vehicle, usually guided by one Astartes, or in this case, two humans. "Grav-cannon, bring it down for us!"
It was then that a large shadow was cast upon the platform.
It was only then that for the first time true fear crawled up inside her, her hands clenching her weapons, as she stared upon the beast above their heads. Like a dragon from old myths, the serpentine monster with giant leather wings, flew upwards, avoiding fire with swift and elegant movements. A giant artillery shell came for it, but the Harpy simply folded its wings together and dove straight down, opening the wings just in time to keep itself from crashing onto a platform just a few levels higher. Sammael swallowed hard, as if she was trying to swallow her own fear, pearls of sweat running from her forehead, as she watched as it fired its weapons, Stranglethorn Cannons. It fired two seed pots into a tower on which an anti-aircraft cannon was mounted, and within seconds the structure exploded, barbed tentacles shredding it from the inside out as they grew and matured within seconds. The cannon tumbled to the ground, along with tones of stone and metal, and Sammael could even hear the screams of those who fell along, hundreds of meters before they reached another level of the citadel far below.
"Grav-cannon ready, Ma'am!"
Swiftly she regained her posture and nodded. "Fire at will, but don't miss!" For now the beast had disappeared on the other side of Spire Fiducia, but she had no doubt that it would soon come around again.
It did not disappoint.
Like a shark it came from below, rising parallel to the spire, just next to their platform. The Grav-cannon fired. They could not see the shot, but the effect was all too obvious. The beast shrieked, but not the ear-piercing scream it had emitted so often before in life, but a sound of utter pain. Sammael watched as the exoskeleton covering its chest, which truly looked like a ribcage, was caved in, digging into its body. Las- and Autocannon fire tore wholes into its twitching, helplessly flapping wings and body, as its internal organs were ruptured by its own skeleton, the Harpy's bones shattering. For a moment it seemed motionless, standing still in the air. The wailing had stopped, and so had its struggling, and then, all of the sudden, it simply fell, bereft of all elegance, simply tumbled. It passed the platform, the corpse falling out of sight.
Ship Mistress Sammael breathed out in relief, hearing her men cheering, and she made contact with Nicomedo once more. "Basil." She spoke as calmly as she could, the adrenalin still running like fire through her veins. "It is done, the Harpy is dead."
"Excellent work, Vivian." He complimented her, and she was pleased that his voice sounded stronger again; apparently he was doing better. "Try to stay alive; Emperor be with you."
"And with you. Sammael out."
The cheering had already ended, when she had finished speaking with Nicomedo, after all there were still hundreds, more likely thousands of Gargoyles in the sky, along with the Mycetic Spore, less than before, but that was only a small blessing. For several minutes the fighting continued, dead Tyranids raining from above, until suddenly something about the behavior of those still alive changed. Where there had been order among the swarm, there was now only chaos, Gargoyles attacking one another, shooting, clawing, and spitting acid. For a moment the Ship Mistress was confused, hardly believing their luck before her brain connected all the dots, a smile spreading.
The Kill Team had been successful, the Tyrant had been slain. Praise the Emperor.
…
Supporting himself with one hand on the wall, Nicomedo got back on his feet, the tip of his sword briefly scratching over the ground, his strength haven't fully returned yet. Mandrake watched him worriedly, yet remained silent. "I'm quite alright." Nicomedo assured his protégé, his own voice sounding more like its former self again, much to the Inquisitor's delight.
The death of the Harpy had been rather uplifting, a small victory in what promised to be a long siege. On the plaza in front of them medicaes still took care of the wounded, often needing the help of other soldiers to keep their patients still, while orders were shouted, and several Gunner Teams and Guardsmen turned their attention away from the sky and towards the battlement downstairs, where the remains of the Tervigons were still lying. Suddenly a handful of soldiers appeared there, coming from the right, from behind the shadow of an administrative building, three firing their Lasguns at something that appeared to be following them, while one was supporting a wounded comrade, carrying him up the stairs, and dragging him behind the first barricades and Gunner Teams.
"Get up here!" Someone shouted at the other three, who stopped firing and ran, practically leaping up the few stairs to the plaza. Just as soon as they were getting behind the barricades, Nicomedo heard all too familiar screeching, and he left the cover of the cathedral, his small entourage following without protest. He activated his Power Sword again, the blue glow returning to the blade, just as the enemy came in sight. Hormagaunts; a swarm of teeth, claws and scything-talons that came running from the battlement. As soon as they had appeared, Heavy Bolters began to roar, shredding their comparatively small bodies, Lasguns piercing holes through their chitin. Still it was not enough to kill all, the survivors simply leaping over the dead, while Gargoyles continued to add their fire from above.
The first line of barricades was swiftly overran, men screaming as they were torn apart, Nicomedo watching how a Gaunt landed on a man's chest, scythe-like talons going through said body part effortlessly, piercing both lung, before in addition it bit into his neck, tearing out a huge chunk of flesh, blood shooting out of the severed artery. Already Nicomedo was firing his Bolt Pistol, being at the same level as the central statue now, Mandrake using his Hell Pistol, while the three of the Governor's Guard readied their halberds. The first Gaunt leaped at the Inquisitor mere seconds later, only to find itself impaled on one such weapon, even before he had been able to raise his sword. The other two stepped forth, killing more Tyranids with wide swings, the axe like blades cutting deeply into the chitin and muscles of the aliens; it was good to see that those weapons were more than just a symbol of their office.
More Hormagaunts however flooded the plaza, Nicomedo even spotting a handful of Tyranid Warriors among them, probably having gathered just to overrun this position, and the Inquisitor's blade soon tasted blood of its own. He hardly found the time to fire his pistol anymore, far too occupied with deflected and avoiding the sharp claws and talons of the xenos. One of the Guards was being separated from them, driven off by the Gaunts, but Nicomedo had no time to see to where, a Tyranids dodging his swing, going beneath his blade. For just a second while his sword was out of the way, it leaped from its crouched position just in front of him, its jaws wide open, talons pointed at him. Nicomedo's eyes widened in sudden shock, even as he tried to step back, but already the small hooves hit his upper chest with surprising force. He stumbled, the Gaunt on top of him, talons coming down towards his face.
Did falling always take that long? For just a moment the world seemed to be stuck in slow motion, as he tried to bring his sword around again, already feeling the Gaunts warm breath and spit upon his face. Finally his back hit the ground, and Nicomedo realized that his sword would never make it in time; he had swung it with too much force earlier, too much to bring it back swiftly enough.
Suddenly another blade crossed his vision, hitting the Hormagaunt in the face, cutting off the lower jaw, before slicing through the entire head. "Sir, are you alright!?" Mandrake. Nicomedo was grateful to hear his protégé's voice, relief washing through him. Having a few seconds, he struggled back to his feet, feeling Mandrake pulling him up, the two Guards who were still with them, getting in front of the pair, holding off more of the ever approaching Gaunts.
Nicomedo used these precious seconds to look about, seeing Guardsmen firing or be torn apart, sometimes side by side. The Hive Mind had seen that the Tervigon's and their Termagants had not been sufficient; this time it seemed they had brought enough. The Inquisitor's heart was pounding in his chest, fear and adrenalin fueling it. If only he was already strong enough to release another lightning.
In his mind he cursed himself, but a stoic part of himself silenced this notion. There was no point in self-pity or fear. Had he not expected to die in this battle anyway? Always had he known that he would die in the Emperor's service; if it was here, so be it. Nicomedo met his Interrogator's eyes, seeing both doubt and fear in them. "Take as many with you as you can, Nathan Mandrake, and we can stand before the Emperor without shame." There was brief confusion, but then Mandrake nodded in understanding. Nicomedo stepped forth, bringing his sword down upon another Gaunt, and fired his Bolt Pistol anew, beheading another. He caught another in-flight, cutting halfway through its body, before the force of the swing simply tossed its dead body aside.
What happened then was nothing short of a miracle.
A Gaunt was about to attack Nicomedo, when suddenly another of its ilk tackled it from the side, digging its claws into the other xeno. And it was not an exception. Everywhere the Gaunts began to attack whatever was closest to them, whether it was Human or Tyranid. A Guardsman standing next to the Inquisitor looked at him baffled, and suddenly Nicomedo felt like laughing.
The Kill Team…the Kill Team had finally succeeded, and the Hive Tyrant was dead.
"Push them back now!" The Inquisitor bellowed, his voicing reaching the soldiers over the vox. "Suffer not the alien to live!"
His call was answered with bolter and las-fire, and the sound of dying Tyranids, a sound that was almost like music to his ears at this point. Encouraged by this new development, the enemy that had suddenly turned on itself, the Guardsmen managed to finally push the attack back, the Gunner Teams no longer being caught up in melee and being able to fire again, clearing much of the plaza all on their own. Less than five bloody minutes after the link to the Hive Mind had been broken, not a Tyranid was left alive.
Breathing heavily Nicomedo looked around. By his estimate, a few hundred Hormagaunts were covering the ground and barricades, along with most of the men that had defended the plaza; it seemed impossible to step anywhere without stepping on a corpse, be it human or alien, and the sight filled the Inquisitor with some sorrow. Besides, as honorable as it was to die in the God-Emperor's service, how much better these men and women could have served him alive and still fighting. At least with the Hive Tyrant dead, they would likely have some time before the Tyranids launched another coordinated attack, maybe enough time to clear the citadel from those that had come in via Mycetic Spores. Nicomedo was still confident that the artificial canyon they had created around the stronghold held back most of the actual Tyranid army. He looked at the sky had watched with a smile as Gargoyles tore each other apart, seemingly having forgotten about the Humans below, while others fled from the guns that were still firing at them. Ah, how satisfying it was to watch.
"Milord Inquisitor!" Nicomedo lowered his head, the one of the Governor's Guard that had been separated from the Inquisitor, rejoining them, his armor badly damaged, but he himself seemed unharmed. "We received reports of a giant Tyranid in sector 27." Of course there wouldn't be a break for him, and the Inquisitor sighed, only now feeling his exhaustion again as the adrenalin wore off. Being quite familiar with the citadel, he knew that the particular sector was located at the foot of Spire Officii, this very spire.
Nicomedo pulled his sword out of a Hormagaunt's body, his last kill. "Do they know what kind of creature it is?"
The man shook his head. "Afraid not, Milord."
The Inquisitor growled quietly and displeased; whatever it was, it was almost certainly a synapse creature and perhaps capable of gathering the Tyranids around it that had gotten into the citadel for a coordinated attack. If they wanted to survive, Nicomedo could not allow this to happen, and he turned to his Interrogator. "Mandrake, get your mind down there, and tell me what you see." Like the Inquisitor, Mandrake was a psyker after all, even a little more powerful, if not as experienced or skilled yet. Still, like his mentor he was able to send his mind out, and enter unprotected ones, like those of the Guardsmen and soldiers of the PDF in sector 27.
"Right away, sir." Mandrake closed his eyes, and Nicomedo could sense his conscious leave the mortal shell. Almost unnoticeably the Interrogator's body swayed back and forth, as if he was merely in trance, or meditating. Soon some of the Guardsmen around them started watching, though their officers got them quickly back in line. After a little more than five minutes Mandrake returned, his eyes opened, and he blinked rapidly, as he got used to his own body and senses once again. He turned to Nicomedo, his expression troubled, perhaps with a touch of fright, though that could have been left over emotions from the mind he had just visited, but nonetheless Mandrake swallowed hard before reporting. "Inquisitor, it is a Carnifex."
Nicomedo took a deep breath; that such a monster had landed within the citadel. He looked at Mandrake, and then to the three men of the Guard, even though their faces were hidden behind their helmets. "I will go down there myself." He declared, even though every fibre of his body told him not to.
The greenish sky beyond the treetops was darkening by the time the team arrived at the mansion. Like and ancient temple that had been lost in the jungle for centuries, the building's walls suddenly appeared between the trees. The white stones were now covered with twines, most of them of ivy-like plants, and the team began to move along the outer wall, searching for the front gate. Here and there roots had broken through, but none had created an opening large enough for a human, let alone an Astartes to fit through. It took them fifteen more minutes to find the front gates, which had been torn from their hinges. The metal bars creaked, when the Astartes walked over them and the group entered the front garden. The path before them had once shown myriads of forms and shapes, created with black and white tesserae, but now most of it was destroyed by the vegetation. The two fountains they passed no longer worked, the motionless water green from algae. Ahead they could see the mansion itself, a three-storey building, which outer walls were lined with decorative pillars, and gargoyles sitting just beneath the flat roof, most shaped like lions or griffons.
The building appeared to be rectangular, and four towers marked the corners, circular in shape with flat roofs. The entranced was at the top of a wide staircase, marble flowerpots flanking it, though the plants that had once been place inside were now overgrowing them. Cautiously the team climbed the stairs, Quintus taking point. One door wing was already lying on the floor, while the other had broken from its upper hinges and was now hanging diagonal in the doorway. Quintus pushed it open, tearing off a few twines that were attached to the door in the process, the remaining hinges creaking like a dying animal.
The Entrance hall was mostly empty, minus the rapidly spreading vegetation, grass growing between the floor tiles, twines with flowers covering the walls, paintings and a giant, golden chandelier. To their left and right were doors leading further into the mansion, while ahead were two curved staircases, meeting at the first floor, forming an omega symbol as a whole. Between them, one looked upon a destroyed door leading to an open and quite large atrium, which even before the Tyranid invasion had served as another garden.
"Captain Pericles." The wounded Apothecary spoke, the first one to raise his voice ever since the Venomthrope encounter. "You've done very well in leading us so far; where can we find the hanger?" Worried Cyrus regarded his battle-brother. It had not escaped his notice that Seneca's strength was fading, the wounds and likely the phages taking their toll, his steps growing unsteady and slower, his sword held lower than before.
"It should be at the opposite side of the mansion, one floor below us, so we either have to move across the atrium or through one of building's wings." The Captain explained.
"I suppose there will be Tyranids everywhere in this building." Nadim noted, his eyes searching the atrium for any activity, finding none.
The Red Scorpion seemed little bothered by this. "The Untouchable's aura has kept most at bay." He reminded the Salamander. "I doubt it will be any different here."
"We'll go through the mansion." The Apothecary decided. "If we are going to be attacked it should not be at a location accessible from every direction." His voice sounded strained, and if Cyrus wasn't imagining things, his breathing had become laboured. The Blood Raven silently exchanged glances with Nadim, who appeared to have noticed the same. Seneca headed for the door to their right, the Salamander by his side, keeping a watchful eye on him, the others following.
Nadim opened the door with a kick, his Plasma Cannon aiming into the next room, ready to face any xeno that may dwelled in it, but no Tyranid could be found, and nothing stirred. The room seemed to be a living room of sorts, leather-clad couches and armchairs around low tables, a fireplace at the far side of the room, the statues of two barely covered women that flank it now overgrown with thorny flowers. The walls to their left and right consisted mostly of tall windows, reaching from the floor all the way to the ceiling, with only a few pillars among the glass to support the latter. Once they had certainly offered view to the inner and outer garden, but now green leaves blocked most of it. As Cyrus briefly looked at the ceiling, while they crossed the long room, he noticed that the entirety of it had been painted with scenes of a hunt, though he had never seen the animals depicted in it; they probably had been native to Victoria Primus once, before the invasion.
They had made it about halfway through the living room, when Seneca suddenly staggered, Quintus and Nadim quickly reacting, catching the Apothecary, who sunk to his knees. Cyrus had feared as much, watching his brother troubled, as Nadim spoke to him, getting down on one knee. "Seneca, what is it?"
The older Apothecary turned his head to establish eye-contact, his remaining hand still holding the sword, which he used like a cane to support himself with. "The injury and the phages I'm afraid have drained me more than expected." He confessed, speaking slowly and out of breath. "As I've said, I only had the means to treat immediate symptoms; my body must deal with those that have entered my body, before I had a chance to clean my wound after the fight."
"You must rest, brother." Nadim told him sternly and turned to Quintus. "Help me rest him against that pillar." With each supporting one side, the two Astartes pulled their brother to the nearby column, leaning his back against the white marble. The small team formed a semi-circle around the Apothecary, though the Acolytes respectfully stayed back a step or two.
"I'll be fine in but a few moments." Seneca assured them, though Cyrus remained unconvinced, one of his eyebrows raised questioningly.
"We can't delay." The Salamander reminded them, turning from the Apothecary to his two brothers. "Who knows what other creatures lurk out here that won't care for the Untouchable's aura, and the Inquisitor will doubtlessly require our aid at the citadel."
The Red Scorpion nodded. "True enough; we must locate the hanger as soon as possible."
"And our brother?" Cyrus reminded him. "He's in no condition to fight."
"We ought to leave Seneca here, prepare whatever we find…" Nadim began, but was interrupted by the older Ultramarine.
"Don't speak about me as if I was dead already, young men." He spoke with a scolding tone in his voice, managing to put some strength back into it.
Nadim chuckled. "Forgive us, brother."
"We'll be leaving the Acolytes with you." Cyrus promised; he would not leave a brother behind unprotected, and perhaps the medicae would be of some help to him.
"Then you'll leave the aura."
The Blood Raven nodded. "With all due respect, but I believe the three of us will have a better chance of surviving without it than you."
It seemed Seneca found nothing to argue with against Cyrus' point and he too gave a nod, though in his case rather defeated and sighed. "I hate to have become a burden to you, brothers."
"One we carry gladly." Nadim appeased him. "We will not leave a brother behind, or risk his life needlessly. Remain here and recover your strength as best as you can, we'll make the necessary preparations."
"Keep your wits about you; we've lost too many brothers on this planet already."
"Indeed." The Salamander agreed and got back on his feet, turning to the Governor's Guard captain. "The hangar was opposite of the entrance, Captain?"
"Yes, Milord." The younger man confirmed. "The mansion was built at the edge of a cliff, so the hanger was constructed underground, just a floor below us."
"Good; let us make haste." Quintus growled, and got moving again, expecting his brothers to follow, earning him a displeased frown from the Blood Raven, which he missed.
"Keep a good eye on our brother." Nadim told the Acolytes looking at the young woman, already at the Apothecary's side, in case he needed her assistance again.
The medicae nodded quickly, when the Salamander addressed her. "Naturally, sir."
Together with the Salamander, Cyrus caught up with the Scorpion, who was heading for the next door by then, two wings of dark wood, plants growing across them like on anything else. Taking Nadim in their midst the three Astartes reached them, Cyrus and Quintus each pushing open one of the two wings of the door. They found themselves in a small room, serving only as a connection between the living room and the next, and a third door, which could only be leading into the atrium.
Paying no attention to the latter, they opened the way to the next room, Cyrus and Quintus tearing down countless twines that had overgrown the two wings, plastering raining down as well. No enemy attacked them, as the three walked into the darker room, the dining hall as it seemed, a long table with dozens of chairs, most now scattered and lying on the floor, others broken. While to their right there was still more window than wall, the view to the Atrium however was blocked by the latter, portraits lining it, likely the numerous members of the noble family this mansion belonged to; Cyrus had no doubt that they had fled the planet before the Hive Fleet had arrived.
The dining hall was about as long as the living room and the three Astartes began to cross it, keeping their eyes peeled for any suspicious activity among the shadows. A sudden noise from their right broke the silence, light briefly flooding the room; only rain and lightning, the tension easing. Cyrus quickly turned his attention away from the windows again, as hundreds of water drops began to hammer against the leaves and glass, thunder growling ominously in the distance. It was then that the Blood Raven noticed, how with each step the pain in his head grew weaker, and some of the stress left his body; they were about to leave the aura. Even without being a psyker, the Untouchables effect was undeniable, and Cyrus felt a touch of pity for the human, who was cursed with such abilities. However useful, no he corrected himself, essential it had been for this mission, for a normal human such properties could only be a burden. How fortunate that the Inquisitor had finally given it purpose.
When they had almost reached the next door, lightning struck anew, this time far closer, brighter, the thunder a mere second behind, as if the building itself was coming down upon them. Something screeched in the darkness, almost drowned by the growling thunder, and from the corner of his eye Cyrus saw a shadow moving from under the table. Quintus had seen it too and fired without hesitation, turning two chairs into scrap wood, though one round from his bolter found its true target. Another screech of pain, a small explosion of a Hellfire round, and the sound of a small body collapsing unto the floor followed, and once more it was silent. Pistols raised Cyrus approached it, his eyes seeing even in the twilight of dusk. "Termagant." Quintus had hit it at its hind legs, almost separating the rear half from the torso, the blood leaking from its gushing wound, and some having sprayed the nearby furniture.
"Probably got frightened by the lightning." Nadim suggested calmly, and the Blood Raven quietly agreed. Different from the Gaunts, Termagants with their vicious but simplistic minds, had a strong self-preservation instinct, even when separated from the Hive Mind. Without guidance they abandoned battle and sought shelter, gathering in packs for mutual protection. Even after a Hive Fleet's defeat they lived on, forming quite resilient pockets of resistance.
The Red Scorpion however only gave a snort of derision. "Pathetic."
Cyrus ignored him. "I suspect there will be more." Given that they among the few Tyranids which formed packs on their own, this one had hardly come alone to this mansion. "Be on your guard."
Quintus said nothing, while Nadim nodded silently, and the three continued on. The following room was no longer orientated east-to-west, but went north, a spiral staircase in the corner, just in front of them as they entered, leading to the floor above, and likely all the way to one of the corner towers as well. The hall itself was mainly a gallery, displaying different works of art, not just paintings but also sculptures. There were also trophies won in wars for the Imperium, or collected on hunting trips; Cyrus had never understood the appeal of such things, or the need of some brothers to wear armor with golden or oversized embellishment. The only thing his armor had gained were the marks of battle.
Cautiously the Astartes moved through the gallery, checking behind every statue if there was another alien, while rain and thunder continued outside, the lightning throwing long shadows across the hall. Once more nothing attacked them, still Cyrus had no doubt that more had sought shelter in this building, wherever they were hiding. He remembered what Pericles had told them. An underground hanger seemed like a more ideal place to seek shelter in, than an open hall like this. It was half-way through the gallery that the Astartes reached yet another door, the wood however painted white so it wouldn't catch the eye so easily.
Quintus opened it, and they looked into utter darkness. A staircase led down into shadow, the lights having failed like everywhere else in the mansion quite some time ago. Even Astartes with their improved vision could not see without at least some light for their eyes to reflect, and while Quintus and Nadim had their helmets, Cyrus would depend on what little light would shine down from the gallery. Leaving the door open they slowly walked down, the staircase proving short, leading down only one floor, just as the Captain had told them. Two wings of solid metal appeared in the darkness in front of them, easily four meters high, while a small sign at the wall with an arrow to their right indicated the nearby control room.
Nadim paid no heed to the latter, placing a hand on one of the metal wings. "Now, let us see if there is something of use in here." He pushed, noticing that the door would not give in easily. "Brothers?"
Cyrus holstered his pistols, as did Quintus with his bolter, both doing so reluctantly; if Cyrus assumption was correct they would be very vulnerable for a few seconds as soon as those wings were open. Usually the door would have opened automatically, but the panel on the wall was rendered useless without electricity. It truly took all three of them to open the entrance, the mechanism fighting their efforts, but ultimately having to surrender. Slowly, very slowly the wings swung open, groaning all the way, as they overcame the resistance. Once more darkness welcomed them, and Cyrus could hear something flitting in it, the sound echoing in the hanger.
Swiftly the Blood Raven drew his sniper rifle, taking the scope from it, knowing that through the device he could see whatever had taken refuge in the great hall, as even his eyes could no longer make out more than the closest objects, and then only their shapes.
"Something is in there." Quintus merely stated, taking the first step into the hanger. Through his scope Cyrus saw that it was mostly empty, with only a handful of vessels and crates; it seemed that anything of use had been taken, probably when the family had abandoned their home, tools and remains of servitors scattered across the floor. Cyrus examined one closer, scope in one hand, his glowing Plasma Pistol in the other, just enough to illuminate the servitor at his feet, seeing several holes in its mostly human torso, evidence of the flesh-eating beetles Termagant fired, teeth marks in one of its cybernetic arms.
Suddenly something stumbled over a tool, sending it sliding across the floor, and Cyrus lifted his head just in time to see a shadow disappear behind a nearby crate. "Termagant." Nadim told them, he himself only visible thanks to his Plasma Cannon. The three stayed closed together as they moved through the hanger; despite their size Gants were not to be underestimated, at least not when they came in numbers, and there was no telling how many were hiding in the hanger. Cyrus admittedly felt a little tense, knowing that his armor would prove inadequate, should the enemy fire hit his mostly unprotected arms or legs; even his abdomen was likely not covered well enough to take a direct impact from a Fleshborer. The prospect of having flesh-eating beetles feeding on him was quite repulsive.
The Red Scorpion took a frag grenade from his belt, and threw it somewhere into the shadows; though the plasma weapons did glow with blue light, they did not illuminate their surroundings like a lamp would have, and so they were of little use to Cyrus' eyes. He had however heard a noise to his left, and he assumed that the grenade was meant to flush out whatever had caused it. Metal hit metal, a small explosion followed, creating a brief flash of light and knocked away two crates, damaging their metal shells. Several voices screeched in panic and shadows flitted away from the grenade.
Quintus fired his bolter, the light from his muzzle casting light on several aliens, which were clearly in panic and confused. They were all Termagants, about a dozen of them, but as soon as Quintus had slayed one of them, their behavior changed. One suddenly jumped at Nadim, firing its Fleshborer, thought the beetles never made it through the power armor, instead simply ran down his chest with the mucus still surrounding them. With one hand he let go of his Plasma Cannon, managing to catch the leaping alien at its throat. In a last, futile effort, the Termagant kicked out with its small hooves, before Nadim broke its neck, and threw the lifeless body aside.
Cyrus meanwhile, kept the Termagants at bay with his Plasma and Bolt Pistol, having exchanged the scope for the latter. Two xenos fell before they even got a chance to return fire, though the third unleashed several of the flesh-eating beetles. Thankfully one hit his chest, another his shoulder guard, where his armor was thickest, the others missing entirely. He shot a round through its head, before it could fire again, the headless body sliding over the ground to his feet. A fourth Termagant jumped at him, as one had tried with Nadim, but other than his brother, Cyrus caught it inflight with his foot, bringing it down, crushing the chest beneath his boot. The alien wasn't dead though, withering, trapped, and swiftly Cyrus fired his Bolt Pistol, ending its misery.
Quintus had killed several more, having been closest to the pack at first, six dead Termagants having been torn apart by his bolter, blood spilled generously over the floor, while Nadim took care of the last Gant, a precise, small shot turning into less than ash. Once more it was silent in the hanger. "I suppose that was all." The Salamander noted, as Cyrus wiped off the beetle that was still hanging on to his shoulder guard, moving to his disgust.
"I wonder how they got in here."
"I suppose through the ventilation system." The Blood Raven answered Quintus, as he stepped over his last kill. "You see a ship that will suffice for our purposes?"
"Most are gliders for one or two passengers." Nadim told him. "Although there is one at the far side of the hanger; I say it has about the size of a Thunderhawk."
"Our best bet." Quintus agreed.
They continued to cross the hall, the Blood Raven having to be careful not to run against the crates or one of the gliders in his way. He followed the glowing Plasma Cannon, seeing it outline Nadim almost in his entirety. Quintus was the first to reach the vessel, he and Nadim had already spotted. As far as Cyrus could see it, the vehicle was more built for comfort than speed, oblong, narrowing at the front, with short wings at its sides like broad fins. A small stairway, with only four steps, led to the automatic door, which slid open with the quietest of sounds when Quintus activated the panel and pressed a few buttons, the lamps turning on at the same moment; at least something was still working around here. The Red Scorpion looked around in it, remaining in the doorway however. "This one will suffice, once we get the furniture out." He finally concluded, sounding rather satisfied. Cyrus too felt relieved; it would have been greatly unfortunate had none of the vehicles proved suitable.
"I'll get Seneca and the Acolytes."
"Good, we'll have everything…" Nadim stopped in his sentence, and Cyrus didn't need to ask why. The ground beneath their feet was vibrating, the tools lying around rattling in turn, and somewhere a crate fell down from another, emitting a hollow clunk. The three Astartes looked at one another, and despite their helmets and mask they knew that the same thought had just crossed all their minds at the same time. The tremors grew stronger; something was coming.
…part 2 of the finale soon…