Anomaly detected. Unknown object.
Caution.
Caution.
Caution.
- Proximity warning, detected by the Severance Package.
Telin crossed to the viewport. The repairs were almost complete.
The bridge crew had gathered; binoculars and eye scopes pressed to their faces.
At first they had come to gawk at the sea of dropships. Then something else caught their attention entirely. A pin-prick of fire in the sky high above, growing steadily larger.
"Is that what I think it is?" Pohld asked.
Neither Telin nor Kelpo could answer him. It defied belief.
A man, falling from a colossal height.
Only it was far too large to be a man. Far too dense; to a point where even the Severance's tracking systems blurted an orbital alert.
The flitting shape was there, and then it was gone.
Then the explosions started.
Doric felt the Frame vibrate around him; the stone-skin that was not his own impervious to the shrieking wind. The Elytron Archwing harness lay cold and silent; invisible to scopes of the landing teams deploying below. The Navy went about its deployment, oblivious to the doom hurtling in from orbit.
The Elytron was defined by many things. Its snarling, turbine engines; full throated and muscular. By far its most notable feature was its payload. A trademark lack of subtlety.
Doric didn't bother deploying it at first. He let his Frame punch shoulder-first clean through a dropship entirely; trailing bodies and shredded fuselage in his wake. The lander lost control; swinging into the drop-ship beside it; triggering a monstrous domino effect that played havoc with the Corpus dispersal.
Then the Elytron's engines flared into life. Cluster munitions spat forth in its wake, shrieking into ground targets and tearing great fiery chunks throughout the Corpus Deployment Zone.
In low orbit aboard the Corpus Navy Frigate Dominant Position, Captain Theo Plun frowned at the holographic overplay of the target area. His instructions from the Board had been rather brief. They were on their final security rotation in this sector. Another backward sector, in need of adjustment.
He sipped his caffeine. It had been a long shift. He wrinkled his nose. The caffeine was sour, almost cold.
The Dominant Position was a troop carrier, first and foremost. The outer pickets got all the action. They seldom saw Grineer activity, this far over the Frozen Sector. Another routine dispersal, right on schedule. It was almost boring.
Still, the seismic reports seemed entirely at odds with initial surface scans.
"Strange," He mused absently, taking a sip from his mug. "I didn't order the ground crews to undertake preliminary bombardment."
His XO looked up at him, visibly sweating.
"Sir, that's not us."
The mug shattered against the deck.
A wall of fire rose up at the rear of the Corpus army. Dropships panicked, scrambling in all directions; many colliding. Some exploded outright; others split in half by searing sheets of pure energy; as a tiny shape in the distance flew amongst them; scattering them like a fox in a hen house, only far more murderous.
Even the bounding Hyena units skidded in their tracks, twisting about to see what the commotion was.
In the distance, a mushroom cloud went up, then another. And another.
Warheads rained from the sky. Armageddon. The sky itself was on fire.
"About bloody time!" Mirage cheered as a fourth mushroom cloud went up.
The Corpus army charged the ziggurat. Half in panic, half understanding - quite astutely - that it was better to at least engage their enemy up close than simply waiting to be mown down by the downpour of ordnance shrieking in from on high. A series of staggered electric shields met them as they charged up the slope; as piercing shots cut down men and drones alike.
Volt and Mirage met them head on at the height of the steps, two against a thousand.
Neera felt the elevator shake on its moorings. Dust sifted down the lift shaft. The lights dimmed momentarily. A nervous murmur went out amongst the Solaris. Glances were exchanged.
"What was that?" It was the bruiser of a welder, Sparks.
Neera looked up; eyes still raw.
"The beginning of the end."
Isolde fumbled and wrestled with the collar in the dark; teeth clenched. The mighty Orokin barge loomed above her, drowning the Northern Landing Pad in its shadow. For a premium berth the innards beneath were notably industrial; all dangling chains and grubbily functional work spaces for the maintenance crews. Glowing advertisement plinths pitched one luxury item after another.
The Dax could track her. Not precisely, but he walked in her direction every time she relocated; slipping from one shadowy machine shop to the next. If the inferno on the skyline bothered him, he didn't show it. Just one clanking footfall after another, patient yet relentless.
There was no running from this fight.
"Your Cell is here. Servants of the House Eternal, united once more." Eythan remarked as he stopped in the middle of the warehouse. "I wonder what they'll say to you, when I reunite you with them…"
Eythan's visor panned from left to right; one hand on his nikana.
"…Knowing you abandoned them."
He shifted at the last second. The nikana met the pipe in Isolde's hands as she descended from the rafters above. She had to roll aside to narrowly avoid bisecting herself on the razor sharp blade.
Eythan Dax chuckled, thoroughly amused. He whipped the blade in a flourishing bow.
"Ever the creeping shadow, Tenno." He settled into a forward guard. "But no more games."
He swept toward her, faster than any human rightfully should. A neat hand-spring carried her clear, but only just. The blade flashed out, twice. Hanging chains and stacked engine cores fell apart in precise cross-section. In her haste to get away, Isolde's foot caught a box of spare parts and she went sprawling over on her back.
The blade was inches from her face, all but tickling her eyelashes.
"Desist." Eythan Dax towered over her. "Lord Septimus awaits."
A thunderclap threw the golden warrior clean across the room.
Terrenus Vern lowered the smoking Hek.
"I'd threaten you to leave the girl alone. But I've just about had it with speeches for the day."
By rights a normal man would be dead. Eythan Dax was no ordinary man. He rolled to his feet, his shield system fluttering and spitting as it re-asserted itself. The Dax's golden armour had absorbed the blast, but had been bruised an ugly chrome from where the pellets had caught him centre-mass. He rolled to his feet, groggily.
Vern looked at the Tenno blinking up at him from the floor.
"Yeah, surprise." Vern winked at her, then nodded to the door behind him. "Now scram."
"Not without you." Isolde shook her head.
"Non-negotiable, kid. Zone crawls with Corpus Navy. The others are waiting. Move. I'll finish this."
Isolde snarled and ran.
Vern stepped between her and the Dax, the shotgun raised. He thumped the door control one-handed. The emergency hatchway slammed down, sealing the Dax in the machine shop with him.
"Just you and me now, Golden Boy."
Eythan Dax took a low stance, the sword held primed in his hands. His lips curled in a sneer; disgusted that a mere Corpus had gotten the drop on him.
"This isn't your war bounty hunter."
The bounty hunter and the Dax faced off with murderous intent. Vern sighted the shotgun, eyes narrowed.
"Oh, I rather think it is."
Telin watched the ziggurat from a distance. He could just about make out Kael and his companion on the slopes. The trick wasn't to try and pick out a single shape amidst the horde. It was to spot the flashpoint where the horde suddenly and irreversibly thinned.
Unfettered by the lack of friendlies in the vicinity, the Tenno unleashed their powers to the fullest. Sheets of electricity washed down the slope. A wave of energy bolts swept back and forth; occasionally interspersed with a twisting ball of vibrant colour; that clove through the Corpus army before exploding with a brilliant flare of light. Bodies tumbled freely down the slope.
The Tenno fought as demons. Navy Tactical Assessment struggled with the footage afterward. Statistically, the losses proved scarcely credible. Stocks for supplies all across the sub-sector shot up within the hour, such was the volume of replacement orders. The ziggurat ran red with blood.
Even so the Corpus army advanced; all but swallowing the temple. Not even the constant aerial bombardment deterred them.
The Tenno were being driven back, step by step. Encroached on all sides.
Soon, they would be overwhelmed.
"We need to help them." Telin said suddenly.
"You're joking." Sobil replied stiffly. "There? That's death."
Telin ignored him. He snapped his fingers. "Stren, what kind of ground ordnance does this thing have?"
Stren blinked at him.
"Mine layer hasn't been loaded in years." He scratched at his jowls thoughtfully. "There's the twin-linked Senta; couple of Mordda's and the fore and aft Akkalak; but ammo reserves are down. Running about thirty percent, give or take. Fight like that? We can't last more than thirty minutes, tops."
"What about energy cells? What do you do with the spent cores?"
"We've a containment charger." Stren blinked slowly. "You don't mess around with old cores."
"We do now."
"You're thinking of a Vallis Special?" Kelpo shook his head in disbelief.
"What's a Vallis Special?" Pohld asked, brow furrowed.
Telin grinned wolfishly.
"Couple cycles back Kelp and I had to clear an old Grineer mining wreck that went down near the Orb Vallis. Thing was buried deep. Used an old power core to jury rig an explosion."
"Nearly fried us both." Kelpo shook his head with a dark chuckle.
"You're both insane." Sobil folded his arms. "That's the Corpus Navy you're talking about – we're bloody scavengers for Void's sake! Think of what you're suggesting!"
Telin grabbed Sobil by the hem of his environment rig; eyes flinty; nose inches from the man's face.
His voice was icy calm, resolute.
"It's like this Sobil. The Exchange wants us dead. The Board are about to bring their boot down on everyone and everything I've ever known and loved. Now we can sit here, and try and our weasel our way out of this; maybe try and scrape a profit on some other misbegotten spit-hole where we're not plagued by bounty hunters for the rest of our days. Or we can accept that maybe, just maybe, this is our fight too."
Sobil blanched. Telin released him, shaking his head; looking out the window.
Sobil looked at the others.
"And the rest of you? You're with him?"
Kelpo nodded without hesitation. Pohld and Teico murmured their assent.
"Aye, surely." Stren grinned; folding his burly tattooed arms across his chest.
"Great, so now we're terrorists." Sobil looked at Telin pointedly, "But if you're going in there, you're going to do this properly."
They all looked at him. Sobil offered a conspiratorial wink.
"Our mine-layer is perfectly functional, for one."
From behind the blast shield, Isolde heard Vern's shotgun discharge right as steel bit steel.
She needed this damn collar off. She needed the Void. She stumbled blindly, wrestling with the collar; as a rabbit chews the snare.
Something tackled her, smashing her into cover.
A brace of plasma shots cut the air where she'd been moments before.
"Down girl!" Parson-Luk hissed, shying back. "Company!"
Three Corpus dropships circled on the Northern Dock; search lights probing the gloom. An assault force of hardened military troops, two platoons strong. They fanned out between the densely packed gantries and columns at the base of the Northern Landing Pad; picking their way through the metallic jungle. Rifle torches flitted left and right.
Brakarr emerged from the shadows of a stairway, the eyes of his facemask a baleful yellow.
The Akkalak was not intended as a portable weapon. Brakarr was large enough not to heed such limiting physical factors. His was custom made, with a shortened barrel; fed by the mighty drum mounted on the back of his war rig.
Brakarr made it sing. It split the heavens; ripping tracer fire across the front of the dropships. Search lights burst and crewmen tumbled from side ports; all but shredded. A lightshow of plasma fire broke out in the chaotic space. Above it all, Brakarr's booming laughter. This was war.
This is what he lived for.
Even so, they hunters were woefully outnumbered. The Navy troopers responded with dutiful precision; splitting into two groups; bounding from cover to cover. Those caught in the open swiftly paid the price; reduced to splintered meat.
"Behind me!" Brakarr bellowed, retreating backward.
Parson-Luk had not been idle. Time and time again, Corpus ankles snagged tripwires; triggering explosions or electrified snares. Gas bombs popped left and right; choking air filters with clogging mire sourced from Earth's most virulent swamps. Others fell shivering, their skin pierced by dart traps carefully seeded throughout the innards of the Docking bay. The Corpus advance slowed to a crawl, as paranoia set in.
This was good. This gave the Ostron range, and distance.
The Grinlok rifle had been a gift from Brakarr; bestowed to the Hunter after their fateful encounter, which had nearly left them both dead on the Plains. The Ostron curled himself up behind a pillar as he put it to use; expertly slamming shot after shot down range. More twisted and fell; their helmets punctured with ferocious accuracy.
Isolde grabbed Parson-Luk by the wrist. The hunter started with a snarl, his blood up. His eyes softened when he saw it was Isolde.
"The collar! Can you get it off?!"
The hunter took the collar in his hands, assessing it with beady eyes. There were no seams, or rivets to work with. Just that smooth polished brass-gold finish.
"Ai yo… Orokin tech. Not good, Tenno. Quite valuable though." Parson-Luk looked over at Brakarr and bellowed "Eh! Ito-da! Over here!"
The Grineer trundled over dutifully; having to stoop his head under the dense pipework overhead. His war-rig was already scored with burn marks.
Brakarr took one look at the collar. He then set his mighty mechanical hands around it, and with a determined grunt pulled. The collar split with a sharp metallic peal.
The Void surged back in an instant. Isolde gasped as if surfacing for air.
Brakarr scrutinised her; offering her his Brakk side-arm. It was a snarling, brutish weapon.
"Tenno fight?" Brakarr asked.
"Tenno skoom." Isolde graciously grinned, taking the hand-cannon from him.
Brakarr boomed a chuckle, patted her on the head; then took up his cannon once more, surging once more into battle.
The Tenno and the Ostron followed.
The bounty hunters bled the Corpus as they pushed the Northern Landing Pad. Each fought their own way, their own style.
Isolde, Void dashing between them, breaking bones at close range; turning their own weapons against them in a ballistic, crunching ballet that swept her from one victim to the next. The Brakk snarled and thundered in her hands; a chomping, savage repeater that demolished armour and bone alike.
Parson-Luk thinned the crowds through careful marksmanship and cunning ambushes; constantly keeping the enemy off-balance.
And Brakarr, most of all Brakarr; with sheer industrious firepower.
The Corpus assault began to wither; as the dropships fell back. Isolde pressed the attack; racing after them. Parson-Luk followed, stalking from the shadows. Picking off targets where he could. The Corpus melted away; the hunters becoming the hunted.
Isolated, the Grineer caught a glimmer of movement in the shadows of the crates to his left. A bounding, hunched form. A quadruped drone, loping forward in bounding strides. The Hyena unit was an advanced war proxy; intended for hunting only the most difficult targets. Brakarr fit the bill.
The Hyena darted left and right; chased form pillar to post by stitching gunfire. Its shields flickered, wobbled; but it was quick. Much too quick. It closed the distance faster than Brakarr could track.
The Hyena slammed into the Grineer bodily; sending them tumbling over in a crashing heap.
Plasma incisors set beneath the Hyena's chin flared to life, inching closer and closer to his faceplate. It gnashed at him; the cutter flaring again and again. Its hooked claws ripped savage gouges deep into his side. Brakarr bellowed in pain. He fended the biting teeth one handed; groping for his side-arm. Isolde had it. She was too far away to help.
No matter. Brakarr was Grineer. No help was required.
The Sheev buzzed to life as he drew it from its sheath. Part machete, part welding torch; it doubled as everything from an entrenchment tool to a field-tin opener. Brakarr added drone-dismantling to the list.
He slammed it up through the base of the Hyena's chin. The proxy didn't stop; it continued to bite and thrash at him. Again and again he stabbed it. The Hyena squealed in agony as sparks flew and cables severed; squirting coolant. The weight on him slackened. The Grineer threw his weight to one side, rolling atop the addled drone. He left the Sheev buried in its central processing core as he took its head in a firm grip. With a roar he tore it clean off with his bare hands; bellowing as he bashed it against the steel floor again and again. The optical lenses on its face dented and cracked, then burst entirely. Circuits spilled like broken teeth.
The Hyena's thrashing ground to a mewling halt; its legs locked in a rictus flinch.
Brakarr retrieved his Sheev with a grunt, before casting the Hyena's severed head aside with a snarl. It clanked and rolled away in the shadows, forgotten. Then he collapsed.
Parson-Luk found him, sprawled beside the headless Hyena; surrounded by a carpet of empty shell casings and fallen Corpus soldiers.
Parson-Luk rolled the Grineer onto his back. Blood and oily coolant leaked freely from deep puncture wounds dimpled throughout his plating. His breathing was laboured; his lungs rattled with excess fluid.
"Eh Brakarr. You still with me big guy?"
The Grineer waved him away, wheezing. He tried to get up, slipped in his own fluids; then settled back, exhausted.
Parson-Luk fussed over him, mopping at the various leaks seeping from the depths of the Grineer's chassis. There was more oil than blood. The hunter looked about desperately for help.
Isolde was nowhere to be seen.
"Oh sure. Just carry the Grineer." The Ostron shook his head. "C'mon now. Up we go."
Brakarr snarled in pain as the hunter helped him back up. They limped away from the combat area; dripping blood and oil with every hobbled step.
"I tell you now, Big Guy." Parson-Luk shook his head ruefully. "This is no way to make a living."
Vern fired right as Eythan Dax charged. The Dax had preternatural speed, but Vern was no slouch either. Shields sparked, the sword sang.
The Hek caught the sword thrust; biting clean through the shotgun's housing. The sword caught, holding the hunter and the Dax face to fac. Vern smashed his forehead into the Dax's nose, knocking him back. Then the Lex was in his hands, barking. The sword flashed, turning shots left and right.
Vern didn't blink. A second Lex was in his hand; the servos embedded throughout his arms synching with the targeting software in his eyes. The hailstorm of shots drove the Dax further and further back. Eventually one got through; catching the Dax in the shoulder and spinning him off his feet.
Or not; as the Dax's twisting fall became a strike. His foot lashed out; an acrobatic high-sweep that snapped one of the Lex's clean apart. Vern backpedalled as the Dax flooded toward him; fists whistling.
The other Lex was dry. Vern holstered it and met the other man's assault hand to hand. The Dax struck like water; bending flowing strikes and snapping punches with kicks in a storm of blows that changed stance and rhythm with alarming speed. Vern's approach was more simple but no less brutal; a practiced pugilist and a grappler; with a degree of precision honed from a lifetime of fighting.
The bounty hunter surprised the Dax on occasion. A snapping punch or biting counter-jab; a spinning elbow or a throw that became a counter-throw, slamming the Dax into the ground. But the golden warrior showed no signs of fatigue, or slowing. He simply pressed on; recovering, relentless. Every time Vern caught one of the Dax's blows head one, the room swam. It was like being mule kicked by an Eidolon.
Vern swiftly backpedalled, snapping a new magazine into his Lex and opening up once more, lighting quick. By the third squeeze of the trigger the gun was already pointed at the ceiling, wrestled upwards in the Dax's vice-like grip. Blood dribbled down the Dax's golden arms; where one or two of the rounds had clearly found their mark beneath the plating. Whether he felt pain or not as he stared into Vern's eyes, it was impossible to tell.
The Dax spied the hole in Vern's forearm, left by an Exchange Agent's knife hours before. He held Vern's hands aloft one handed. The other snapped out and took a grip around his opponent's fore-arm. Eythan Dax dug a thumb into it the hole. Applied the tiniest degree of pressure.
Vern's cybernetic hand sprang open. His lips drew back in a howl. The Lex slipped from his grip, skittering across the floor. Eythan Dax swung the bounty hunter and bashed him through a set of shelving; scattering tinkling components noisily in his wake. Then he tossed the bounty hunter across the room with a contemptuous snarl.
The bounty hunter dropped into a smooth roll, coming to his feet; a blade in his hands. A snap kick sent it spinning from his grasp.
Vern had hunted all manner of creatures; had killed just about everything there was to kill across the known span of the Solar Rail. A rogue Jackal walker on the surface of Europa, its IFF code broken. A Grineer Nox; dribbling toxin from every vent. Vern was the most successful hunter the Exchange had ever seen. Ruthless in his ambition, merciless in his pursuit of the task at hand.
He used every tool at his disposal. Grenades and knives; rifles and bayonets. His own bare hands, when necessary.
One thing became clear to Terrenus Vern; right as Eythan Dax's next throw sent him crashing through an advertisement hoarding in a descending shower of sparks and glass.
This was one hunt he may not survive.