Author's note: The finale is going to be a bit longer still, as I could not fit the Inquisitor's fight against the Carnifex, nor the Kill-Team's return to the citadel without going over 20,000 words. So now there will be a chapter XIII and XIV/Epilogue.
Chapter XII
Part 2
Taylor was standing in front of the dead fireplace, regarding one of the marble statues that flanked it. Shaped like a woman, it was live-sized, and with a few fingers he began to carefully remove a few of the thorny, red flowers to reveal the face. It was soft with a gentle smile, though the white eyes were empty. He turned his head just a little to see Pericles approach him.
"Finally a woman, who doesn't flinch from my touch." The Acolyte noted, half-joking, with a hint of truly felt sorrow.
"If you're willing to carry her, you can take her with us for all I care." The Captain replied quite humorously, surprising Taylor though swiftly his tone turned serious again. "Life as an Untouchable must be difficult."
Taylor shrugged and sighed. "If one has never known anything else but the contempt and fright of people, you'd be amazed how used one can get to isolation." He turned around and looked at Jane, who was still at the Apothecary's side, even though she was not currently treating him. "Frankly it was quite strange to be suddenly part of a team, not to be on my own anymore."
Pericles raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You're glad the Inquisitor recruited you?"
The Untouchable could not help but smirk at the other man's surprise. "Yes, and not only because I finally know why people have always tried to beat me up or even kill me."
"I assume some still try."
"True, but for different reasons." He reminded Pericles, his mood lifting at his next thought. "But now my 'abilities' finally have a purpose; it's not just a burden to me anymore, it does some good, it makes me useful." He heard Pericles chuckle. "What?"
The Captain shook his head, and Taylor had the impression that the man was smiling beneath his mask. "Forgive me, it is just strange to hear you say something so serious and honest."
"I wouldn't get used to it, if I were you." Taylor replied with a grin of his own.
"Noted." Just as Pericles had replied lightning struck outside, flooding the room with bright light, thunder roaring even before it was gone again; they had already noticed that rain had started to fall and for his part, Taylor was glad they were inside a building. Before either of them could say something again, another loud thundering noise could be heard from the next room, everyone's head snapping up and turning towards the door, behind which the other three Astartes had disappeared. "Bolter fire." Pericles said quietly after only a few shots had been fired and it was silent again
"Only three rounds; I doubt it was more than one or two Tyranids." The Untouchable noted hopefully; he'd seen enough Tyranids to last him a lifetime or two.
"Given what we've seen so far, I'm sure there will be more." Pericles told him, and the Acolyte noted how the Captain readjusted the grip on his weapon. "Let's go; if anything comes from the doors, I don't want to be so close to one."
This time Taylor only nodded in agreement, and followed the other man back to the Ultramarine and their medicae. The Astartes was still sitting, leaning against the pillar in the same manner his brothers had positioned him in. They could still hear his breathing despite the helmet, but it had become calmer, his sword still in his hand with the tip touching the floor, though he no longer supported himself with it. Jane seemed somewhat uncomfortable, as if she was waiting to get another assignment, but when she met Taylor's eyes he saw worry in them. Given the nature of the ailment and her 'patient' there was little she could do, aside from changing the dressing or cleaning the stump, both of which she had already done before the two men had joined her.
"How is his lordship?" Pericles asked her, worriedly looking at the Apothecary. It was certainly disturbing for any normal man to see one of the Emperor's Angels of Death so impaired; Taylor assumed that this was his first close encounter, and the truth wasn't like the tales people told each other, or parents told their children.
"I am fine, young Captain." Lord Seneca spoke calmly, making Pericles wince slightly with surprise to Taylor's amusement. "I assure you I will neither die of these wounds, nor to the pathogen within me. It are other creatures that might attack us yet, which worry me, though Mr. Taylor should keep most away."
"Attack us still? Like the Venomthropes?" Jane asked cautiously.
The Apothecary nodded. "Indeed; given the variety among these aliens, there might be some, more indifferent to the aura or perhaps would only become…irritated?"
The medicae looked at her two fellow Acolytes, frowning questioningly. "Irritated?"
"Yes." Lord Seneca affirmed and lifted his head, looking directly at Taylor, who frankly suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. "You yourself have told me that people seemingly attacked you at random, without provocation."
Taylor swallowed; he remembered well the countless times he had been assaulted, beaten up in bars or pubs, the hostility from co-workers on the ships he'd been on. How often he had woken up in some hospital, with broken bones and bruises. "You think it possible the same could be true for some Tyranids, Milord?"
"We cannot rule it out, I'm afraid." The Ultramarine Apothecary noted calmly.
None of them replied. After a few silent moments Pericles returned his attention to the door, while Taylor watched and listened to the rain outside. The thunder seemed to have almost stopped, what little there was came now from somewhere far away. He frowned when his body began to shiver slightly. He wasn't cold, nor could it be fear; no, suddenly he realized that the ground itself was trembling.
Taylor blinked confused; a weak earthquake, some impact, maybe from a giant Mycetic Spore? No, the weak tremors continued, so it couldn't be the latter. "Do you feel that too?"
"What?" Pericles didn't even turn around, though Jane closed her eyes and then slowly nodded.
Then it suddenly stopped. For a moment Taylor waited but the earth remained still. "I'm not sure." The Untouchable finally confessed. "But it felt like the ground was vibrating."
"He is right." They all turned to the Apothecary. "Pray to the Emperor that you don't feel it again." Taylor was about to ask why, though a part of him didn't really want to know the answer, when suddenly several animalistic voices began to screech, an all too familiar sound by now. "Gants." Lord Seneca spoke, and to their surprise the Space Marine struggled back to his feet, his shoulder scratching over the pillar, as he still leaned against it for support, his sword reactivated and shimmering with blue energy.
Jane took a step towards him, but stopped herself, knowing that she could neither offer support nor stop the Angle of Death. "Milord?" She asked concerned nonetheless.
"Focus on our enemy, medicae Pravin." The Astartes told her. "And I will not idly sit by, while we are attacked."
Jane replied nothing, only her grip on the Hellgun in her hands tightened, as the screeching grew louder, and they could hear furniture break. With great force the door, through which the other three Astartes had left, was suddenly flung open, the wings smashing against the walls, and every gun was swiftly pointed at the doorway. Termagants flooded into the living room, at least two dozens of them, screaming, keeping so close together that their bodies touched, their yellow eyes looking in every direction as they ran. Without wasting another thought Pericles' and Jane's weapons joined the deafening loud concert, las-and plasma-fire respectively, the dark room suddenly brightened by blue and red flashes, while Taylor needed to wait; the Gants were not just yet in range for his shotgun.
Within the first seconds, the other two had killed a handful of Tyranids, which seemingly reacted confused, suddenly running against each other. They headed for the other side of the room, as if they tried to get around the humans in a semi-circle, or perhaps to take cover behind the couches and armchairs. Half a dozen however, dodged the fire to the other direction, their fierce eyes staring at the humans, as they lifted they Fleshborers. They did not appeared about being attacked. Quickly Taylor stepped forth and fired, the aliens finally close enough, his shell tearing two apart, flesh and bits of chitin spraying on the other Gants. Meanwhile Jane shot another, the Hellgun's las-fire burning a hole through the Gant's head, however Pericles missed his target, his plasma bolt only burning a small crater into the marble floor, as the Gant had already leaped into the air.
The sickle-like claws on its thinnest, weakest looking limbs clawed into his armor, though couldn't make it through, as it landed on his chest. It tried to bite into his neck, but somehow Pericles managed to angle his head away from it, the xeno's teeth only biting into the small carapace shoulder-guard. Deep cracks appeared in the piece of armor, the jaws seemingly stronger than the small head suggested. Jane quickly realized the situation and threw her knife, which had been attached to her leg up until now. The blade dug deep into the Gant's flesh, having actually hit a spot between two ribs. The beast howled, its grip loosened and Pericles pulled it off, throwing it to the ground, before burning it to ash with plasma.
Blood was running from his shoulder, the fangs having actually gone through, but Taylor had no time to check on his comrade as he fired his shotgun once more, killing another xeno, while their medicae finished the last of those, which had approached them directly.
To the Untouchable's surprise the Apothecary suddenly appeared at his side, but his question as to why the Astartes had stepped forth was quickly answered, as Fleshborer beetles hit the power armor. None of the projectiles could make it even through the ceramite, but some would have certainly hit the Acolytes had it not been for Lord Seneca. His sword was useless, as the majority of Gants was at the other side of the room, running behind the furniture, firing only sporadically. Nonetheless Jane and Pericles fired back, the former putting as many holes into couches as into Tyranids, while Pericles simply turned bothersome furniture to less than ash, robbing the aliens of their cover. Soon the floor was covered with black shadows, where the plasma had disintegrated something and dead Gants the Hellgun had finished off.
The Gants did not stand and fight. Those which survived the shooting simply kept running as a pack, screeching wildly amongst each other, their voices high as if frightened. Jane shot for a final time, slaying another beast, which body was tossed against the wall, while the few remaining aliens hushed scurried through the next door into the entrance hall. Within mere seconds, their voices were gone, and it was once more silent and dark in the living room.
Suddenly Taylor realized something, only now that the brief fight was over. "Wait, they weren't attacking us." Why was he only noticing this now; the Gants had obviously tried to move around them and get away.
"Speak for yourself." Pericles growled, a hand on his shoulder, blood covering his fingers.
"If they were fleeing, why go through your aura? Wasn't there time to go around it?" Even as she asked her questions, the medicae put her weapon aside and went to check on the Captain's wound, removing the remains of his broken shoulder-guard carefully.
"Probably getting away from the Space Marines as fast as they could." Taylor suggested, regarding the corpses thoughtfully. "They are not exactly psykers so my aura might not have been as harmful, and frankly I can sympathise; I too would run, no matter the obstacles, if Astartes were after me."
No one replied. Lord Seneca leaned once more against the pillar, but remained standing, while Jane began to clean the wound, a bite mark at Pericles' arm, almost a perfect circle of small holes made by sharp teeth on his deltoid muscle. The Untouchable however still looked at the dead Gants; had the Space Marines frightened them so much that they were willing to run into his aura, the very thing that had kept them at bay so far. Why not take the way through the Atrium, and avoid it? Would it really have been too long a way? His thoughts were quickly interrupted, when once again the earth shivered, and Jane stopped working and looked over her shoulder to Taylor, his own worries mirrored by her eyes as he lifted his head as well.
"They were not running from my brothers." Lord Seneca spoke. "Something else frightened them, and its coming."
The ground beneath their feet began to tremble stronger and ever stronger, like an approaching earthquake. The Acolytes looked at each other, even Taylor seemed worried now, before Pericles turned to the Ultramarine, asking what was on all their minds. "What is that?"
They saw the Astartes clench the hilt of his power sword tightly, only saying one simple sentence. "Another Tyranid, of course."
...
The ground was trembling stronger with each passing moment, as the three Astartes dashed up the stairs from the hangar back into the gallery. The rain was still pouring relentlessly, hammering against the windows. They reached the doorway straight ahead, leading to the atrium, Quintus stepping out and taking position behind a richly ornamented pillar, which along with dozens others that surrounded the atrium, was holding up an awning with a stone walkway. Nadim took the pillar next to him, the Red Scorpion checking his magazine, while Cyrus remained at the doorway, his sniper rifle ready.
They all had read about Raveners, the serpentine Tyranids that burrowed through the ground in order to strike behind the enemy lines and undermine defenses. Perhaps if several of them moved close enough to the surface they could make the earth tremble like this, but Cyrus had his doubts; no, he was certain something else was coming, something bigger. In any case the long bullets of the sniper rifle were far more likely to do considerable damage. But for now they had to wait.
It was likely that whatever was coming for them would appear in the atrium, the small garden where the Tyranids would only have to struggle against the earth and not stone as well. With a troubled mind, Cyrus' eyes wandered left to the part of the building where Seneca and the Acolytes were still resting. Proving excellent timing, the Apothecary contacted them over their vox-channel. "Brothers, I trust you have noticed that something is approaching us."
"We are in position at the atrium, west-side." Nadim answered him at once.
"Have you been able to locate the hangar?"
"We have, brother." Quintus replied this time. "Along with what seems to be a suitable vessel."
"Very good; I shall send the Acolytes to prepare it." The Apothecary told them decisively. "Perhaps we will need to make a swift escape."
"What of yourself?" Nadim's concern was clearer over the radio than through his helmet's speakers, and Cyrus shared his concerns. Last they had seen their brother, he had not been able to stand, much less walk.
"I will go with the Acolytes, but remain close to you, brothers, in case one of you requires my assistance before we can leave. There is a staircase close to you?"
"Just behind us." The Salamander confirmed.
"A good enough position." Seneca decided, continuing before any of his brothers could reply. "We are on…"
The Apothecary never managed to finish the sentence. What had been a light tremor before suddenly turned into a full quake, the ground split apart as if an underground explosion had taken place, earth and rocks being launched in every direction, the once neatly planted shrubs and trees torn from their beds and tossed into the air. Cyrus swiftly stepped to the side, as a solid rock was thrown through the doorway, passed him and devastated a statue, turning it to rumble.
As soon as Cyrus looked back into the atrium he saw something emerging in its center, growing larger. The rain washed earth from this dark figure, parts of roots still stuck at thick, bluish chitin plates. The creature rose higher, until it stood as tall as the three-story mansion surrounding it. It had a serpentine body, the backside of it, head to tail, covered with thick plates, as were the six limbs, all scything-talons, the uppermost being the longest, while even the lowest and smallest blades were around two meters. It stood upright, like a cobra about to strike, its torso looking as if it was covered with an external reddish ribcage flanked by comparatively small thorn-like claws, and had smaller plates running along the center, similar to a sternum.
The beast lifted its head, long, with a snout full of fangs, each easily as long as an Astartes' humerus, additional structures growing out of head, which Cyrus could only describe as pincers, seemingly designed to grab a victim and pull it into the widened jaws. Something had suffered this fate, the Blood Raven seeing a dead Ravener, almost a miniature version of what now stood before them, held by those large fangs, unmoving, covered with mud and blood, perhaps even having been caught underground. The rain continued on, letting the plates shimmer in the dim light, accompanied by a noise that sounded as if dozens of fingers were tapping against a metal surface.
Cyrus looked into the relatively small, but nonetheless vicious yellow eyes, the beast staring back at the Astartes, at first unmoving after it had risen from the earth. He knew what it was, and he gripped his sniper rifle tighter, feeling his muscles tensing up. A Trygon; and it was said that only concentrated heavy-weapons' fire could bring this monster down. They soon would know if the reports were true.
For a moment it appeared that neither the Tyranid nor the three Astartes wanted to do the first move. Then the Trygon bit down on its prey, and they all heard the plates and exoskeleton of the Ravener breaking. Fresh blood ran over the fangs, quickly washed away by the rain, and dropping from the tip of its chin, before it swiftly and abruptly swung its head, throwing the corpse away, which probably landed somewhere on the north roof. Never did it take its eyes off the Space Marines.
Behind his mask, Cyrus gritted his teeth; his and Quintus' weapon would have little to no effect on the Trygon. Even the large caliber bullets of the sniper could merely wound it, if they hit a softer part, but unless he somehow managed to shoot either through the mouth or eye, into the beast's brain, only Nadim's Plasma Cannon was capable of bringing it down. Very slowly Cyrus lifted his rifle, worried that too fast a movement would prompt the Trygon to attack. But he had to act now, now while it was calm and near motionless, presenting its head and looking at him.
Suddenly lightning struck nearby, a tree fell somewhere beyond the wall and bright, white light flooded their sight. The thunder followed but a second later, and the Trygon roared loudly in response, throwing its head up. Cyrus aimed, waiting for the moment the beast would lower it again. Even a second would be enough.
It was then that bluish light, small flashes crawled across the plates and the exoskeleton, a bio-static charge that had been created by the ever shifting plates, having built up as it had moved through the underground. Cyrus' eyes widened. "Cover! NOW!" The moment he had shouted, the Trygon lowered its head and snarled. The plates along its body had straightened up, incidentally spreading apart as larger bolts danced between them. Then, all at once, the plates snapped back down into place with a crushing noise, the lightning suddenly jumping forth, at first seemingly flickering to every direction, but the actual bolt itself dashed towards the Astartes.
Cyrus leaped away from the doorway, the Bio-Electric Pulse hitting the front of the west-wing, some lightning getting into it. He could hear the stone breaking, crumbling and falling to the ground. Like water the lightening quickly spread, shredding everything in close vicinity to the door, and Cyrus had not yet made it far enough. It primarily hit his carapace armor, which kept him from the worst, keeping him from being scorched by the electricity. Nonetheless he suddenly felt the pulse shoot through his body, claiming every fibre, burning them with searing pain. No longer did his muscles listen to his commands, and he was partially paralyzed, while other muscles twitched and contracted uncontrollably from receiving to many signals at once. The force knocked him to the ground, the sniper rifle leaving his grasp, when debris from the walls and ceiling came down upon him.
The Blood Raven hardly noticed this at first however, the electricity and the agony it brought still causing havoc, clouding his mind. He snarled as his body arched, the last flashes running across his body and dissipating in the gallery. Finally the pain lessened, he felt the cold floor beneath his face and the weight of stone on his back. Cyrus groaned, when he lifted himself, the smaller rubble rolling off, though a few larger pieces would require more effort. He opened his eyes again, seeing smoke rising from his arms; likely his entire body was smoking and if his armor hadn't already been painted black, it would certainly have been now. Briefly he looked at his sliver shoulder guard, and even it had several black spots upon its now dull surface.
Cyrus looked to the other side, spotting his brothers; Quintus had sprinted to the right, Nadim to the left, the Trygon momentarily uncertain which human it should pursue, before one of its scythe-like talons came forth like a striking snake, swift and deadly, stabbing deep into the stone floor, less than a meter behind the Scorpion, who leaped behind another pillar. Nadim used this moment to stop and fire his massive weapon, the bright blue bolt hitting the Tyranid close to the lowest talon at its torso, carving out flesh, scorching the scales nearby. The beast howled and swiftly diverted its attention to the Salamander. The great head came around, body following, going after Nadim who ran, the teeth burrowing themselves into another pillar, like a dog would grab a large stick.
The marble cracked around the long fangs, before the Trygon pulled its head back, tearing the pillar from its foundations. With one forceful jerk of its head, it tossed the pillar from its mouth, much like it had done with the Ravener.
Cyrus meanwhile had managed to free himself completely from the debris, pushing the last rock away that had trapped his leg. He'd been fortunate enough not to have caught the Trygon's attention. Likely he had been covered quite well by the rocks, great parts of the wall from all storeys as well as the ceiling around the door having collapsed, the thus created hole being the only reason why he had been able to watch his brothers. The Blood Raven dragged his sniper rifle from under the rubble, undamaged as it seemed, and activated the vox-channel. "We're not getting it down like this." He told Nadim, seeing his brother evade another strike. "You have the only suitable weapon, and now the Trygon's full attention."
"I'm open for suggestions!" The Salamander shouted into the vox, right before throwing himself to the ground, another talon cutting horizontally through the air above him, missing him by mere inches, and at last going halfway through a pillar.
"Raven, do you still have a charge?" Quintus suddenly interjected, his bolter hardly damaging the thick scales of the Trygon, which now had its back turned to him.
"One." Actually that could work. "I need to place it on a vital area however." Naturally he could have thrown it, hoping the barbs would hang on to something, but only crippling the beast would not be enough. In any case the smooth back-scales were not an option, and even the 'ribcage' didn't seem unsuitable; some softer muscle would be ideal. The fangs once more tried to snatch the Salamander. "The head." Cyrus whispered to himself; what he needed was the Trygon's attention, and he had to avoid getting killed by the scything-talons. The Tyranid moved, and suddenly Cyrus found himself looking at one of the four corner towers. If he got to the top of one of those…the staircase they had passed on their way to the hangar… "I have an idea." He notified his brothers, securing his rifle across his shoulder. "I'll head to the top of the south-west tower."
"And what will you do there?" Quintus growled into the radio.
"Feed it the charge."
There were about two seconds of silence. "I suggest you make haste, lest we ran out of pillars to hide behind!" Nadim noted, his breathing sounding a little labored from having to run and leap with a heavy Plasma Cannon. The Trygon still tried to impale him with its talons, so far without success.
Cyrus started running, his muscles still searing from the Bio-Electric Pulse, quickly getting across the rubble, some stones sliding off beneath his feet, but he never lost his balance. He rushed through the gallery, the mix of bolter fire, rain and snarling from the Tyranid loud in his ears, and he had almost reached the spiral staircase, when the door to his right opened. The three Acolytes with Seneca at the rear appeared out of the dining room's darkness, the latter with his sword in hand, still a little hunched.
"Acolytes, keep going; prepare everything for our depature." The Apothecary spoke to the Inquisitor's operatives. For a moment they hesitated, before Captain Pericles nodded and the three got moving again, and Seneca turned to Cyrus. "Brother, are you certain of plan? You might not get away from the beast in time, or it might kill you before the charge is activated."
"If this is to be my last, so be it." The Blood Raven noted factually, his grim, joyless smile hidden by the mask. "But we don't have time to put a new plan into action, and no weapon to execute it, even if we had. With Nadim occupied, we are out of options."
"Perhaps I should fight; with my weapon I might be able to draw the Trygon's attention, and grant Nadim the time to fire."
"No, you ought to remain here, Seneca." Cyrus could see his brother's condition; he was better, but far from well. The fast Tyranid would slay the Ultramarine without a doubt, something Cyrus was not willing to risk.
"I can still fight, brother." Seneca argued, trying to straighten his posture a bit more, but his brother only watched with worry.
The Blood Raven shook his head. "Forgive me, Brother Apothecary, but you are not in the condition to fight such a foe; you'd be throwing your life away pointlessly, and if anyone of us should live it must be you." Cyrus told him sternly. "No other can return our gene-seed to our chapters."
Defeated the Apothecary slowly nodded, his body leaning against the doorway for support. "Watch your back, and I won't have to." He sighed. "Emperor guide your aim, Cyrus."
The scout merely nodded; he had already wasted enough time. Without saying another word, Cyrus dashed to the staircase, practically leaping up the first steps and ran up, as fast as the circular path allowed. He had not even reached the first floor, when he heard an explosion from the atrium.
…
Cyrus hadn't answered Nadim, but when the Salamander looked briefly back to the destroyed west-wing, he saw a black figure running across the rubble, disappearing into the gallery. Nadim however could only spare this second, as another talon came down once more. It hit the ground where the Salamander had stood but a moment ago, the stone breaking as if a shell had struck. Nadim gritted his teeth, frustrated that his weapon was hindering him so much, the Trygon forcing him to constantly move and shift position.
Just as soon as the scything-talon had hit the ground, and the Astartes leaped aside, a second followed him, cutting horizontally through the air. It had tried this before, already he saw the grey blade flying towards him from behind. The next pillar was too far away, and Nadim threw himself to the ground, when suddenly he was hit with great force.
Metal cracked and broke, and with eyes widened, Nadim realized that his weapon's backpack fuel canister had been hit. Runes on his display came to life, blinking warningly in red light. The liquid hydrogen fuel was stored in the canister, a very unstable ammunition, and the containment field was damaged, the runes warning him of an imminent failure of the crucial system. He needed to get rid of the extra backpack, and quick.
It certainly looked as if it was fixed, but like a jump-pack, Nadim could remove it on his own in little time. He had long ago made this specification himself, in his long hours working in the forge with the help of a Techmarine; after all there was always the possibility that enemy fire would hit the canister, and in this moment, Nadim was glad he'd planned for it.
He hit a few hidden buttons on his cannon, not located side by side, so he wouldn't accidentally trigger the mechanism, and detached the fuel hose and cables from the cannon. Hot, white steam emerged from it, but Nadim already, reached for the handle on his chest, located where the four metal belts that went across his torso like an 'x' and which were connected to the fuel canister, met. The grip was fashioned like the inquisitorial 'I' so it looked as if it was merely ordinary decoration, and he turned it 90° before pulling it out a little. Three of the four belts disengaged from the central chest-piece, which along with an impulse conveyed by the black carapace, caused the canister in turn to disengage from the Salamander's backpack, the specific fasteners opening up.
The great weight of the canister fell from Nadim's back, but he kept running without looking back, the cannon itself still in his hand. After all that part of the weapon was still in perfect condition and such an old relic should not get lost so easily. Swiftly he turned around a corner and took cover, not a moment too late.
The pillar protected him from the worst of the explosion, a bright light swallowing everything for a second, followed by a blast wave. Stone was tossed around, part of the south wing destroyed, from the ground to the first floor, wall and ceiling were gone, the roof of the walkway had partially vanished, a giant crater having appeared where Nadim had left the canister. The pillar the Salamander had sought cover behind was broken by the blast wave, the marble having been slammed against the Astartes. He was thrown off his feet, the debris from the awning, walls and pillars raining down on him.
In the meantime the Trygon snarled loudly, hiding its head and upper body behind a shield created with its six scything-talons. As stones hit it, the plants next to it that had survived so far were now on fire, blue flames eating them away, before the rain could save them. Much of the nearby lawn had been eradicated immediately, leaving only ash, which the water would soon turn into a thick paste. The beast meanwhile had actually been pushed back by the explosion, and as blue flames bit it, the Trygon's animal instincts took over.
The Tyranid hastily moved away from the crater, hissing, throwing its weight around, its limbs moving in every possible direction as fast as they could in an attempt to kill the fire, which was crawling over the plates. It was a fascinating sight to behold, as in the darkness of the evening's thunderstorm the Trygon glowed with ghostly-blue light, illuminating its surrounding area with the flames. The tail ran across the atrium like a scythe cutting through the vegetation, what little was left. Suddenly it seemed to lose balance, slithered back even more, its giant body slamming against the mansion.
Nadim, who had lost the cannon when the stones had brought him down, was still freeing himself from the debris, seeing to his alarm that the beast had hit the building very close to the south-west corner. The corner-tower shook, part of the building buckled, inclining downwards as it was unable to support the Trygon's weight in its already damaged condition. As long as Cyrus could still make it to the tower's top in time…
Finally the continuing rain killed the last flames and the Trygon calmed down again, roaring with Nadim assumed to be rage. In any case, he was easy prey as long as he was not back on his feet. The murderous yellow eyes found him, just as he threw another rock from his body. It lifted itself from the building, and moved towards him, slithering, yet the upper portion of its body remained upright. All six talons were raised, ready to strike, the jaws opened slowly, and somewhere thunder growled in the distance.
Neither of them noticed the small object flying through the air, or how it hit the Trygon, less than a second before it went off in a bright explosion. The beast snarled once more, and quickly Nadim looked over to Quintus, still standing below the north wing's awning, his bolter raised. The Salamander was truly grateful that his brother had decided to use one of his last grenades, and not a moment too late. It certainly drew the Tyranids' attention away from Nadim, who wasted no time, shoving off the last of the debris.
Meanwhile the Trygon turned its great head, its piercing yellow eyes finding Quintus easily in the twilight. Slowly it opened its jaws, rain dripping from the long fangs. The Scorpion fired, but the beast swiftly turned its head, only presenting him the hard plates on the top of its head, the rounds impacting but hardly damaging them, only leaving dents. Nadim got quickly back on his feet, watching the scene unfolding. "Quintus, watch out!"
He had not managed to finish his sentence, when the Trygon's tail shot forth with terrifying speed like a spear. Quintus turned his head, perhaps realizing his mistake of having been too focused on the head and talons. In horror, Nadim could only watch as the blade at the tail's tip pierced through Quintus' power armor, through his torso, before ramming itself into the mansion's outer wall, pinning the Scorpion to it.
Like in slow motion Quintus lifted his left hand, placing it on the grey blade, looking down at it, the bolter slipping from his grasp, when his other hand sunk down, limply and without strength. Blood ran from his chest, over the blade, finally dripping from it.
The Trygon hissed, and freed its tail, pulling it back, Quintus still impaled upon it. To Nadim's disgust, it sniffed at the Astartes, as if to see if he was eatable, then growled lowly, and suddenly shook its tail like a whip, the Scorpion's body flying off, getting tossed to the west-side, near the collapsed part of the gallery.
Nadim had little doubt that his brother was now dead, or soon would be. Despite never liking Quintus, the Salamander felt pure rage boiling up within him, especially as the lifeless body of his brother hit the ground like a ragdoll. The Red Scorpion's blood was still dripping from the Trygon's tail, yet was more and more washed away by the continuing rain. The Tyranid once more turned its attention towards Nadim, who was already running behind the line of pillars, knowing that Quintus' bolter was still lying around somewhere. Even if the weapon was hardly effective, he preferred it to being unarmed. Without the Plasma Cannon he was far lighter and ran around the corner, pushing his weight off with one foot to the wall to prevent himself from running into it.
Finally he saw it. Not far from where Quintus had been pinned to the north wall, the bolter had ended up at the edge of the walkway, partially hidden by one of the still standing bushes. With a dive Nadim avoided the tail coming for him now as well, which instead of cutting him in two, slashed a deep cut into the wall behind him. He rolled back onto his feet, grabbing the bolter with his right hand, bringing it up with him and fired.
The first round hit the neck, actually tearing into flesh, where it exploded, causing the beast to hiss in pain and pull its head back. Several others however only put more dents into the thick chitin plates, or the ribcage-like exoskeleton. Suddenly the clip was empty, causing Nadim to curse, once more filled with frustration. He had only one more weapon aside from his combat knife; his Bolt Pistol.
In the desperation of the moment, Nadim drew it, casting the bolter away. Within the second he had needed to exchange weapons, the Trygon had lifted it head once more, growling dangerously. Suddenly it came forth, jaws widened, allowing the Salamander to look deep into its pharynx. Nadim dodged to the side, not a moment too late, and fired his pistol. The first hit the plate just above its left eye, the second hitting the yellow organ.
The Trygon howled at the loss of its eye, blood spitting from the hole upon impact. Nadim smiled grimly, and not without satisfaction, behind his helmet. His joy was short-lived as he tried to retreat further from the beast, and suddenly his feet were swept away. The Tyranid had pulled its tail back with such force that Nadim ended up on his back, briefly surprised. Of course when faced with a giant Trygon this was a horrible position to be in, and he got moving, trying to crawl backwards away from it, as well as attempting to get back onto his feed at the same time. His attempt didn't go unnoticed, the Trygon roared and a scythe came down again, Nadim was almost back on his feet…
The Salamander groaned in pain as the scything-talon dug into his right leg, bringing his entire body back to the ground. It went through the power armor, muscle and bone, and just like a scythe it moved in an arcuate way, first stabbing, then cutting. The ceramite broke, the femur was cut through just like the surrounding flesh, slashing his thigh in half. Nadim's groan turned into a howl of pain, blood gushing from the horrific wound, the force of the attack tossing the separated part of his leg away from him, if not very far.
His nerves over-flooded Nadim's mind with the sensation of burning pain, his hearts pumped wildly and he could swear that he could still feel the leg somehow, adding to his agony. But he was still a Space Marine. Panting he lifted his Bolt Pistol once more and fired at the Trygon, not aiming, only firing, dragging himself over the stone floor, leaving a trail of blood, the little rain that was getting under the awning, spreading it across the smooth material.
Nadim had no illusion that its next attack would end his life, and strangely enough the thought brought him some peace. He had spent his life in service of the Emperor, killed hundreds of aliens and heretics alike in the centuries of service. He could go before the Emperor without shame.
He breathed out calmly, doing his best to ignore the tremendous pain, and fired the last bullets of his clip. He pulled the trigger again, but no round came, the mechanism only clicking quietly, as he watched the Trygon lift another scything-talon.
Suddenly a loud, familiar shot rang through the air, blood spilled, and the very talon that had threatened to bring death the Salamander was separated at the joint from the limb. The beast growled and turned around, looking up at the south-west tower. Even Nadim could see the structure past the Trygon, seeing the hole in the upper room's wall, and a figure standing there, a long sniper rifle in his hand.
Nadim smiled, his head feeling a little clouded. It was about time.
…
A sudden explosion shook the staircase, when Cyrus was about to reach the second floor. With it the entire building seemed to tremble, bits of plaster snowing down from the ceiling once more. Cyrus couldn't tell what had happened, though he assumed that either the Trygon or Nadim had damaged the building somehow during their fight. Already the Blood Raven was running as fast as the spiral staircase permitted, the thought of maybe being too late to save his brothers driving him.
He hardly took notice of the second floor, of which he only saw a small room, isolating the stairs from the rest, the individual wings walled off and behind white painted doors. With swift steps he reached the third floor, which looked exactly the same as the second, and finally the tower itself, the stairs continuing on, but this particular structure had already taken significant damage. Steel beams had emerged from out of the wall, reaching out, some having taken cables and pipes with them along the way. Most were so thin that Cyrus' armor simply bent them aside as he passed them, while with others it was simpler to duck and keep running.
After little more than halfway up the tower, the construct shook anew, almost throwing the Astartes against the wall. More plaster came down, dusting his armor, when suddenly more beams came through the wall, like massive spears. The tremors made him stumble forward briefly, when suddenly a beam emerged mere centimeters in front of him. More appeared up the stairs and behind him, and he heard metal bending and cracking, the walls themselves groaning. It sounded as if the building was about to collapse, adding to his uneasiness.
Having caught himself again he ran anew, listening how behind him stone collapsed. Only for a moment did he look over his shoulder, seeing that the inner wall had crumbled, blocking the way down, several beams running now across the entire space, creating an additional barrier. But it quickly vanished behind a turn, as Cyrus was closing in on the top. Swiftly he leaped over a crossbeam that went almost diagonal from one wall to another like a hurdle. As he took the next stairs he found that the tremors had finally stopped; he was uncertain whether this was a good sign.
It was then that the vox-channel came back to life, Seneca's troubled voice calling for him. "Cyrus, Quintus has been injured; I do not believe he will survive his wounds."
Cyrus grit his teeth in frustration. As much as he had disliked the Red Scorpion, he had not wanted his death; Quintus had still been a brother in arms. It also meant that Nadim was currently facing the Trygon alone, probably having gained its full attention by now. If Cyrus didn't reach the top soon, the Salamander would receive the Emperor's Peace as well. "What of Nadim?" He asked nonetheless while he ran.
There was a moment of silence before the Apothecary answered. "Alive, and continues to fight, but I fear he will not live long. You must make haste brother." He urged Cyrus.
The Blood Raven nodded, well aware Seneca couldn't see it, giving no further reply. He increased his speed, one hand often against the wall to keep himself from sheering. Cyrus finally reached the top. He found himself in a round room where part of the outer wall had broken off, a little of its remains scattered everywhere, along with hat seemed to have been a small Mycetic Spore; perhaps this was how some of the Gants had gotten in.
Without stopping he ran to the opening, the strong breeze blowing his hair around his head like a tumultuous halo, as well as throwing rain into his face, and he looked upon the atrium where the Trygon was still hunting Nadim. Cyrus had to act quickly, and already he saw how the beast raised one of its smaller talons, the Salamander already on his back. Swiftly the Raven drew his sniper rifle, aimed for a mere moment and fired. He knew even the large bullets would hardly wound the giant beast, not severely at least, but that was not what they were supposed to do. All he needed was the Trygon's attention, and if possible give his brother a chance to escape. The round hit the smaller scything-talon, tearing through the joint with an explosion, severing it from the limb.
The Trygon growled and suddenly lost interest in the Salamander, who was no longer a threat, Cyrus seeing now through the scope that part of Nadim's leg had been severed, and it began searching the irritant that had dared to attack it. It spotted the Blood Raven in the highest room of the tower. Cyrus stared into its burning yellow eye, the other only a bloody hole, seeing hate that mirrored his own for the xeno, as he steeled himself for its attack, doubt sneaking into his mind, but he swiftly pushed it aside. The choice had been made, and he breathed in deeply, knowing there was no turning back. Like a striking snake the Trygon suddenly rose, coming towards him. If Astartes could feel anxiety, this would have the moment, yet all the Blood Raven actually realized was his own tension, his mind too focused to notice any emotion. No mistake, not now.
It seemed to know that it couldn't reach him with its talons, and Cyrus looked at its closer coming fangs, each about as tall as one of his arms. He secured his sniper rifle again with a strap over his shoulder, took the last cylinder, the detonator in his other hand. The Tyranid opened its jaws wider, ready to grab the Blood Raven and swallow him whole; given its size it wouldn't have much trouble with that. "Grave mistake, xeno." Cyrus snarled, as he watched the jaws coming closer. The scything-talons hacked into the tower in order to push the Trygon up even further, the Raven feeling the structure shivering and heard stone breaking, in its entirety tilting towards the atrium and the beast.
And then it was close enough.
Swiftly Cyrus threw the charge, the warm breath of the beast already washing over him, the giant jaws opening even wider, fangs ready to snatch and tear him apart like the Ravener earlier, but instead only the cylindrical container's barbs grabbed on to its tongue. The moment the charge had left his hand, Cyrus knew he could not remain in that room, but the stairway was blocked, the tower was already crumbling, leaving him with only one option; he had to jump. Considering the height, even his bones would break, perhaps with power armor he would have had a chance, and there was no way to land on the closer rooftop, the angle being simply impossible. Only one option and no time to reconsider.
Cyrus jumped, passed the Trygon's head, which it tried to turn in time, but instead crashed into the upper most room of the tower, the roof collapsing upon it. He fell against the ribcage-like exoskeleton around its torso, and quickly grabbed on to it, his boots finding another 'rib' to stand on. Unfortunately his face met the exoskeleton as well, his vision for a brief second pitch black. While it left no damage, the dull pain stayed for a while, but Cyrus didn't let himself get distracted by such a minor inconvenience. Now that he was in a somewhat stable position, he felt across the detonator, which had shifted in his grip upon his landing, quickly finding the button again.
The Trygon was pulling its head free, stone and debris raining down, but missing the Astartes, who was protected by the Tyranids' body. Cyrus heard its snarling, just as his thumb pushed the button. A thundering, but dulled explosion shook the entire beast, the head and neck torn apart in fire, with only a few bits of burned plates remaining. For a moment the Trygon was still, as if frozen in time, when suddenly its muscles contracted for a final time, the tail twitching like a dead man's leg would.
A trace of satisfaction was erased, as a sharp pain all of the sudden rushed through Cyrus' body, and he snarled, his hands grabbing the 'rib' tighter. The pain radiated from his left side, and when he looked down he saw that one of the thorn-like claws that lined the torso on both sides, had slashed through the Blood Raven's less protected abdominal region, below the carapace armor. The claws were in fact attached to tiny limbs and as such moveable, which had caused them to suddenly retract, one having met Cyrus while doing so, another having left a deep scratch in one of his boots.
It was then that the Trygon's body gave in and fell. The scything-talons slipped from the towered which collapsed back upon itself. Cyrus held on, the claw still slicing into his flesh as the giant body fell backwards, first slowly, and then with great speed. The impact threw Cyrus off the beast, his feet slipping from the smooth exoskeleton, causing the claw to cut a little deeper still. Only his left arm got briefly caught on a thorny outgrowth that held on to the tear-resistant sleeve, a sharp pain running through his arm, especially at the shoulder. The ground trembled, and Cyrus landed next to the Trygon's corpse, sliding through the mud, his sniper rifle in turn slipping from his shoulder.
He looked up to see the long talons coming down, and swiftly rolled to the side, closer to the body again, as standing up would almost certainly have taken too long. The five remaining talons landed with a dull sound, sinking a little into the mud. Only now did Cyrus allow himself to relax, taking a deep breath, with a certain amount of relief. It had worked.
Slowly he sat up, at first leaning against the Tyranid, flinching as his wound protested against his movement, and when he tried to move his left arm, a new pain soared from it. Instead he pressed his right hand on the wound, a little blood still running from it, and he recalled the painful sensation in his left arm, when he'd been thrown off. It didn't feel like it was broken though, perhaps it was merely dislocated; a small blessing. Cyrus looked around, finding his favored weapon not far away, partially buried beneath a talon and covered with mud. He very briefly grimaced with displeasure; it would be some time before the machine-spirit forgave this treatment.
Finally Cyrus got back on his feet, stepping out of the Trygon's shadow, the rain once more pouring down on him. It cleaned his armour soon of most of the mud, drenching his long hair, which partially stuck to his face in a matter of seconds. His boots sank into the soft ground, and he first recovered his weapon, ignoring the pulsating pain as he kneeled down to reach out for it. With it secured once more he got searching for his brothers, his right hand once more pressed on the wound, though the bleeding had all but stopped.
He found Nadim close by, leaning against the wall, the trail of blood evidence that he had crawled the few meters from where he had been wounded. The Salamander's leg was still lying at the edge of the walkway, the rain loudly hammering upon the armor. His brother however was not alone, Seneca having joined him already, the Inquisitor's medicae at his side as well; apparently she's returned from the hangar, likely on the Apothecary's request. Nadim's open wound had disappeared behind a white pressure bandage, Seneca having probably already administered analgesics designed for Astartes, as their gene-seed organs would otherwise metabolize them too fast, preventing the desired effect.
The Salamander was the first to spot Cyrus, as he stepped out of the rain and under the awning, at least the helmet turned around, the orange lenses looking directly at him. Seneca was the next to take notice of the Blood Raven's presence, giving him a nod as he turned to him, alerting the young woman as well. She was the first to speak. "Milord!" The medicae addressed Cyrus with some distress, seeing the blood on his fingers, still pressed against his wound and seeing the strange angle is left arm was in.
"I am fine, medicae." He calmly assured her, getting down on one knee to at least be on eye-level with his brothers.
"When the Trygon attacked you and a few moments later the explosion claimed its life, we feared the worst." Nadim told him; his voice sounded tired.
"The enemy is not finished with me, nor I with them." The Blood Raven asserted, a grim smile on his lips.
"Hmm." Seneca seemed to be examining Cyrus' condition with the help of his Diagnostor Helmet. "Your side has been ripped open, but luckily only your outer muscle, the obliquus externus abdominis, has taken damage, Cyrus, and your left humerus is dislocated."
"I suffered worse, Seneca."
"Still, at least your arm should be taken care of; given our current state, neither Nadim nor I will be of much use should it come to another fight. Let him set it."
The Blood Raven didn't argue and sat down next to Nadim, who took his left arm, placing his other hand on Cyrus' shoulder. "Happy thoughts, brother." The Salamander advised him.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow and gave him a dry, joyless smile, even if his brother couldn't see it, his tone sarcastic. "Always."
With one quick and forceful movement, Nadim pulled and set the arm again, his brother briefly snarling as the pain, the medicae flinching at the unexpected loud sound. Slowly Cyrus moved his arm again, the pain far from gone, but at least his limb was functioning again. Seneca nodded approvingly. "Good; your body will be able to deal with your other wound for now. Do you require analgesics?"
Cyrus shook his head. "No, keep it for yourself and Nadim; you have greater need of it."
"As you wish, but we should rest for a few more moments." The Apothecary instructed. "We will have to support Nadim, once we head down to the hangar."
The other two Astartes nodded briefly, and silence returned with only the rain continuing in the background. Medicae Pravin, seemingly uncomfortable, being the only normal human among three Space Marines, walked to the edge of the awning and held her bloody hands into the shower, letting the never-ending water wash them clean again. "This kill will grant you much glory, brother." Nadim noted after a while, looking at the lifeless body of the headless Trygon.
"Glory is another name for a fool's luck." Cyrus merely responded, wiping some of his wet hair from his face.
"You think yourself a fool?"
"My actions today would suggest it, though I suppose the circumstances made them necessary."
"They undeniably paid off." Nadim reminded him, his voice sounding heartening.
His brother frowned, though he didn't deny the truth of the statement. "A rare exception I would say." He noted calmly.
The Salamander gave a nod. "Audentes fortuna juvat." He spoke in High Gothic; fortune favors the bold.
With this Cyrus could not agree; if anything fortune was fickle and favored none. Besides, only a fool would approve of foolish actions. Cyrus didn't consider himself one, and refused to comment himself on the manner with which he had slain the beast. Desperation had dictated his actions; Quintus had died, Nadim was injured and would have died as well, had Cyrus arrived but a moment later at the top of the tower, and he himself could just as easily have been devoured before being able to detonate the charge or he might have gotten killed in the explosion. "Cuilibet fatuo placet sua calva." He eventually replied; every fool is pleased with his own folly.
"And so you remain discontent." Nadim shook his head in defeat. "You are truly hopeless, brother; even in victory you excoriate all, including yourself. Though I admit I'd be curious to see what would happened should you ever converse with one of our brothers from the Doom Eagles."
"A merry gathering, if there ever was one." Cyrus noted plainly, making the Salamander chuckle briefly.
"Well, I'm delighted to see that you have at least some kind of 'humor'."
The Blood Raven merely gave him a shrug and it became silent once more. The ache in his side little by little disappeared, as did the dragging pain in his arm, though it was not he who would decide when they would head for the hangar. It was only after a few more minutes that Seneca got back on his feet, steadier than before. It was the first true sign that his condition was improving and his body was overcoming the alien phages in his blood and tissue.
Nadim lifted his head. "Apothecary?"
"We ought to be going, and I have yet to recover Quintus' gene-seed." The Ultramarine answered him, looking over to where the Trygon had thrown the Scorpion's body. "Even wounded like I am, my duties remain. You are right, Cyrus; I must secure the gene-seed and return it, as I have sworn to."
"My weapon is still somewhere at the east wing, at least what remains of it." The Salamander mentioned, shifting as if he was trying to get on his feet. "Such a valuable relic must not be left behind. If one of you would recover it before we leave this place."
"I will retrieve it for you, brother." Cyrus promised him. "But we cannot carry it and you at once."
"As long as it finds its way home, it will be enough."
To lift Nadim up, so he could at least use his remaining leg, it required both his brothers, Seneca to his right, Cyrus at his left, so the Raven's own wound would be less strained and not open up again. With the Salamander between them as well as his arms across their shoulders, they had him in a quite stable position. It only took Nadim a moment to get used to balancing himself on only one leg, and they could finally go, while the Salamander was required to hop; there were certainly more dignified ways to leave a battlefield, but at least he still lived.
Staying under awning, they headed back to the west wing, though it went slowly. Close to the destroyed section in the wall, they stopped at Quintus body. Dried blood covered his black armor, framing the large wound in his torso and covering the ground beneath him. It was a small fortune that the Tyranid's tail had pierced him below the location of the Chest Progenoid.
Nadim leaned against Cyrus, allowing the Apothecary to fulfill his duty. The Blood Raven could feel the flesh of his freshly sealed wound tearing up again slowly, due to the additional weight, but he indicated no discomfort, silently supporting his brother as Seneca kneeled down. For a moment the Ultramarine scanned their fallen brother's body, his Diagnostor Helmet helping him not only with finding the exact location of the gene-seed, but also the angle with which he needed to approach it, in order to prevent damages to the valuable organ.
Once he had made the necessary preparations, Seneca placed his tool mere centimeter above the lethal wound, at the lower end of the sternum. The drill of the Narthecium emitted an unwelcomed sound as it pierced the power armor, the already damaged breastplate breaking around it. "May the Emperor grant you peace, brother." Seneca spoke once he was through the armor and stabbed the Reductor into their fallen brother's chest, recovering the first of two Progenoids. "For none who died in his service died in vain. Your deeds shall live on in memory, and our Emperor's gift within another soul."
"Non omnis moriar." Cyrus and Nadim solemnly spoke, their faces grave behind mask and helmet; not all of me shall die.
To remove the second Progenoid, the drill was not needed, as it was located in the neck, close to the thyroid. It was not the first time Cyrus saw this, and it would likely not have been the last. The same had already happened to Cornelius, Tullius and Maccius; a single mission and their Kill-Team had lost more than half its number, a grave loss for both the Ordo and their chapters. For a moment the Blood Raven wondered what would happen, should the Tyranids ever invade his own chapter's home-sector, now that their former home-world of Cyrene had been put to the torch. The result could only be devastating, and his consideration aggrieved him even more. He needed to return to his chapter; even if he wasn't allowed to speak directly about his experiences with the Deathwatch, his knowledge could serve his brothers well one day, after all it was said that the Tyranids were reaching the galaxy in ever growing number. A confrontation was not a mere possibility, but a certainty.
And knowledge was power.
When Seneca rose again, Nadim spoke his voice filled with sorrow. "We cannot leave him here brothers; we cannot allow one of these vile xenos to feast on him."
"You are right." The Apothecary confirmed, and Cyrus nodded once in agreement. "But we must return for him once we have bought you to our transport." Seneca returned to his place supporting the Salamander, and the three Astartes continued on, the medicae behind them, ever keeping a respectful distance.
Just as they climbed through the hole into the gallery, the rain suddenly stopped, the clouds opened up, and they all found themselves looking at the sky. The evening sun shone through cracks in the ceiling above the mansion, rays reaching the dead Trygon, making its wet chitin-plates shimmer, the light breaking up into colorful patterns. Water was still dripping from it, and fine steam rose from the still warm body wherever the light touched upon it, adding an almost surreal quality to the scene. There was some strange, if macabre beauty to it, but it was not lifting any of their hearts; too much blood had been spilled here, too deep was the hatred for the fallen xeno.
They only lingered for a few seconds, and Seneca spoke one more time before they stepped out of the light. "Come, I am eager to leave this dreadful place." He told them, his almost fatherly voice having finally returned to him. "And I believe we are eagerly awaited at Seraphim Citadel."
Dies diem docet
One day teaches the next