-6-
Remus Tyrax casually discarded the Kazon Officer upon the flagstones of the giant parade yard, as if he was merely baggage. In the Marines mind, he was, but Remus knew that they'd need all of the Imperial guns available to repel this invasion. He stalked his way towards the rumbling forms of the Predator fighting vehicles and the cluster of his battle brothers. They were huddled about the rear of the second Predator, lending what ever aid they could to the Marines stood upon it's wide flat roof. They lowered a pair of Marines down from the height of the vehicle, one limp, the other missing a leg. With a crease of his brow he cycled through the tactical information being relayed via the inter-armour vox link and it caused his cheek to spasm.
The first Marine down was laid upon the flag stones, his brothers reaching for medical aid from their utility belts or removing plates of his armour to better deal triage to his wounds. The second grunted as he was lowered, clutching at the Marine who eased him to the ground. His leg sprayed one last gout of over bright blood before his Larraman's cells stopped the bleeding, forming a rapidly crusting area of sticky, coagulated blood. Tyrax shouldered his way through his mingling brothers came between the two injured Astartes. Apothecary Iver stepped forward and went to a knee before the prone Marine, his white helm with its black stripe turning to regard the legless Marine.
"I will deal with you in short order, for now, you suffer."
He turned his gaze back and inspected the Marine below him. He sucked in a breath and removed several packs from his belt, opening them and then firing his narthecium into whirring life.
"Turn him over."
He demanded and the Astartes obeyed, the sound of armour scraping on stone rang out between the tanks who cut their rumbling engines. The form of Honoured Lysandros loomed over head, his assault claw whirling and twitching in anticipation, echoing the smaller affections of his brothers. Several of the Marines cursed as the extent of the prone Astartes wounds were revealed and Iver shook his head. He removed two small injection plugs from his portable narthecium and inserted them into a small port just behind the unconscious Marines helmeted head. He lifted his left arm, gazing at the small data slate as it burbled cryptic information to him.
"Hmmm, severe internal bleeding, Llaraman's organ is keeping the worst of it in check. His primary heart has been rendered useless, relying on his secondary. Both lungs ineffective and only his multi-lung is pumping the bare minimum of oxygen around his bloodstream. His suit has injected almost all of its pain-suppressors directly into him and judging by the multitude of fractures in his bone structure, the black carapace and torn musculature that Brother Merdoth is only going to survive if we can get him back to the Sentinel."
He frowned inside his helm, biting out of habit onto the padded in lay pushing at his cheeks. This was their first casualty and despite his initial misgivings of deploying directly into the enemy force, he was all together surprised they had only Merdoth as a primary casualty. Evidently the World Eaters had been taken by surprise, something most definitely uncommon. Iver regarded Merdoth before him, his power pack was sparking, barely able to keep the immense power field it generated in check, portions of the rear facing armour were scorched so fiercely from the exploding jump pack that the ceramite had bubbled and stuck to Merdoths skin, where skin was visible it was black, cracked and oozing.
Remus turned his head to review the mustered force, his Marines turning to gaze at him. The decision was his to make. Iver watched his Captain as he turned away from the assembled Marines and moved towards the Guard element. He noted the gait his superior had adopted, stalking like a wolf, his hands never more than two inches from his weaponry. Iver watched his Captain part the defence force like a shark amongst fish and proceed to the triage tent that had been hastily erected.
Tyrax stooped under the lintel of the tent and straightened, his helmet bulging the fabric of the roof. He ignored the staring, interested only on the screaming. He loomed above a surgeon fighting desperately to secure a severed artery in a mans leg, the patient thrashing in the grip of his fellow soldiers, screaming incoherently in pain despite the morphine. Tyrax cocked his head, observing as the surgeon cursed and shoved his fist deeper into the mans thigh wound. The Guard screeched and then passed out, smacking his head off the blunt edge of the metal table. Tyrax leant over the shoulder of the surgeon, taking in all of the fighting that went into saving the mans life. It was all so visceral, so desperate, nothing like the administration of medicine within the Astartes ranks. Tyrax focused more intently upon the struggle, using his Lymans ear to filter out all sound until he could distinguish the faint thud of the mans heart. It took barely a moment, one blink of the eye and he was gone.
"He is dead."
His voice boomed into the tent and the surgeon yelped in surprise, ripping his hand from inside the mans body. He turned and backed up against the table, almost climbing onto it with the corpse.
"E-e-emperor preserve me!"
Tyrax nodded at the medics shock and spoke again.
"I am sure he will, Medicae. I come to ask one question, how long will a man survive a krak grenade detonating between his shoulder blades?"
The surgeon stared in confusion at this giant before him, trying furiously to rub his blood stained hands off on the already bloody apron he wore.
"H-he won't."
Remus nodded and spun upon his heel, then he exited the tent without so much as another word. He kept the wide band vox channel open to hear the post-battle chatter between his subordinates but he sub-vocalised to Gerhet on a secure channel.
"Brother-Sergeant, what are our chances of getting the Perdition to return and extract Brother Merdoth?"
He waited, watching as Gerhet physically switched channels upon his gorget, unhooking an auspex from his belt. The Sergeant passed it back and forth, boosting his vox range. He nodded before turning to look in his Captains direction.
"Negative, Captain. The Perdition took a direct hit and is an engine down. They barely broke atmosphere to return to the Sentinel. No other flight will reach us before the enemy guns pick it from the sky. The Sentinel is now engaged in inter-ship manoeuvres and will be unavailable until further notice."
Tyrax had feared as much and released a sigh inside his helmet, terminating the communication. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the spasm that afflicted the muscles there, closing his eyes to let the moment wash over him. He isolated Merdoths vital signs and projected them upon his tactical visor. With a nod to himself he resumed his vigil above both of the wounded Marines, handing his bolter out from his body, expecting one of his men to relieve him of the weapon. His gauntlet clad fingers came up, popping the seals upon his helmet and he removed it, the black stripe marking his command rank stark against the blood flecked yellow. He lowered the helmet to the floor, the ceramite clacking, then he knelt upon one knee. With a flourish he unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, the air sparked and hissed as the lethal energies within surged to life, bathing the steel blade in a sheet of white fire. He reversed his grip upon the hilt and slammed it, double handed, tip first into the stone beneath him. The rockcrete bubbled and blackened under the punishing power radiating from the sword and Tyrax basked in the heat shimmering from the blade. He stared at the white sheets of flame, coursing along the body of the weapon like liquid. He bared his teeth and began to the final words.
"A bitter day, a bitter night. Bitterness takes life and claims it, eternal."
Apothecary Iver understood and removed his own helmet, leaning forward to remove Merdoth's helm. The assembled Marines began to remove their own helmets and take up in chorus the words their Captain spoke. Their voices hard as hammers, their faces twisted into snarls of anger.
"Lamentation does not become us. Misery and Regret, unknown. One passes to the side of Him on Earth, so another may take his place."
Iver lifted his arm, bringing his narthecium to rest against Merdoths burnt skull, the carnifex powering into life, bringing the needle point piston to bear. Captain Tyrax then stood, turning his blade upright and holding it so close to his face, that his cheeks blistered. His voice rose, booming across the courtyard and silencing all but his brothers repeated chant.
"MALICE FOR THE SAKE OF MALICE. FURY FOR THE SAKE OF FURY. HATRED AND CONVICTION, FOR HIM ON EARTH, GLORY AND HATE!"
Every assembled Marine Malevolent roared at the top of their super human lungs, the sound like a battalion of tanks firing in unison. Iver closed his eyes and willed his suit to activate the carnifex module, the shining pistol shot forward with the speed of a bullet and the force of a battering ram, the needle point crushing into the side of Merdoths skull, pulping the flesh and brain matter and ultimately severing the nervous system. With a body shuddering spasm, Merdoth died.
"It is done" the Apothecary solemnly intoned, "May Merdoth serve us forever more."
The whir of the chainblade attached the narthecium piercing the air and the screech of it attacking the armour was eerie. As Iver went about the business of extracting Merdoths progenoids, Tyrax sheathed his sword, powering it down. He lifted a finger to rub away a blister from his nose, the thing bursting down his armour. He turned to see the Guard all watching, to a man they had witnessed the death of a Space Marine. It was so ritualised, so unnatural to the passing of human life. It was entirely sacred and spoke of unimaginable loss compared to the constantly shifting scales of mortal existence. Tyrax picked out one uttered sentence from the lips of a man.
"They die like us...we're doomed"
Remus sneered in the direction of the assembled Guard. He spread his arms, as if daring them to approach, radiating hostility. His voice was like the snarl of a bear, almost a physical force as he bawled out the mortal men.
"Doomed? Nay, not doomed! RESOLUTE! We are resolute in our victory. It does not matter that you fall like wheat before a scythe, it does not matter that we fall like titans to crush the field beneath us. It only matters that we win, victory at all cost. You deign to serve the Emperor and you cower in the face of his foes? Find resolution in your hearts, men of Kazon, or I shall find it for you."
He spun away from them, the winged lightening bolt upon his pauldron flashing menacingly under the glow of the void shield high above them. He stalked back past his brothers, Gerhet falling into step beside him. Tyrax made his way towards one of the giant shell loading lifts that would bare his weight to the wall top.
"Intense, Captain, Merdoth shall be missed."
Tyrax turned about face upon the surface of the lift and slapped his hand at the activation rune, Gerhet stepped up beside him.
"Aye, Sergeant Gerhet, his hate will be missed. For now though, I go to prove the leaders of this-" he flicked his hand out, encompassing the throng of Guardsmen "- rabble...that they are wrong and we shall attain victory at any cost."
Gerhet chuckled, the sound low and dangerous.
"Any particular reason, Captain?"
Tyrax lifted his eyes from the pinprick dot that was his helmet, left by the corpse of Merdoth and fixed their cold gaze upon his Sergeants helm.
"I am now angry."