A/N: So, sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I do hope this especially long chapter makes up for it, a little over 26,000 words, before the A/N and all the review responses, and such at the bottom. This is more or less it by the way, second to last chapter for this story, I'm so goddamn excited too! It may not be the best, and I'm not sure if it'll work for all of you, especially with the way I'm gonna be ending it (Epilogue chapter will follow within at most three weeks after this). However, I'd just like to thank you all for reading this far. Hope you like it, kindly read and review.
"The Irony of life is that those who wear masks often tell us more truths than those with open faces." -Marie Lu
Finding the cave system behind the waterfall had been easy enough. Jessmuck and Aerith had picked up the trail left by their target, the witch had not been subtle in the least. Jericus could still see the faint emanations of heat from the fires, the thermal option of his eye was useful, casting the heat radiating from the embers in pale oranges, yellows, and blues. Footprints led from the camp to the waterfall, the tracks obvious even to the untrained eye.
"I count at least a few dozen separate sets of prints throughout the area, your man has a good amount of cronies it seems," Jessmuck spoke as he counted the prints at a glance. "How dangerous is this guy anyway?" He looked toward Dauntless for explanation.
"Korpsman S-1049 lost his eye and arm to the witch, and the good Watchmaster lost two subordinates due to his machinations. Not to mention the uncountable insurrections, assassinations, and terrorist attacks the man has coordinated and is personally responsible for. I'd say he's very dangerous, enough so that I'll tell you all, If you have a clear shot and element of surprise, blow his brains out." The Inquisitor's reply seemed to hit Jessmuck squarely, the large Catachan almost visibly taken aback. After all it wasn't normal to see a figure like Dauntless be so frank, or so concerned, Jericus was keen to agree with the Inquisitor on this one.
Though past experience told him that it wasn't going to be that simple, it never was…
"I'd rather not elaborate on what you all should know by now. Our mission is to prevent sector-wide destruction, this damned heretic has been a thorn in the Inquisitions side for quite a bit longer than I'd like to admit. As far as I'm concerned it's time to pull him free and toss him into the flames. Along with his maniacal plans." Dauntless' voice was certain, Jericus got the feeling of finality from it.
Their leader set off quickly, in the direction indicated by their trackers and the prints. They followed after, keeping formation in case of a diversionary force left behind to stall them, but that was unnecessary as they went on unchallenged. Either Georgii was certain they wouldn't pose a threat even if they reached him, or he was nuttier than even Dauntless thought. Neither thought was particularly far fetched. Though Jericus had the gut feeling it was the former, which made the thought all the worse.
Moving through the chilling drizzle of the waterfall they entered the cave system. Turning on lume-lamps they aimed their dozen beams into the darkness. It seemed to stretch on forever, the abyss almost living, Jericus felt a shiver run up his spine. The feeling was hard to explain, it was almost as though it were familiar, a simple nothingness that he felt also within himself. He imagined it was the same unease others felt around him all the time.
"I know that I'm normally quite steadfast, but this place disturbs me greatly," Kaede spoke. One of the few times Jericus, or any of them for that matter had heard from the quiet Arbitrator.
"Yes, it does seem very… empty," Sothy added.
"Well tha' ain't good, if'n you ladies are getting the creeps, then this place must be righ' nasty." Gunther interjected, a tremor clear in his voice, it was obvious that for once he was serious with his words.
"I don' do good in small spesses..." Aryn's surprisingly meek rumble rose above all.
"Ah, don't you worry big fella, ol' Schmidt an Gunther will keep ya good." Schmidt said patting the big ab-human's arm in an attempt to comfort him.
"It does the warrior no good to feel fear," Walton spoke up, his Brontian comrades echoing the same sentiment. A bark of laughter caused them to turn their slightly affronted gazes upon none other than Watchmaster B-63. At the uncharacteristic display, especially on a mission, their faces then morphed to confusion and surprise.
"I've seen men stirred to acts of heroism so great and profound because of fear. So much so even before I was part of the Korps, that saying was the one thing I never took to heart from my old Watchmaster. I've also seen 'fearless' men sacrifice themselves stupidly only to gain nothing, give me fearful soldiers anytime, those I can stir to do great things." B-63 spoke holding his audience in a trance, the Brontians had respect for him. "Now we ought to be quiet, won't do good wasting what little surprise we may have."
Walking on into the dark they started to notice the many signs of previous travel. Bootprints on the dusty ground, which had previously been undisturbed, making Jericus think that whatever unease he felt before caused the wildlife to leave this place alone. It made him think back to what the Eldar had said, something about Necrons, what those were he didn't know. Though if Georgii had plans to wake them up then it certainly wasn't good. Up ahead there finally seemed to be the proverbial, and literal, light at the end of the tunnel.
A faint, sickly, pale green light. As they approached what seemed to be a hole in what was once solid rock they emerged into a large cavern, spreading out and casting eyes in all directions. The monolithic room was cast in an eerie green glow via grid-like patterns running along the surface of the architecture. It looked ancient, yet highly technological all at once, it brought more unease to the group. Jericus could see Gunther and Schmidt visibly shiver, as well as Aryn. Even Virtanen shifted from her usual haughty detachment and looked ill at ease.
"Everyone eyes peeled, there may be more than bandits and witches in these passages. Captain Arthur, have your men break out the heavy pieces, it may soon be time for them to get their use." Dauntless spoke directly to the Stormtrooper Captain, who only nodded in response, a quick hand signal later and his two subordinates were unpacking their hidden loads, himself included.
One held a meltagun, while the other had a plasmagun, and the Captain rounded out the deadly array with an actual bolter. Jericus wondered if the Stormtrooper Captain had augmetics that allowed him to handle such a weapon, he probably did. After the Stormtroopers were ready they again started to move out, following the small signs here and there, as well as Dauntless' and Sothy's psychic intuition through the tunnels.
Passing through the structure Jericus was getting more and more nervous, things in this place just felt wrong, and the soft pulsating green glow was doing little to help. Not to mention that they would eventually run into Georgii and his small militia. It wasn't long before they finally ran into their first glimpse of said militia, though it wasn't what Jericus had expected.
"Thrones sake, what happened here..." Virtanen was surprisingly the one to utter the expletive. Given the sight they beheld that wasn't so surprising, war held many horrors, but Jericus had to imagine that a blue-blood such as herself would find such a grisly scene particularly offensive. Around half a dozen… corpses littered the room they had just entered. That in itself wasn't too unexpected, but their complete lack of skin was.
Musculature was on bloody display, raw, Jericus could see unblinking eyes staring back at him, dried out from lack of moisture. The bodies were arranged haphazardly around the space, the trails of blood everywhere showing in part how the battle seemed to have played out, the bulk of Georgii's forces seemed to have been able to press on. However, no sign of what had attacked them, no bodies, and no blood save that of humans.
Gunther walked to one of the corpses. "Dauntless you mind explaining to us what exactly we'll be fighting ye-Oh holy Emperor!?" As he'd been speaking the 'corpse' had grabbed his ankle, its head craned up, the act painful to watch. They all listened as it tried to gurgle something unintelligible. Gunther was staring into the too dry eyes of the dying person, frozen as everyone else, though that didn't last long. He easily pulled free from the pain wracked grip of the poor wretch.
Jericus looked to B-63, a silent conversation happened, B-63 nodded, to him and to the others under his command. Jericus drew his dagger, Fenria, S-360, and S-548 likewise drew bayonets. He approached the dying man at Gunther's feet, a quick movement and his dagger pierced through to his heart, ending his suffering. Around him his comrades likewise performed similar acts of mercy.
"Better to not waste the ammunition, but I wouldn't wish such horror on nearly anyone," B-63 spoke up. They had finished killing the rest of the bandits soon enough, sharp blades made easy work of the already damaged men and women. Dauntless said nothing, the Stormtroopers watched on dispassionately, the Brontians made signs of the Aquila, and everyone else steeled themselves for further scenes of horror to come.
Dauntless finally moved them on, leading the way once more, everyone was now even more on guard than previous. Whatever had flayed those bandits was obviously still alive and lurking in the pulsing shadows. The Stormtroopers had taken up new position in the formation, each having a heavy weapon covering a vector in the front, middle, and rear. Between their support and the weaponry of everyone around them they'd likely be able to take care of whatever came at them. That was the hope at least.
Jericus noticed that their footsteps were strangely muted by the floor, and looking through the various vision modes of his eye he noticed more than one anomaly. The walls seemed shielded, no heat permeating them, no electrical signature, the only thing he could make out was that under high magnification… he could swear they were moving.
"My auspex is picking up movement ahead, count is at three hostiles, no heat signatures." Kerelia spoke lowly, her advanced augmetics processing the information.
A conversation consisting of hand signals went through the group, the Stormtroopers directing much of the plan, former Imperial Guard following their lead. The trooper with the meltagun was sent forward along with Captain Arthur, plasmagun was left to the rear to protect their flanks should the movement ahead be a ruse. Jericus found himself and the rest of his squad behind the Stormtroopers at the spearhead. The rest of the retinue fell back to form up in the middle, Dauntless did stay at the front however, his archeotec pistol drawn and at the ready.
Ragged looking figures came into view ahead, seemingly staring at the distant wall, draped in some kind of cloaks it was hard to make out their features. Pulsating green light from the walls cast them in ominous fashion, and as their lume-lights passed over the figures they got their first view of them. Bloody and of various color, but apparent enough, their cloaks were human skin. One as though sensing their presence turned toward them, Jericus felt a sense of familiarity, a skull-like face stared back at him. Eyes illuminated from under the hood of flayed skin, the same pale green emanating from them as the walls, and clicking metal claws emerging from under the folds of its cloak.
"Fire!" Dauntless' voice boomed out. A hiss-whoom as the meltagun discharged, causing the top half of the horror before them to disappear into slag and vaporized flesh, then the chack-booms of the bolter as Captain Arthur unloaded on one of the second figures, blowing pieces off it and reducing it to scrap. Concentrated fire from Dauntless' pistol as well as a half-dozen las and hellguns took care of the last one. Twitching the bodies moaned mechanically as they fell to the ground. Silence stretched for moments, weapons swept the area, no one moved.
"No one let your guard down, Necrons are particularly difficult to kill," Dauntless warned. "Captain give the bodies another hit with the meltagun."
Captain Arthur nodded and motioned for his man with the melta to do as told. Nodding in turn the Stormtrooper took aim at the xeno blown away by the bolter, another hiss-whoom and the pieces of it were but slag. As he took aim at the second they noticed movement, pieces reassembling themselves, holes in armor shrinking, a clawed hand reaching out. Waiting for no further incentive or direction the Stormtrooper sent another melta blast into the second necron.
Another moment passed, and just as Jericus thought they were in the clear, the few remains of the Necrons simply disappeared in a flash of green light.
"What in the warp..." Schmidt was heard uttering.
"Teleportation!" Kerelia was practically clapping in excitement. "Now think if the Imperium could have teleportation technology that advanced, we could get our troops out of battle when they got too injured too."
"Stay frosty people, they'll be back." Dauntless cut off any further comment, walking forward as he did, Captain Arthur and the other Stormtrooper followed. Gaining their wits back from the momentary curiosity everyone else likewise followed suit.
Walking past where the slagged pile of Necrons used to be Jericus almost felt the cold alien presence that was once standing in the spot. The pain of the flayed men and woman that had made up its cloak. It seemed quite the surreal experience to say the least.
Soon enough they were past the area, and going deeper into the maze of the structure, it seemed unchanging, no sense of direction, uniform, but not at the same time. He felt his hand want to twitch, only the grip on his lasrifle stopped it from doing so, his stomach was flipping though. They were almost comforting feelings, at least it meant he was ready should something happen.
Watchmaster B-52 had led his new team across no-mans-land on a raid. Enemy lines were shoddy at best, their opponents bandits rather than trained soldiers. There was no 'line' as they understood it, no trenches, some emplacements, and vehicles set up as cover. It made infiltrating their lines very easy, raids had been very successful so far, and B-52 was expecting another good one tonight. It helped that his squad had shaped up very well, they were more than capable, his training had paid off.
On the first day of fighting alone his squad had practically turned the tide of a battle. They had been attached to a group of Portcity volunteer militia, their section of the line had not had artillery support, and yet they had managed to direct anti-vehicle fire effectively enough to blunt the enemy offensive. The mines they had laid out for the enemy had helped as well.
Now they went through the enemy camps, a campaign of terror and demoralization. They were to kill as many bandits as they could, leaving some alive to wake to their dead comrades. Command wanted high ranking enemy prisoners if possible, but the bandits decentralized leadership, as well as no official ranks, made it difficult to tell who was worth taking, if at all. Thanks to H-78 he knew that usually the ones with the most trinkets and talismans were the most experienced, thus the most likely to be a leader in the loop of what was going on. B-52 was grateful he'd been able to recruit the former mercenary, the man had been invaluable in helping the others along in training.
With his crack unit, he was confident they would have success. Creeping through the darkness on the edges of camp fires and lume-lights they took the sentries first. B-52 nodded approvingly to himself as H-70 and H-71 took one unawares, the brother grappled with the man from behind, pinning his weapon hand, while gagging his mouth, meanwhile his sister gave a series of quick stabs. Kidney, heart, lungs, throat, a bit overkill, but B-52 had insisted they be as thorough as possible.
A muffled crump as H-77 hit another sentry across the back of the head with a trench-mace. B-52 sub-vocalized on his vox-bead, the order received by his squad quickly. Intelligence gathering had ascertained enemy capability to monitor vox activity was nigh non-existent. Hence their approval for communications that would otherwise be reduced to hand signals and short vox bursts of code.
His current order had them all recalled to his last known position, being overwatch for the group along with H-75 and H-76 the others knew where he was. The two former party goers had shaped up surprisingly well, he'd had them pegged for failure, but they turned out to be quite the effective heavy-stubber team. Though they had forgone such a bulky weapon in favor of light carbines in this case. The rest of the unit arrived moments later, the immediate area free of sentries they were free to move on to the camps.
A mere series of hand-signs and they were staggered and on the move, the fire of the camp they'd picked was mere embers by this time, lume-lamps were easily avoided. B-52 instructed them on what to do, a bit redundant, but it helped cohesion. Spreading out among the camp they chose isolated pockets. B-52 himself took position next to H-78, they each had their knives out, the Watchmaster gave the nod when everyone was set.
He was lucky, this batch took to the killing easy. That was due to a variety of factors, H-78 was a no-brainer, former mercenaries tended to be good at killing. H-72, H-73, and H-74 were all former gangers, so they'd likely been in a few hab-wars. H-77 was eager to prove herself, H-75 and H-76 got rough crash courses in battle and training. They were doing what they had to to survive, it was either kill, or B-52 would kill them, that had been made clear.
A series of practiced movements were performed, each driving unforgiving metal into supple flesh. B-52's own fighting knife went into the base of his target's skull easily. It was a crude shiv, he'd made it himself years ago, a simple plasteel spike, wickedly pointed, and easy to do raid work with. It tended to get through thicker clothing and flak-armor easier, even used it to lobotomize an ork… that had taken a lot of stabs.
Having done that they began to look around for any leaders, each of them were aware of the indicators, H-78 had relayed the information at B-52's insistence. Coming up empty they ex-filled the area, falling back to one of a few planned 'rest' areas. If they had to they could spend the day in enemy lines, camouflaged and out of sight. Though that was certainly low on his list of priorities, climbing into the rest area they buttoned it up, H-75 and H-76 taking sentry duty. The rest of them tucked into some field rations, B-52 was insistent that should opportunity present itself they were to all eat, or drink, above all so that they were aware and at their full potential.
As they enjoyed their paste, he went over the crudely drawn map of where they'd been so far, it was standard practice when one was in enemy territory. Hand drawn, but the Watchmaster was nonetheless satisfied with its accuracy. Position and minute details would change invariably, but the slight information would help out either his, or even any future raid teams. His grease pencil was in the process of making note of a large caravan they had spotted not one klick to their east. They'd avoided it earlier on account of its size, and the way the bandits had set up their vehicles in a clearly professional defensive perimeter.
Then he felt it, B-52 couldn't explain it to anyone. It was simply something he'd grown aware of in all of his long campaigns. Goose-flesh broke out across his neck, the air suddenly felt charged, ready to burst with energy. Like a clap of thunder everything around him seemed to change, strange dull light erupted to the east, from the caravan. B-52 looked with the rest of his squad, watching as the nightmare unfolded, none of them could know what such a thing meant, but he would bet that their animal instincts would let them know it was bad.
"Watchmaster, what is that?" H-77 was the first to ask, always wanting to soak up information that could help her perform better.
"Something very bad, H-71 vox in that position to command, tell them we need all the drop troopers we can get here ten minutes ago, priority code 'cleansing' don't take no for an answer." B-52 spoke, his mind going on mere training, he'd been through this situation before, most on the Ipsum had. "Get ready to move out troopers, we have to get eyes on what's going on in that caravan, keep command up to date by the second."
H-71 had already carried out his order, the others got ready to move as she did so, their brief rest ended.
"Understood, raid team gamma out." H-71 looked at B-52, lens to lens. "Command is sending a dozen Valkyries Watchmaster, eta ten minutes, Randon support will be here soon. They're also diverting other raid teams in the area to us, as well as a few Hoarfell scouting parties."
"Good, move out," B-52 spoke curtly, taking the lead of the group, something he did without thought for tactic for once. He knew it wasn't proper thinking regarding location, possible enemy sentries could see him, but with what was happening that may not matter soon. In the distance the large caravan was like a flashing purple sun in the dark night, the sparse glow of camp fires drowned out by it, and with each pulse of light B-52 felt himself becoming more anxious. He didn't care what was said, no amount of training can completely eliminate a mans fear of the warp, lucky enough it could control it.
As they crossed the uneven landscape, slipping past confused and curious bandits in other smaller camps unnoticed, the light began to dim. Only a sickly thrum emanated as they finally got within range, B-52 called for a full stop, producing a monocular to peer through. Barely sixty meters from the caravan now and they could hear the muffled screams. These tapered out soon enough, devolving into gibberish and chanting, the words couldn't be heard so far off, but their foul nature could be felt. The familiar thrum of sickness swept through him, as though he were in warp transit.
Looking through his magnified lens he peaked through the gaps in the wall of vehicles which made up the caravan perimeter. Sentries were slumped over steering wheels, or pintle-mounted stubbers, and through the gaps he could see any who had been at the epicenter gathering in concentric circles. Hands raised to the air in mad supplication, their words seemed to be having an effect on the fire at their center, a large bonfire, once orange flames now licked with unholy energy.
"What's the time on those Valkyries trooper," B-52 whispered harshly.
"Still two minutes out Watchmaster," H-71 reported, her ear glued to her vox receiver.
"Through the damn trees!" B-52 thought furiously, he didn't like going into a battle with such odds, they were outnumbered easily a few dozen to one, the crowd of depraved lunatics growing by the moment. But, if they didn't blunt the nose here, there may not be another chance, at the least they had to interrupt the ritual long enough for the Randon to get here and smash it to pieces.
"Watchmaster, I'm getting another call, Hoarfell callsign, Sergeant Grime," H-71 interrupted his thoughts.
"Link us up to their frequency."
H-71 nodded using her superior vox casting equipment to change them over, the switch was quick, and apparent as amazed chatter filled their ears from their Hoarfell comrades.
"Quiet down boys," a stern voice was heard, familiar, B-52 had worked with this Sergeant on a few occasions. "Watchmaster, we got the basic intel, what's our plan of attack, other than me and my boys, I've got three other recon squads here, we're on the other side of the encampment from you. You've had more time to appraise the situation, so what would you like us to do?"
B-52 had always been good at reading a battlefield, when to charge, when to retreat, hit and run, shock and awe, it came both naturally and through years of combat. Right now his mind worked on overdrive, taking in the still slumped bodies of those on the outer perimeter, a perimeter that hemmed in the enemy as much as it protected them.
"Sergeant I'm sure you can see what I do, the heavy stubbers on the technicals, have the men you have available take them, set up positions and use them. We'll catch the hostiles in a crossfire, we don't let up for anything, we'll need the Randon to finish them, but for now we can't let them succeed in what they're doing, we both know what happens if they do." B-52 was quick about it, left room for the Hoarfell to improvise if necessary, but enough direction to understand. "Now Sergeant, and good luck."
"The Emperor protects," Was the last quick reply.
Plan set up, hasty as it was B-52 lead his own troopers. They'd heard the conversation too, knowing what to do they began to move into position, coming up quietly on the enemy. H-75 and H-76 took position on the largest calibre stubber, stabbing the body of the unconscious bandit, just in case. H-78 and H-72 likewise took another a bit farther away. With the two stubbers under their control B-52 had H-77, H-73, and H-74 spread out to support the stubber teams.
"Sergeant, we're in position, what's your status?"
"Ready when you are Watchmaster."
"Good, then open fire."
At once the hijacked enemy stubbers turned toward their former owners opened up. B-52 began to pick targets with his own lasrifle, noting that the Hoarfell had managed to grab and operate a total of six stubbers on their side. Good, it meant they just might have a chance, even now though the newly corrupted cultists began to respond. Their chaos fueled insanity propelling them to respond to the sudden attack as no sane humans would, mad moans of glee as some were hit by rounds. Meanwhile others simply charged the stubbers, eschewing their guns in favor of hand weapons, ritualistically cutting themselves as they tried to go in for the kill.
Still others did as professional soldiery and took cover, there were still plenty of vehicles within the circle to hide behind, some armor-plated too. These last few began to return fire, their crude autogun weapons spewing out suppressive fire. Though the hapdash Imperial stubber teams quickly put down these efforts with fire of their own. B-52 hit more than one madman with a lasbolt, he was praying that the mad minds of the enemy wouldn't realize that they outnumbered their attackers by a large margin. Even with the Hoarfell back up, and the stubbers, they wouldn't be able to hold back a concentrated rush. All it would take was one break in their line and the enemy could mop them up.
In the confusion of it all none noticed the modified stealth Valkyries creep up in the skies over them. Crimson clad drop troopers began to spill from the craft, their numbers filling the air, descent allayed by gravchute. Touching down behind their Imperial allies Randon commander and N.C.O voices began to fill the vox net. B-52 caught it, nodding to himself satisfied.
"Cavalry's here boys!" One of the drop troopers whooped as he took up position next to H-77 and B-52, letting loose with his lascarbine. Likewise around their line they were reinforced, pouring fire into the killing coral they had set up, with the added firepower the cultists didn't stand a chance. Even with their mad fanatical determination. Now all B-52 was worried about was the commotion they were causing, they were among enemy lines after all, though he was sure their Randon reinforcements were setting up a defense around their own little circle.
After all a priority code 'cleansing' warranted a large response. Chaos was not taken lightly by the senior commanders among the Ipsum's regiments. Any sign of it was met with overwhelming force, even now he was sure the Valkyries were staying in the air, marking targets as bandits came to see what was going on. Their air-power was unchallenged by the bandits of Headstone, though fuel cost, and arguments with the Navy severely limited their ability to deploy it. For this though, he was sure the higher-ups would approve of such an expenditure.
The lasfire and heavy stubbers were now mopping up what was left of the cultists, their last futile attempts thwarted, even as they fired off their last rounds in defiance. All around fire ceased as the threat was determined exterminated. For long moments afterward there was silence, stillness, and foreboding. B-52 realized that despite all the racket they'd made that he didn't hear anything, no enemy bandits coming to see what the commotion was, not good.
Turning he saw members of the Ecclesiarchy striding forward, the warrior priests carried blessed parchment, Aquila, and heavy flamers…
Immediately they began burning any trace of body's or blood, the ones not burning the dead began to bless the living, searching for signs of taint. B-52 and his team likewise were looked over by one particularly wizened looking priest. As the man moved on from them B-52 looked out again, realizing that the entirety of the enemy line had not descended on them, as he looked past the Randon formed line which had been set up to protect their flank he understood why.
The night was lit up with flashes of tainted purple light…
Fenria kept herself focused, it was a forte of hers, to stay calm under stressful situations. When they were in a battle, it was like her time of zen, clockwork response. Her longlas sang as it hit another metallic skull-like face of one of the xenos, its clawed form hitting the ground with a clang. She was thankful she was packing as many hotshot charge-packs as she could carry, plus the extra Jericus had on hand.
They were lucky so far, no contact with the witch's forces, save the dead bodies, and these xenos they were running into seemed almost mindless. Nothing more than cannon fodder for their weapons, but there were a lot of them, and it seemed to get more crowded the further in they went. Eerie green light announced their foes demise each time. Not seeing bodies litter the ground after a firefight seemed wrong to her.
"These bastards don' seem tha' tough, fought worse, once ya get past the flaying they're down righ' stupid really." Gunther spoke, his attempt at lightening up the situation palpable.
"Could be that their sept isn't at full cognition, there are reports of necron tomb worlds where the necrons just walk around doing nothing. I've heard on one in particular the Imperial guard garrisoned there even use them for target practice." Kerelia added, her cheerful demeanor not having slipped once, despite the murderous robots, and crazed psyker and his minions.
"Is tha' righ'?" Schmidt muttered aloud to himself, he still seemed a bit shaken by the machines, perhaps horror stories of iron men from his parents. Fenria couldn't be sure, but the man seemed a bit put off, which was odd for him.
"Indeed, this is a particularly interesting species of xeno, the Inquisition has quite the vested interest in them. Unfortunately complete obliteration is usually required, lest we lose valuable time to combat them. The longer the fight drags on the more powerful the necrons seem to get." Dauntless had his 'scholarly' voice going. "Right now we've only seemed to be encountering their equivalent of second rate security, if the witch manages to wake them up fully… well there's not much else left we can do to save this world."
"Another exterminatus then? My lord that seems to be quite in the extreme, if I may be so bold as to comment, surely the Imperium would be able to muster the resources to put these xenos down." A strangely sympathetic Virtanen added, the usually haughty woman's tone betrayed a little bit of disbelief at such a notion.
Fenria could understand, seeing the destruction of Endurholdgun was enough for a lifetime, thinking of the same fate happening to a loyal Imperial world was even worse.
"If it should come down to it, yes." Dauntless' voice held the steely resolve Fenria was sure all Inquisitors must possess. To be so sure as to condemn a world… she couldn't imagine being in such a position, the mere thought of such power turned her stomach if she was honest with herself.
"Movement ahead," Kerelia announced. Fenria was glad for the magos' advanced sensors, they were saving them from quite a few nasty surprises.
"More of those skin cloaks?" Jessmuck's voice lacked the usual feral edge. Fenria had noticed that fighting the mechanical xenos seemed to be dull for the Catachan, if she had to guess, she'd say the feral deathworlder liked it better when his opponent bled.
"No, I'm getting heat and bio-electric feedback too." The magos clarified, her arms sweeping before her as though she'd made an incredible discovery.
"Heavy weapons pull back, we'll need to conserve ammunition for the necrons, small arms should do well enough." Dauntless spoke, taking the lead and allowing for Captain Arthur and his men to take the flank. Fenria reshuffled with the rest of them, she went with Virtanen, unspoken agreement to provide cover for their comrades in the scrum. She watched as Jericus and the rest of her squad took to the front, better for the more heavily armored to draw the attention. Aryn was in their midst, no-doubt there to provide moving cover for the group.
Schmidt, Gunther, Kaede, Sothy, and Kerelia made up Dauntless' personal body guards. Meanwhile Jessmuck, Kerchak, Walton, Len, and Aerith took position behind them, ready to spread out where they'd be needed on the battlefield. Up ahead they could see as the caverns changed, in place of open rooms with glowing walls were seemingly random objects. Pillars coming up at odd angles, lumps forming from the floor, rising at various heights.
It created cover for them, and their enemy, who opened up with a heavy stubber as soon as Aryn's large form came into sight. Set up at the far end of the wide area it was in perfect overwatch position. The high ground it was on would make getting a shot on the gunner difficult. To make matters worse the bandits had set up portable shielding around it, crude but effective plasteel plating.
Aryn bellowed loudly, holding the attention of the bandits as he let loose with his ripper. Oversized shotgun shells spewing forth a torrent of what amounted to anti-aircraft levels of shrapnel. It allowed for the Vanguard team to advance to more feasible positions and lay into the enemy. Fenria and Virtanen ran to a side, locating a good position to provide overwatch for their own. Sighting in on the enemy positions Fenria was frustrated to find that these bandits were no amateurs.
She couldn't get an exact count on how many there were. They kept spread, only popping up from their cover for seconds at a time to snap off a few shots. She'd say they were actual mercenaries as opposed to mere bandits or raiders. She had to settle for trying to keep a single group pinned down, Virtanen doing likewise, at least it would take guns off their team.
Meanwhile Jessmuck and the Brontians were using their expertise to skirt the edge of the enemy's focus, trying to flank a few of the enemy teams no doubt. B-63, Jericus, S-360, and S-548 were making it hard for the mercenaries to concentrate on anything else, making their feral world comrades plan possible.
The heavy stubber, now understanding that it couldn't bring down over a kilo of ogryn swayed to sweep the rest of the field, looking for more fragile targets. It came upon Dauntless and his team, who all promptly found cover, save the mad Inquisitor himself. Fenria could see from the corner of her vision as stubber rounds struck what seemed to be flashing light. The Inquisitor stood unaffected by the deadly rounds, aiming his pistol calmly at the confused gunner.
The bizarre sound of his archeotec pistol seemed to drown out all other noise. Brilliant exotic energy spewed forth through the air, seeming to disintegrate any matter it came into contact with. Until it finally hit the heavy stubber, obliterating the armored plates protecting the gunner, along with his upper torso. As the until then constant buzzsaw sound of the stubber ceased the remaining mercenaries got cold feet.
Fenria and Virtanen took the opportunity to fire into a few retreating backs, and the feral worlders finally having flanked the enemy opened up into their side. They were able to cut down a few, but at least ten were able to escape, retreating further into the complex. She half expected her feral world comrades to give chase as predators to prey, but surprisingly they did not, stopping at the forward position, a vanguard as the rest of the group closed in.
"I got some sweeper gear on me, running like that, they must have the area ahead booby-trapped as a fallback. I'm also well versed in spotting traps by sight and other sense." Kerchak spoke, certainty evident in his voice. Walton and Len nodded, their trust fully behind their leader, Fenria had no reason to doubt his assessment.
"Why can't the Magos use her sensor equipment to guide us?" Kaede spoke up, Fenria was silently wondering with her.
"These traps may be more primitive, they may not register, call it a gut feeling." Kerchak responded quickly enough to the challenge, his natural alpha nature coming through.
"He's got a point, I know how to spot trips and wires, best let me and Kerchak sweep ahead Dauntless," Jessmuck added.
"My sensors don't detect anything out of the ordinary ahead, but then again Kerchak is right, besides they're tailored for living beings and machinery, not static chemicals found in explosives." Kerelia confirmed the feral worlders thoughts with her own.
The Inquisitor took a moment to consider their points, his face twisting in obvious anxiousness, it was apparent he didn't want to give ground when they didn't know how much time they actually had. "Try to make it as quick as possible, you two will be alone up ahead, the rest of us will follow fifty metres behind."
Nodding to the Inquisitor the two feral worlders got to work, Kerchak pulled out a handheld sweeper from his kitbag, meanwhile Jessmuck followed. Both were spaced out from the other, as they got farther down the corridor the bandits had retreated into they became hard to see. Once they were at the satisfactory distance the rest of them began to follow. Fenria was at the tail of the group, her and Virtanen's weapons more suited to the distance.
They were kept company by Captain Arthur and his two subordinates, their heavy weapons were not to be risked, though they looked ready to rush forward at the slightest hint of necrons.
Ahead Jessmuck had his eyes peeled for the giveaways of tripwires, and other such nasty traps. Kerchak's sweeper was emitting a steady thrum, it would chirrup rather loudly if it detected anything, Jessmuck knew from his own experience with sweepers. Though he also knew there were some things you just couldn't detect with the machine. Like the lovely bouquet of krak grenade just ahead of them.
"Stop, don't move." The Catachan spoke lowly, holding his hand up for their team behind to see as well, the signal for halt. Kerchak had complete trust in his friend, and so did as he was told, Jessmuck meanwhile moved ahead slowly. Careful to make sure the trap he'd spotted wasn't a dupe. Pulling his fang from its sheath he carefully positioned his other hand at the pins of the three grenades that made up the bouquet. The trap was pretty cleverly hidden he had to admit.
One would think the even pulsing surfaces of the tomb would make hiding traps difficult. However, these bandits had to be given credit, it was concealed within a partially created corner, the green pulsing light making it difficult to see in the shadows. Only the wire had given it away, as was usually the case, he would bet if they had one to hand they'd have left it under a body.
Cutting the wire easily with his knife he packed the grenades away, they could prove useful later, and he hadn't noticed any further tampering to make them volatile. He nodded to Kerchak, giving the wave to everyone behind them as well, and then proceeded on track. Kerchak's sweeper went off not too long after, the Brontian indicating the device to Jessmuck, some kind of series pressure-plates, camoline cloths had been thrown over the mines to keep them hidden.
The halt signal went up again, and they gingerly pushed the explosives close together, giving themselves ample space between them and the mines Jessmuck aimed his lascarbine. The lasbolt would set them off easily, better to set them off than leave them for the trip back. A whip-crack of lasbolt later and the mines went off, one after another as the overpressure of one explosive set of the rest in a chain reaction. Thanks to their directional blast the alien ceiling far above was the only thing to take damage.
Threat over, they continued to proceed at an easy pace, though the sight of another opening ahead made Jessmuck think they weren't likely to run into more booby-traps, more likely an ambush. He made motion for Dauntless and the others to finally join them at the front. Within moments the retinue was back together, easily shifting into proper formation, heavy weapons covered the passageway ahead.
"I think our Death Korp friends, and ogryn should take point here Dauntless, those mercs probably have a hell of a killzone set up." The Catachan was already making his way to the flanks of the group, Kerchak following his lead. Fenria couldn't blame him, ambush, stealth, and surprise were his weapons and specialty. Heavier armor allowed them to soak up more punishment. Dauntless nodded his agreement, the Korps troopers immediately moved up, Aryn lumbering forward as well.
"There's several signatures ahead registering to me, but there's some kind of interference, I can't pinpoint them exactly..." Kerelia sounded worried, the Magos looked to B-63 pointedly. He waved her off trying to ease any tension as they started forward, they had a part to play, and this was their forte.
It was the same pattern as earlier, though this time Fenria was sure the mercs learned from their previous battle, it wouldn't be nearly as simple. Though she did have confidence that their carapace could hold off the hard-rounds favored by the Headstone natives. She joined her fellow Korpsmen this time, her long-las shouldn't be too much of an impediment being that the space beyond the opening looked rather wide open, save for columns running the length of it like some grand cathedral. Those columns likely hid mercs set up to catch them in a crossfire.
Aryn would be the biggest draw, the combination of his nigh impregnable armor, along with the stopping power his weapon could put out painted a clear target on him. In short the mercs couldn't leave him alone, otherwise even if they managed to kill the rest of them an angry ogryn would rip them apart. Kaede also joined them, her heavy arbitrator armor also up to par with their own, probably even more capable now that Fenria thought about it.
The storm-troopers were held back as before, their heavy weapons and expertise essential for the necron threat, and not worth risking here. Dauntless kept Sothy, Kerelia, and Aerith with him. Everyone else was ready to again try flanking the enemy when/if they revealed themselves. Stacking up at the ominous entryway Aryn was at the head, his giant shield up, B-63 right behind gave the behemoth three hearty thumps on his shoulder. The signal to go relayed the great mass of abhuman surged forward.
Mercifully Aryn hadn't bellowed a warcry, merely kept his eye's about for the enemy, pretty subtle for an ogryn. Though Fenria guessed Aryn would have to be smarter than the average if he'd ended up with Dauntless. For terrible seconds, each seeming an eternity, nothing happened, save for them advancing right up the middle of the room. Each set of columns they passed Fenria worried would hide a weapon pointed at them, or some booby-trap. Jessmuck could after all be completely wrong about the ambush…
Despite her thoughts she kept focused on spotting the ambush. Her eyes were sharp, they had to be, she was the designated marksman of the squad after all. So in retrospect it came as no surprise that she'd be the one to notice it, the slight distortion against a particular column, barely perceptible save for what seemed a shimmer in the air. But she knew the look well, camoline, the mercs were using camoline cloaks, full body ones to blend in nigh perfectly with the environment.
They must have passed a dozen or so columns by then, who knew how many mercs they'd passed who were waiting to catch their six, though they were smart. They wanted them to keep going, once they gave the all clear, their softer armored comrades would be easier targets, and they wouldn't be able to effectively return fire. Due to friendlies obscuring their fire lines.
She knew that it was going to be a hard fight, even as she raised her long-las to aim at the hidden merc, but they didn't have a choice.
"They're camouflaged against the pillars!" She shouted as she pulled the trigger. The bright lasbolt flew true, striking the hidden merc in the chest, the whip-crack catalyzing the situation. Her squadmates reacted to her warning, each covering a certain direction and saturating the pillars around them with lasbolts. Aryn seemed to be lost for a moment, before he caught up, joining in on the shooting more out of eager participation than understanding.
Nevertheless, the ogryn's large ripper threw forth walls of lead death, catching two hidden mercs. Three down, seven left, and no one else seemed to have found where the other hostiles were. It was then that S-360 fell forward, a large dent in her carapace armored back, S-548 was quick to crouch down and make sure she was okay. B-63 swung around, Fenria had to guessed he'd heard where the shot had come from, her own hearing only registered the echos, unable to pin point it.
Her Watchmaster though seemed sure, opening up on an area to their eight'o'clock, Jericus joined him not a moment later. Fenria stayed her own fire, her long-las couldn't spew forth the necessary volume, it would just be a waste of ammo. A moment later a pained cry echoed as they hit their hidden target, the merc was stitched with lasbolts, his camoline cloak made him appear as a phantasm reeling back out of sight behind a pillar. His still lower half stuck out from the obscuring architecture, confirming that he was out of the fight, with the amount of las he took Fenria was sure of it anyway.
At the death of their fourth comrade the mercs seemed to decide that they had nothing to lose. Finally opening up on them with their full assortment of weapons. Hard-rounds were pinging off the alien surfaces around them, as well as their own carapace. Aryn now able to more or less see the until then nigh invisible enemy began to lay down effective suppression fire, join by Kaede who lent her own shotgun to the mix. The spread shot of their weapons filled the air with even more lead, forcing some of the remaining mercs to return to cover or be ventilated.
Meanwhile Fenria tried to pick out now fast moving targets, their fluttering cloaks didn't help matters, her squad was spraying even more lasfire into the mix. Scoring a few hits, mostly fatal, Headstone mercs rarely seemed to encounter lasbolts, so they seemed not to have armor capable of protecting them from the energy-based weapons.
By this point the rest of the retinue, or at least those not with Dauntless and the storm-troopers, entered onto the scene. They kept to their three'o'clock, out of their lines of fire, and began to pick at the mercs whose backs were presented to them. Fenria finally lined up another shot, blasting away a head, sending yet another merc to the warp. Unable to retreat, the remaining mercs attacked, specifically the three remaining ran right into melee distance. This may have been desperation, or actual tactical thought, due to their close proximity weapon-fire ceased.
No one wanted to hit a friendly by mistake, though it mattered little, for the Headstone mercs despite their professionalism, weren't a match for Korps trained CQB, or a slab of ogryn muscle, or Arbites riot training. Aryn had literally flattened one with his shield as the merc had tried to rush Kaede with a dagger, the arbitrator finished off the still twitching man with a solid blow to the head from her shock-maul. The other two met grisly ends by bayonet, B-63 and Jericus skewering them as they tried to close distance.
"S-548, how's S-360?" B-63 asked as he pulled his bayonet from his recent victim.
"I'm okay Watchmaster, just got winded from the impact was all," S-360 spoke as S-548 helped her to her feet. Fenria got a good look at the back-plate of her carapace, there was quite the dent, the merc must have had a very high-caliber weapon.
"Good, because we don't have the time for casualties, none of you get to die, that is an order." B-63 said evenly. Fenria nodded with the rest of them, they may have a debt to repay with their death, but that didn't mean it had to be payed today.
"Well I think that'll be the last stalling action by the witch we'll be encountering." Dauntless spoke confidently as he approached. Everyone was forming a defensive pattern despite the Inquisitor's words.
"What makes you say that," Jessmuck spoke, keeping a watchful eye on the pillars that could still conceal yet more enemy forces ahead.
"In all of my years hunting this witch it has become apparent to me that he doesn't simply want to kill me, or anyone around me. Besides that, I'd say he'll need the rest of whatever forces he's brought to get to the central chamber, and they'll undoubtedly be waiting for us. He enjoys theatrics entirely too much." Dauntless spoke the last line grimly, his face becoming serious, and his free hand idly adjusting his wide brimmed hat.
They continued on deeper into enemy territory.
Xavier beat yet another crazed enemy back with his trench-club. Hack's death was still fresh in his mind, he took grim satisfaction from the combat, it help to relieve his grief. Finishing his opponent he paused to look around, letting the bloodied club fall and catch itself by the strap tied to his wrist, he immediately raised his lasrifle putting a flurry of bolts into an oncoming horde of enemies. Cain joined him, their combined fire putting up an effective fusillade, at that distance none of the shots missed.
It was crazy, one moment they were on a simple recon, the next they were coordinating, with Death Korps and Randon, to put down some enemy gathering. Now… he wasn't sure, it seemed like a damn free for all, Imperial forces seemed to be streaming in from all over. After they had put down the insane gathering command sent in reinforcements, a lot of them. It seemed like a general offensive against the enemy lines was taking place. Madness! They should be defending, the enemy outnumbered them, they shouldn't be wasting lives like this.
Only they weren't, it had been obvious early on, even more so now. There was some kind of schism going on in the enemy ranks, some seemed like they had before, mere bandits. But others… Xavier knew it had something to do with the purple lights, sickly and burning to look at. He'd seen the battle-priests, their flamers burning the bodies of the fallen, creating charnel hell all around. He had distinct flashbacks to the last days of Endurholdgun, it unnatural fog, the screaming, is this what had been happening?
"Form ranks!" A yell went up, it was some Korps Commander who had taken control of their section. Regimental separation had been sundered in favor of a unified response, if they were of higher rank, you listened to them. So with the rest of his squad, as well as a mismash of Korps and Randon, Xavier lined up, staggered but all facing the same direction. Toward the mass of confusion that was the enemy.
For a moment the Imperials all stopped as they took in the sight before them. The bandit army seemed to be fighting its own civil war of sorts. Men and not-quite-men opening each other up, the taint of dim purple lighting making a ghastly backdrop for the carnage. Heretical shouts were coming from the tainted bandits. Names that hurt Xavier's ears when he heard them as though they weren't meant for the human tongue.
"Fire into the enemy, leave none standing!" The general order went up, relayed by braying N.C.O's up and down the Imperial line. A wall of lasfire surged forward, crashing against flesh, tearing apart bodies through sheer volume. Meanwhile the enemy, most too busy fighting each other to notice, was quite spectacularly cut to pieces. Some, mostly those not tainted by the warp dove to the ground, or behind what cover was available.
The tainted meanwhile mostly charged the firing line in berserk rage, convulsed in perverse pleasure as they were hit, or ignored the damage done to their bodies altogether and staggered forward. Despite all action taken they were all eventually cut down. Fighting the enemy now, fractured as they were, was easy.
A few, those left alive, tried to surrender. They were regular, no obvious taint, or madness. Having seen the insanity of their comrades they must've deemed the Imperials a better alternative. However, there were no prisoners to be taken that night, they were gunned down even as they dropped their weapons. Their corpses burned with the rest of the tainted as precaution.
Blooming explosions dotted back and forth in the distance. Valkyries dropping bombs, and firing missiles on large concentrations of the enemy. It seemed the Navy wasn't being stingy anymore once the warp became involved. Xavier felt a little relieved by the loud booms, and bright yellowish light of the explosions, they drove away the purple taint for a few moments.
"Area's clear, we're moving to reinforce the front to the west." The command was relayed down through the ranks. Looking over the scene Xavier saw the battle-priests going about their works, mopping up the remains of the dead, checking for taint, burning bodies… the moment quiet save for weapon-fire not too far off, the general din of battle background static in the air.
It was far from over though, Sergeant Grime had quickly summed up the situation once they got the orders from the top, 'priority code cleansing' basically meant scorched earth. They had to annihilate the entire bandit army as fast as they possibly could, a very tall order, though with the infighting and general chaos it might well be doable. Still, it was going to take a while.
Trudging through the carnage they were making their way to aid their fellow Imperials in waves. The scale of it was insane, all but maybe a few token forces left behind were out, the General seemed to be throwing everything he could into this.
The flash of fighting lit up the night ahead, along with the sickening otherworldly purple light, tracer-fire and lasbolts flying back and forth. They were lucky that the bandits, with all of the sheer mayhem, were mostly unable to bring their size-able force of motor vehicles to bear. Though what was left of the various Imperial cavalry regiments, both motorized and living, could be seen wreaking havoc in distant battles of their own.
Cutting vast swaths through scattered enemy formations, or rather clusters, hunting lances, or pintle-mounted heavy-stubbers and other weapons being used to devastating effect. Mass daisy chain explosions went up as enemy vehicles were destroyed, brilliant plumes of fire licking up into the air above, the sound was constant.
Their mix of guardsmen was moving now, double time to the front in the west, no further information was needed as they could see it just fine. A rather horrifying beacon of unnatural light spewing forth into the sky, swirling dark clouds above, crackling with mystic energies. They joined the rest of their comrades, what seemed to Xavier thousands, at least a few battalions worth of men, as they pushed forward against the enemy.
Whom for their part actually seemed organized in this area, the unfortunate implication being that some of the bandits here were barely recognizable as human anymore. Mixed in with the vague humanoid silhouettes were those that were just plain unnatural. Fighting the mutant insurgents on Tartarius could not have even come close to preparing them for this. Xavier saw shapes that seemed drawn from his nightmares.
Appendages this way and that, seemingly without reason, claws, teeth, razor edged suckers, any and all unnatural forms were on display here. These abominations simply charged the hastily advancing Imperial firelines. Meanwhile their still vaguely human counterparts stayed back, behind vehicle chassis, pouring fire into and over their mutated comrades. The Imperial advance was helped by Chimera APC's, providing adequate cover from most of the bandit weaponry, Xavier still flinched as a few were taken out of commission by enemy anti-vehicle rockets. Those that were still alive storming out of hatches and compartments, mangled by shrapnel or the detonation of their own munitions.
Despite the distraction he managed to stay in sync with Cain, Eli, and Sergeant Grime, holding up their small part of the advance. Laying lasbolts into squishy warp spawn flesh, even scoring hits on the armed heretics beyond, they pushed forward. The Death Korps squad they had linked up with in the beginning was formed around them, providing ample support as well.
Soon enough the Imperial offensive smashed into the enemy vehicle barrier, Chimeras having little problem throwing aside the generally lighter bandit vehicles. As they crossed what seemed to be the outer defensive line of the unnatural glowing beacon in the distance Xavier felt chills run up and down his spine. Aside from the physical barrier, it felt as if they'd just crossed an invisible one, with the swirling clouds overhead in the otherwise clear night sky he suspected exactly that.
"Sarge, when the keck does it end?" Eli shouted over weaponfire, blasting away with his lasrifle, scoring accurate hits with each trigger pull.
"When every single one of 'em's dead, and the big glowstick going into the sky is gone!" Grime yelled right back. The grizzled veteran was operating like a machine, filling the enemy ranks with deadly lasfire, before swapping out charge packs and seamlessly going at it again. He was a one man squad unto himself.
"Oh, is that all?" Cain laughed heartily despite the battle raging on. Xavier couldn't blame him, it probably helped what with all of the deadly projectiles flying through the air, even with the Chimeras as cover they had to be careful. The bandits favored hard-round autorifles after all, and that meant ricochets. It was a good thing Sergeant always had them lug their helmets along.
Their line breaking, the lightly mutated bandits had enough faculty of the mind to break into a defensive retreat, for all the good it did them. Bringing to bear their superior fire power, the crews of the Chimera slaughtered the enemy without reservation. As he stepped in liquefied, and minced mutant flesh Xavier felt another shudder. It was a killing field, a butcher house, an abattoir of death, dying, and destruction. And their objective was still a ways off, that tower of unholy energy glaring down at them with malevolent intent.
"What the keck are we supposed to do when we get there? Shouldn't air support just bomb it back to the warp?" Xavier asked as they hunkered down against the side of a Chimera that had slowed to allow them and other reprieve from lingering enemy fire.
"Due to the energy distortion, and clouds around it, the navy can't get a lock on it to do a bombing run. Which means we have to go in on foot, in force, and stop it at its source," the Watchmaster from the Korps and his team had been beside them, and decided to answer in lieu of the Sergeant.
"And that source is?" Cain asked.
"Hopefully something breathing that we can kill," Sergeant Grimes finished.
Power surging through it the thing contemplated its existence, for all intents and purposes it knew that it was a fleeting one, niggling suspicion at the back of what could vaguely be called a conscience told it that it wasn't long for this plane. Instead it was meant to bring about other 'things' greater than itself.
How had its miserable, single purpose, existence come to be? It wondered. The memories of such things were hazy, fading even now into oblivion as its amplified life force called forth dark powers. There were the thoughts of a man, smiling, mischievous, and unhinged. The recollection of a 'gift' given to it by said man. At first it had brought about incredible power, enough to command every clan in the badlands under one banner, and then… well that's where things became difficult.
It knew it had once been human, but now such a petty label could hardly apply, once the energies of the strangers 'gift' had done their work. Now it resided as energy, a conduit for greater things, though its corporeal body still lingered on this current plane, containing, and focusing its energies in their work. Why the stranger had intended this it had no idea, but that was a thought it hardly concerned itself with, instead its greater sense turned toward the information relayed by its servants.
Time was running out for it to complete its goal, the enemy's of its greater masters, whose names it did not know, would be pushing through to it. If that happened then it would not get to fulfill its purpose. This thought both saddened it and brought it great joy, conflicting feelings to be sure, why would it want to complete its task and not at the same time?
Just feelings, hardly a concern, though they and its vague memories were all it had left.
So the thing that had once been Thormund Tull waited, trying to channel enough psychic energies to open Headstone to the dark powers, it was all it could do.
"You know, this is very disappointing." Jericus watched Georgii, lunatic that he was, as he thumped a fist on the head of what seemed a rather ornate looking Necron. It was still, seemingly in stasis, seated on what seemed a technologically advanced throne. "Brain dead, I mean these xenos are the absolute antithesis of Chaos, and they're brain dead? What an absolute let down, things will never go to plan now, and I worked so hard on this one!" The mad psyker's fist lashed out cracking the still xenos figure across its jaw.
After their brief firefight with the mercenaries Jericus had been ready for something quite different. All the difficulty getting to this point, and this scene was the end result, keck the Headstone mercenaries set up around the chamber they were in all looked about as bewildered as the Surrin felt. Dauntless at least looked nonplussed, which was oddly comforting.
What wasn't comforting was the few dozen weapons pointed in the Inquisitorial retinue's general direction, ranging from autoguns, heavy stubbers, and even a few anti-vehicle rockets. Put all of that at the command of the insane psyker and it wasn't comforting at all.
"I had a speech prepared for when you arrived, everything laid out just so, but of course best laid plans and all of that. Should have expected it, too bad, it would've been a hell of a slug fest. You'd have been proud Dauntless, imagine these souless automatons up against deamonic hordes, but I guess now it'll just be the same old same old. Won't be nearly as fun to watch," he continued his diatribe.
"Is that really what you had in mind? You damned witch, what is your game, why even bother with this. Trying to wake a Necron tomb, what sort of servant of chaos are you? And why do you have to be the thorn in my side?" Dauntless seemed more than a little angry, his voice booming across the space. He stood boldly at the front of the retinue, which had spread out as much as was feasible, as everyone attempted to cover the overwhelming enemy force presented to them.
Georgii chuckled, the chuckle turned into a full laugh, booming through the tense stillness of the chamber. "Of course it's what I had in mind, how many times have I had to tell you, we're on the same side, you and I. This would have struck a real blow against the archenemy, surly you could see the tactical advantage of that? Opening this world up to the powers of chaos, and then letting the servants of the old ones, antithesis to the warp itself, march on in."
"You do not serve the Emperor! You'd sacrifice his people meaninglessly all for your 'God,' or merely your own twisted amusement, not because you want to help humanity. We are not on the same side! I fight to save humanity, as our Emperor would want, to rid the galaxy of hazards like you, madmen who would kill billions without cause." Dauntless spoke impassioned, Jericus even felt stirred by his sentiment, though the impact of his words was lessened knowing the Inquisitor had ordered Exterminatus on… well who knew how many worlds.
"Yes!" Georgii cut off the Inquisitor before he could get going again. "Right, right, and right again! Three for three, good man. I don't serve that corpse sitting on his golden toilet, no my god is real, he has power, hidden though it may be. And he, unlike your Emperor, helps me in my tasks, actually guides me with his principles. He battles the great ruinous powers, his servants many, spread far and wide. Individual, save for when our separate actions come together, benefiting the whole. My god is the true nature of life itself, unknowable, unassailable, persistent, and playing behind the scenes to everyone's benefit, whether they know it or not. My 'God' is Malal." The name he stated, pride evident in his tone, Jericus noticed that nearly everyone in the room seemed to flinch at hearing the name said so clearly, as though it really shouldn't be known.
Looking to Dauntless he was surprised, for the first time the Surrin saw shock, maybe even doubt play on the usually unflappable Inquisitors features.
"You are truly insane..." Dauntless muttered, his hand gripping his archeotech pistol even tighter. "You are an agent of the lost one, only meant to bring more chaos into the materium, to destroy humanity, today you shall die witch!" He finished with a yell, unsheathing the sword at his hip as well.
Georgii's features turned into a smile. "Well, seems time for talk is over, though I have to wonder what you're going to do. Formidable you and yours may be, but me and mine, we've got you quite outnumbered. And you being so close to that blank… surely you can't use your own gifts to their greatest potential to save the day?" The mad witch shrugged. "I suppose our little rivalry had to end some time, so sad to see it end so, anticlimactically."
With those words Georgii held up a hand, the mercenaries all seemed to respond as one to the command, though how they had all seen it was a mystery, possibly psychic influence. Regardless Jericus felt his nerves go up tenfold, they had no cover to protect them, they all knew it too. The only ones who looked unperturbed were Dauntless and Sothy.
"Any gallant last words Dauntless?" Georgii asked, smirking, hand steady, holding the death barrage at bay for tense moments.
"Yes," Dauntless spoke loudly, "I do believe you're about to meet the royal guard."
The rogue psyker's expression became confused for a mere second, before a titanic rumbling could be heard. Georgii looked to his left, right at a large formation of his mercenaries, the Headstone men looking about uneasily as the rumbling grew louder. A smirk appeared on the mad witch's face.
"I do love a good deus ex machina..." his murmur was barely heard.
The necron tomb stalker erupted from the floor, scattering mercenaries like bowling pins, before bringing to bear its gauss-canons, and razor-sharp claws on the men left reeling in the wake of its entrance. Their master's orders forgotten, the remaining mercenaries poured all of their considerable firepower on the xenos abomination. It hardly seemed to notice, shrugging off everything, save for the few shaped- charge warheads that hit its carapace, and even these only seemed to slow it down as it ripped through the small contingent of mercenaries scrambling for their lives.
"S-1049, S-1050, Watchmaster, Sothy, and Kaede with me, we're going after that madman. The rest of you kill everything in this damn room, Captain have your men use those heavy weapons to good effect, your priority is the tomb stalker, everyone else mop up the mercs." Dauntless' commanding tone overtook even the crazed din of men being ripped apart, and flayed atom by atom, as he set off after Georgii, who had fled the scene with half a dozen mercenaries.
The Inquisitor weaved through the bedlam of the confused mercs, Jericus and the rest of them following in his wake, ignoring the mercs who in turn ignored them, too busy fighting the tomb stalker or running away. Coming to the passage the mad witch had fled down Dauntless slowed, treading carefully into the even dimmer area beyond, which was an entrance into another cave system outside of the tomb proper. Into the depths they went, rocky walls now muffling the battle behind them, and instead focusing on the various natural cover the area afforded. Stalagmites, and outcroppings turned the cave into a rocky maze of potential death.
"Spread out, stay within site line of each other though," B-63 spoke automatically his N.C.O instincts coming to the fore. Dauntless didn't sound to correct him, so Jericus and Fenria obeyed, Kaede likewise paired off with Sothy, leaving the Inquisitor seemingly unguarded. Though with his reflector shield Jericus knew that Dauntless was much safer than any of them, which was why the Inquisitor was actually on point. His archeotec pistol formidable enough on its own, and if it came to be closer than that, the faintly humming power-sword in his other hand would work just as well.
Tittering laughter could be heard echoing in the distance of the cave system, it didn't sound like the mad witch to Jericus, it was too feminine. Whatever it was it sent a small chill up his spine, his hand got the impulse to twitch.
"S-1049, get up here with me, I'd like to have you close on hand." Dauntless spoke low, his voice conveying a sense of importance, looking to B-63 Jericus got a nod of confirmation. He left his position going quickly up to walk beside the Inquisitor. They were slightly ahead of the rest of the group. "I need you to listen to me S-1049, when we encounter the witch you need to take point on him, get as close as you can. I'd say about five meters should do it, stay in that range of him, you'll nullify his powers and ensure he can't escape using them. We're going to end him on this day." The Inquisitor spoke lowly, just so that the others could not hear him. Why he did Jericus didn't know, but he felt the man had his reasons.
Coming to a choke point they had no choice but to go through one at a time. Large rock formation constricting the space to a mere shoulder width. Dauntless and Jericus began to go through, the others waited behind, still spread so as not to all get gunned down in case of an ambush. Once through to the other side a scant few meters Dauntless turned to signal everyone else as Jericus kept his weapon trained on the space beyond. Muffled whumps interrupted the Inquisitor as explosives overhead detonated, rock crashing down to block the narrow passage, followed by the sound of weaponfire from where they had just come.
Dauntless grimaced, he should have known better, and now he was pulled into such a damned obvious trap. Jericus felt a pang of worry, he knew Fenria and the rest were more than capable, but he definitely didn't like fighting without them at his back, nor did he like the idea of them doing the same. At least the sound of muffled weaponfire beyond the blocked passage continued, that meant they were still alive.
Turning his thoughts to the enemy that was surely ahead Jericus focused, letting the training take over, he swept the cavern they found themselves in. It was massive, dominated in the center by a water carved pillar of rock stretching up into darkness, and illuminated dimly by either florescent fungus, or some kind of outreaching of the xenos technology spreading on the walls. There were plenty of upward and downward slopes too, along with stalagmites forming up from the ground, plenty of places to hide.
They heard the tittering laughter again, Jericus aimed in the direction of the sound, on high alert. It wasn't Georgii…
"Ah, now this is proper, eh Dauntless? Just us and our closest minions." Georgii's voice sounded from seemingly all around, bouncing off walls and rock formations, until it echoed into oblivion. "Good choice by the way, though I don't think it'll be much help to you, after all your little pet blank will have to play with my own pets."
"Show your face and spare us the trouble," Dauntless muttered darkly, aiming into the shadows with his deadly archeotec pistol.
"Oh yes of course where are my manners, but first..." Dauntless was startled as his pistol was yanked from his hand, flying off into the distant caverns, well out of recovery. "Standing a bit too close to the power sapper there my dear Inquisitor. Don't worry though, unlike you I am a gentleman, and so we shall finish this with sword, sweat, and blood."
"Theatrical sonofabitch!" Dauntless muttered under his breath. "Shoot the bastard when he shows his face."
Jericus didn't have time to comment on how the mad psykers own reflector shield would make his lasrifle a moot point. He was too busy reeling back as a babbling nutjob sprang forth from an outcrop nearby and chopped his weapon in half with a mono-edged cleaver. He managed to put enough distance between him and the madman to avoid the follow up. Standing ready as he watched the figure stop any further action to stare at him, and excitedly tap the blunt spine of his cleaver against his leg.
"And now we're all on an even playing field." Georgii stepped out from his hiding place, walking into obvious view, and drew his own sword striking up an engarde stance. "I've been waiting for the opportunity to duel you again Dauntless, it's been quite a while, let us dance!"
Jericus had drawn his axe and dagger at that point, powering them up as he faced off against the cleaver wielding madman. His back-up laspistol strapped tight in its holster would've taken too long to draw and fire accurately at such a distance. Dauntless grimaced in stony resignation as he walked forward to face off against the mad psyker. They'd have to play by the witch's rules.
Vaguely aware of the impending duel between the Inquisitor and Witch, Jericus concerned himself with his own fight, eyeing his opponent carefully. He at once recognized the tattered and damaged remains of Endurholdgun armor adorning the man before him. Between that and deciding whether he should attack first or not Jericus remembered something important. Georgii had said 'pets' hadn't he?
He threw himself to his right as he heard the sound of quick footsteps behind, narrowly missing the cleaver that had meant to split his skull in two. Rolling he came up facing both of his attackers, the second dressed similarly to the first, though female. The madwoman tittered insanely, looking at him with half-lidded and cloudy eyes. Jericus looked back and forth between the two… this was going to be difficult.
Giving him hardly the time to think the two charged him, wild slashes and chops coming from his left and right sides, both trying to get around his lines of defense. He could only back up and dodge as they attacked, trying to counter one even with the advantage of his power-weapons, meant the other would just kill him while he was occupied.
He ducked under a particularly wide swing, and barely had time to kick the madman away, as he fell backwards to avoid the woman bisecting him from the front. Backpedaling on all fours Jericus avoided a series of downward chops directed at his groin. The madwoman's constant tittering escalating into hooting and hollering for each swing. On one particularly forceful chop, where she dedicated herself a bit too much in anger, Jericus managed to kick to wide flat side of her cleaver before she could recover it for another swing.
The weapon was sent flying away, clanging across the stone floor, hopping to his feet Jericus made for an attack on the defenseless thrall. He redirected his axe mid-swing however, using it to hook the recovered madman's own weapon away from cleaving into his side.
Springing up the woman punched Jericus across the face for his trouble, sending him off to his left, away from another swing of the madman's cleaver. He thanked his luck that these two didn't seem to coordinate overly well with each other. He couldn't just keep dodging forever though, eventually one of them would get in a lucky hit, and then it be over, he had plenty of experience seeing what mono-edged plasteel could do to a person.
By now the madwoman had pulled a set of combat knives from somewhere on her person. She had to close the distance more now, opening herself up for a fatal counter. Unfortunately Jericus had the same problem, kill her and while he was busy he'd likely be killed by the man. He had to separate them, it wasn't his best idea, but he started running away from them as fast as he could anyway. You weren't supposed to turn your back on the enemy, and as two knives narrowly missed him in their passage through the air and into the far wall, he realized that he was pushing his luck.
Without other options though he took solace in the fact that at least the deadly blades had missed. Behind him he could hear the two in pursuit, their footsteps falling heavy on the cave floor, mad laughter following him. They'd given into their predatory instincts, chasing what they thought was fleeing prey, Jericus would prove them wrong on that. It was difficult turning the power-field off on his dagger, and then replacing it in its sheath at a running pace, but he was able to, just barely so as not to drop it, and give his opponents a weapon that'd give them a major advantage.
He still had his laspistol on him, holstered it wouldn't have been useful to draw earlier, as the momentary delay it took would've likely ended in his death at such close range. But running as he was and putting distance between him and his opponents he felt the chance would be worth it now. All he had to do was incapacitate one of them, his axe was still ready to parry in his other hand too, so there was at least that comfort.
It was instinct taking over as he drew the pistol, pivoting in the same motion to a sudden about face, and aiming at his opponents. A mere five meters away and gaining the madman had his cleaver reared back and ready to chop into him, the woman behind him hadn't bothered to recover any of her weapons, instead joining the frenzied chase in her blood craze. He drew a bead on the madman, squeezing off a rapid three shots, two missed completely, but the third smacked home right into the madman's unarmored face.
The lasbolt may have fried the brain, but the body was a bit behind, and continued to barrel into Jericus unabated. Though the cleaver had fallen from a loosened grasp. Letting out an undignified 'oofff!' as the body collided with him Jericus found himself under quite a bit of dead weight, his carapace saving him from having the air knocked from his lungs. He didn't have long to stay idle, the madwoman, with a gleeful shriek at the death of her comrade had scooped up his fallen cleaver.
She was too close and bearing down on him, his axe arm pinned beneath the corpse, he brought up his laspistol as her cleaver was descending. Mono-plasteel chopped downward catching the pistol as it batted the blade aside, and though his weapon was destroyed in the process it had save him from a cleaver to the neck. The madwoman was quick though, bringing it back up for another go, Jericus used all the leverage he could pulling the heavy, limp, dead body of her comrade up between his head and the blade.
With a sickening shrieking squeltch the weapon met armor, muscle, and bone. Becoming lodged in the dead man, the madwoman pulled frantically, angry gibberish issuing forth from her mouth. With a mighty heave Jericus pushed the corpse up and away, unbalancing the struggling madwoman, and he rolled away and to his feet in the process.
Up yet again and facing the crazed minion Jericus looked as finally with a viscous tug, she dislodged her weapon, spattering blood and viscera all over herself. She seemed mesmerized by the dark red of her comrade, looking up to Jericus in a mad frenzy of renewed energy, she howled.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR HIS THRONE!"
"Not Mine!" Jericus found himself yelling back, before they both charged each other. Without a second enemy to deal with he found things much easier. A swift parry, followed by a strike to her face, sent the madwoman reeling back. Her wild swing was easily defended against without the worry of another opponent chopping into him. As she recovered, turning a snarling face back to greet him, Jericus dealt the killing blow.
Power sheathed axe head cleaving down through skin, skull, and brain matter as though it wasn't even there. The body convulsed for but a second, and then went limp, a puppet now without strings. He let out a slow breath, pulling his axe free, and kicked the corpse to the ground.
He gathered himself quickly though, Dauntless would need him…
Fenria shot without even aiming, so close was the enemy, and so sudden their ambush. Spread out as they were they had all managed to find cover, avoiding being gunned down together in the crossfire. She and B-63 had landed together behind the same stalagmite cluster, Sothy and Kaede had grabbed the one opposite them, and from there pandemonium ensued.
Shots seemed to be coming from all around them, she judged there had to be no more than six enemy combatants, though they all seemed to have automatic weapons. Which they used to liberally pepper their cover of thankfully thick, dense rock formation, though the chips flying off pinged worryingly against her carapace.
"Our two'o'clock! Now!" She heard B-63 order, springing from cover with him as he did. They put fire on the location, her mind had come up with a rough idea of where the enemy was in general, their shots found a home in an unfortunate merc's chest. The man slumping back behind his own cover, most likely dead, his chest had been ventilated thoroughly. Small victory over, they immediately dropped back into cover, as retaliatory fire was thrown their way. Fenria risked a glance over at Kaede and Sothy, the Arbitrators large shotgun booming as she let loose flechette rounds, the deadly needles punching into a man sending him collapsing against the wall behind. His blood leaving a smear as he slid down the wall.
With her heavier than normal carapace, built for dealing with anything a riot of gangers could throw at it, Kaede was shrugging hardrounds fired at her left and right. Her weapons firepower, and spread soon drove the mercs left behind their cover as they started taking stray flechettes to the extremities. Fenria saw the opportunity, giving B-63 a tap to the shoulder to let him know of her intentions, he immediately sprang up and poured hellgun fire into the last two mercs they were dealing with, driving them into their own cover.
Fenria ran crouched diagonally to a new position, all enemies concerned with not getting hit now unaware of the flanking maneuver, she came to a stop behind a raised slope of erosion carved rock. Peering around its side she spotted the mercs in their own cover, each readying a grenade, she snapped off the rest of the shots in her power pack. Deadly hotshots made quick work of the mercs, blasting through their armor, and hyper boiling the water in their bodies, leaving large ragged holes through their crouched forms.
Limp hands dropped the grenades, pins thankfully un-pulled, it was lucky, the explosions could have set off another cave in. Scanning over she saw that Sothy had coordinated with her and Kaede as well, the woman standing over the bodies of the other two mercs, her lascarbine hot from the expended energy.
"All clear," Kaede surveyed the area, her shotgun sweeping in an arc. Fenria trusted the Arbitrator's judgment, coming to a slow stand, looking around she saw B-63 doing the same. Her head then snapped to the passage that had been purposely caved in. A wall of broken rock greeted her gaze, and worry knotted her guts, Jericus was on the other side of that seemingly impenetrable blockage.
"We need to blow our way through," She immediately pulled the one krak-grenade she'd taken from her webbing.
B-63 place his hand gingerly over hers. "No, we don't know how stable this cave system is, especially after the initial blast, we could just end up bringing the ceiling down on our heads." His voice was calm, and reasonable, and she'd have agreed with him. But her emotions, grasping at her will more and more lately, bubbled to the surface.
"But we've got to get to Jer-them! They'll need our backup to fight that Witch." Her tone was adamant, even as she cringed internally at her near slip, B-63 simply shook his head.
"I know, but we won't be going through that way, it could just make things worse for them." He spoke with his best Watchmaster tone, commanding total compliance, Fenria found her hard indoctrinated instincts compelling her to listen. She nodded her head, replacing the grenade where it had been, though her posture didn't relax in the slightest.
"How do we get to them then?" The question burst forth before she could stop, her underlying worry lacing the words, obvious to anyone even with her mask.
"The meltagun brought by Captain Arthur and his troopers." Sothy spoke, her tone calm and collected. "It can be set for continuous blast for a short period, it'd bore a stable tunnel through the blockage, and have the least likely chance of causing a cave in."
"That's a good idea, though for all we know it could be destroyed by now, in any case we'll have to backtrack and hope our comrades have succeeded in their mission. Otherwise the Inquisitor and S-1049 may very well be on their own," Kaede interjected, turning back to the way they'd come and starting to make her way back.
"Best plan we have, let's go then." B-63 said making to follow the Arbitrator, Sothy having already fallen into step behind her. Fenria lingered though, casting a glance back to the wall of rock, she was reluctant to take the chance of the meltagun. Time was of the essence, and the krak-grenade was a directional charge... was it worth the chance to get to Jericus sooner?
"Have faith S-1050, we'll get to him, besides he's a hard one to kill, now come on time is wasting." B-63's voice called back to her, snapping her from her rebellious thoughts. His tone compelling her to trust in him, and their comrades, so with a freshly forged resolve she followed.
"Stay alive, we can't die on each other, remember that," She thought as her feet began to move her further away from him.
The mobilization had been so sudden, one moment manning a trench, the next they were carted onto a Valkyrie destined for some far off corner of the battlefield. Raltia had looked to her friend Sunra for an elaboration.
"Damned if I know, this is the Guard after all." The Randon woman had said with a usual chuckle. All Sergeant Joss had said was that all experienced guardsmen were being pushed forward, a general offensive into the enemy ranks, far from the original plan of a siege. Only a token force of newly recruited Guard and the local militia was left behind to man the trenches. For if the worst happened, and the offensive failed, Raltia prayed to the Emperor they wouldn't fail.
As She kept pace with her platoon, Korps, and Hoarfell allies around her she prayed even more vehemently in her mind. There were so many of them advancing, chimera giving them fire support, hordes of the enemy now slavering lunatics. She took comfort that she at least recognized Sergeant Grime and his boys, Surrins like her, though she noted with sadness that Hack no longer seemed to be with them. Had he died?
It was possible, ever since her first battle it had been apparent that death was a constant friend, always ready to end you suddenly, though not always swiftly. The dark maelstrom ahead gave her pause, she'd seen rivers of blood, mountains of bodies, and entire populations burned to cinder. But the purple tinged storm they now advanced into radiated a wrongness wholly unknown to her before now.
"Perk up! We've got them on the run!" Sunra spoke from her left, her battle buddy was a constant source of unbridled resolve, Raltia was thankful for her infectious attitude. Or maybe it was just the Randon in general, their zeal renewed now that they were moving again, instead of static and waiting.
"Hostiles right! Hostiles right! Enemy formation setting up!" They heard the order bellowed over loud-hailers mounted on chimera. Soon it was relayed over the vox-net, the mishmash guard force complying to the warning. Raltia sighted forward, and sure enough a mass of enemy hostiles, mutated wretches one and all, was forming into the semblance of a firing line. They used scattered bandit vehicles for cover, though the vast majority were outside of them and instead stood in the open.
"Fire at will!"
They opened up, the general order hardly needed to be said. Mounted weapons on the Chimera cut into the enemy forces, lightly armored bandit vehicles couldn't stop the heavy stubber and bolt rounds flying toward their targets. Added to that were countless lasbolts. Mutated flesh simply seemed to disappear under Imperial firepower. Quickly enough the massed enemy turned into a soupy conglomeration, three parts red blood, two parts bits of body.
Raltia couldn't tell if her shots even hit anything, the sheer torrent of lasbolts seemed to blend together, though she did let out a contented chuckle at the destructive panorama. She caught herself as she saw Sunra eyeing her with a smirk of her own from the left. Raltia shook her head, banish the thought! She was becoming more like her psychotic comrades by the day.
"Back left, toward the center of this Maelstrom," Sergeant Joss' voice came in of their vox-beads. Around them the same order went through the ranks, the Guard on the advance again, re-orientated toward their ultimate goal.
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" Raltia yelled to Sunra over the noise of engines and boots.
"Once, but at the time we weren't part of the assault into it. It was mostly Death Korps then." Sunra said back, excitement in her tone.
"What happened, we won then, right?" Raltia was sure her voice betrayed her worry.
"In a manner of speaking," Sunra shot back.
"What's that mean," the Surrin felt her voice squeak.
"Well, we won the war, but the Korps lost the battle that day. The ones that went in stopped the maelstrom, but they didn't come back out!" Sunra's tone was far too excited when that was the news coming out of her mouth.
"Great, another suicide mission, par for the course then, no sweat Ral, you've got this," the Surrin thought, trying to ignore the sarcasm of her own inner conscience. The Guard advance was now a steady flow, they took shots into the backs of the retreating enemy when they could, thinning their numbers would only help when the inevitable final assault happened.
Before long they seemed to come to the epicenter of the unholy storm, only a kilometer in total radius, pulsing purple energies shot up into the clouds, electrifying the atmosphere around them. At the center what looked like a solitary silhouette, vaguely humanoid in shape. Remaining enemy forces had formed a barrier of vehicles around the figure, their own firing line, and now they opened up with all they had. Heavy stubbers, and even a few proper bolters among the deluge they poured out, and for once the Imperial assault ground to a halt.
The forward ranks of infantry scrambled for cover behind their Chimera escorts, and few of which were taken out by the heavy bolter, and portable missile fire of some of the enemy.
"This is it people, our priority target is that figure, whatever it takes!" Sergeant Joss relayed the order she was no doubt receiving over her link to the command vox-net. Raltia found herself butt to nut with Sunra as they bunched up behind a Chimera that had been close at hand. The rest of their comrades stacking up behind them as well, and the platoon at large spreading out among three other vehicles for cover.
"Target those damn emplacements!" A corporal bellowed over the increasingly loud discord. Raltia and Sunra heeded the order, a dozen or so of their comrades doing the same. From their relatively safe place behind the Chimera they let loose with their volleys. The gunner in the armored transport supplementing them as well. Their lines reformed after the initial surprise, the Imperials firing back with their more numerous, and better made weapons, had an immediate effect on the much softer armor of the bandit technicals.
Raltia swore she saw her own volley as it stitched across a heavily mutated gunner, taking the wretch's arm off at the shoulder, throwing him back right before the Chimera's heavy bolter took the truck he'd been on apart. Fuel ignited as the bolts exploded in the tanks, soon the enemy line was mangled metal and bodies, the enemy retreating further. In a desperate last attempt to stave off the Imperial assault they bunched around the silhouetted figure they seemed to be protecting. Acting as a crude living wall, shooting out even as they did, so as to deter the Imperials from being too bold.
Running now to keep up with Sunra, and their cover, the young Surrin carefully picked her way through the path paved by their armor, as it smashed through the burning remains of the enemy barricade. They put lasbolt into any still struggling mutated bandit as they went by, the gunners of the Chimera focusing on the ones still mobile and to their front for them.
Forming up proper again Raltia joined the firing line of Guard as they hemmed in the remaining enemy. Their combined fire was making quick work of the living wall, but there were quite a multitude of the suicidal cultists, hapdash armor and mutated flesh combined with that, prevented even bolts from penetrating all the way through to the figure at the center. But they had more Guard pouring in behind them by the second, their comrades adding to the torrent of fire, and setting up new lines and angles, dividing the bandits attentions.
It was still a ways to go, but Raltia was certain they'd pull a victory from this yet. Unfortunately it was then that everything seemed to stop, a mind-rending psychic scream of pain ripped through the battlefield. Raltia flinched at the metaphysical hurt it caused, though as she looked around she saw that some guardsmen were on their knees, and some even convulsing on the ground from the event. Sunra was unfortunately in the last category, her friend had always seemed sensitive to warp travel, and now Raltia fought through her own discomfort to grab her friend and drag her behind what cover was near.
The psychic screech was still ongoing as she did, looking toward the epicenter of the maelstrom she saw the mutated bandits were all in a similar state to their attackers. In their midst the figure had disappeared, replaced it by a tear in reality itself, the portal undulated, looking for all Raltia could tell like a mirage caused by extreme heat. It mercifully stopped moments later, Raltia was trying to snap Sunra out of whatever fit she was having, though nothing seemed to be getting through to her friend, whose eyes had rolled back.
It was suddenly unnaturally quiet, the very air itself still, both Guard forces and mutant stood still as though waiting for something. Then, something came through the breech in reality. Raltia felt herself anchored by the sight, her eyes going wide…
Schmidt fought hard to keep his nerves from failing, he was cursing Dauntless, oh sure they'd been through some tough spots in the past. But for some reason the Inquisitor always seemed to abandon all sense when it came to the damned mad psyker. Three heavy weapons, Aryn, plus himself and the others to take down this thing? How could Dauntless think they even stood an Emperor damned chance.
There was yelling, someone was yelling at him.
"Come on Legionnaire! Pull yourself together! You're the one who knows how to operate this damned thing!" It sounded fuzzy, far off, vaguely familiar, and somewhat out of character. The rough touch and shaking did little to help Schmidt recognize whoever it was, his mind elsewhere at that moment...
Things had gone from bad to worse over the course of the battle. At first they didn't even worry about the mercenaries, who were too busy helping them try and kill the mechanical monstrosity, and providing a good distraction as it slaughtered them. Schmidt even held out hope at the beginning, seeing Captain Arthur and his men in action, their heavy weapons actually scoring hits and doing damage, certainly helped. Kerelia with her multitude of weapons extended from her mechadendrites, also showered the Tomb stalker with energy and hard-rounds.
S-360 and S-548 provided some much needed protection for the Stormtroopers, allowing them to focus on the greater threat. Aryn combined with them to provide cover with his shield. Corporal Jessmuck led the Brontians and Aerith, the feral worlders and jungle guide had taken to the outskirts of the battle. Keeping eyes on and taking potshots at both the Stalker, and any mercenary who suddenly turned their attention from said xeno abomination, and toward anyone in the retinue.
Then things started to fall apart, the tomb stalker had started to target the biggest threats, at first these were the mercs with anti-vehicle weapons. It quickly went through those poor souls, and promptly started to try and kill the Captain and his men, their only reprieve was that it was more likely to try and kill them with claw than gauss-canon. It helped that one of the canons had been taken out by a few lucky rockets, and a blast of the plasma-gun.
The Stormtrooper wielding it however was speared through multiple times over a moment later as the charging stalker trampled him, its many razor pointed legs practically shredding him, and leaving a red smear on the floor. Others in the formation had cleared out in time to avoid it, quickly traversing ground to put distance between them and the killing machine.
Schmidt didn't even know the poor bastard's name… he had to commend him though. In his last moments, instead of screaming in pain, the hardy man had tossed the plasma-gun in their direction. Sparing it from destruction, so that they may continue the fight with it, Schmidt had been hopeful to recover it. Gunther had gone with him, Aryn and the remaining Stormtroopers and Korps distracting the stalker. Virtanen covered them, shooting more than one merc that had tried to grab the weapon before they got to it.
The penal legionnaire had been triumphant when he'd reached the weapon.
"I got it!" He cried in elation.
Though it was short lived, as the battlefield was a cruel place, Schmidt had heard the warning, perhaps a moment too late.
"Watch out!" Virtanen's voice, loud, and tinged with unnatural worry. He'd turned, caught a glimpse of sick, pale green at the edge of his vision, and then he was thrown from his feet. The plasmagun had gone with him, and he'd thankfully had enough presence of mind to land on his back, instead of letting the volatile weapon take the brunt of the impact with the ground.
For moments after Schmidt was dazed by his near bout with death, those green beams… he'd seen what they could do to a person. Ecstatic that he lived he was at once brought down again, as he clearly remembered, he was pushed out of the way. His head whipped around. 'Gunther! Where in the warp was he!'
The dazed legionnaire didn't have to look long, his friend was only a scant foot away, most of him anyway. Schmidt always prided himself on being a hard bastard, you had to be, growing up in the underhive. And then on the battlefield as a penal legionnaire. But Gunther was his oldest friend, they'd known each other as fellow thieves in the underhive, grown up together. They'd always known that something like this would happen eventually, Schmidt had always held onto the selfish hope that it would be him though, Gunther had always been the stronger of them both.
That had never been more apparent now to Schmidt as he simply broke down, his shattered nerves trying desperately to focus on the battle, but the plasma-gun suddenly found the ground, forgotten. He was at his friend's side in an instant. Trying desperately to find a sign of life. It seemed only to have been a glancing blow… but that had been enough, Gunther's left side was just gone.
"Schmidt! Schmidt! Emperor damn it! Snap out of it!" There was that far off static again… the voice seemed so familiar. His eye's were glued to the half remains of his friend though. It was moments later that he felt a pair of hands force him to turn away, none too gently either, it was a forceful pull. In that moment he found himself staring into the eyes of the last person he'd expect to look so worried.
Virtanen didn't cry. She never had before, too proud to let the impulse get to her, but there was the proof staring him in the face. Despite it though she was steeled, her purpose set, get him to snap out of his funk. Her voice started to come in clearer as his gaze focused on her face, his mind blocking out his dead friend at his knees.
"-Ap out of it! You've got a job to do Legionnaire. Pick up that plasmagun, and kill that abomination." Virtanen's tear streaked face was at odds with her resolve. In spite of that the contrast lit a fire in Schmidt's chest, she was hurt too, she had liked Gunther, despite all the abuse they threw at each other, she liked him! Considered them actual comrades.
The thought galvanized him, prompting his steadying hands to pick up the plasmagun from where it had been discarded. He turned back to the battle, the warp damned stalker had only shot in their direction for that moment, caught up again with Captain Arthur, Aryn, Kerelia, and the remaining mercenaries. The Stormtrooper operating the meltagun was nowhere to be seen, likely flayed atom by atom while Schmidt had been elsewhere in his mind.
Virtanen nodded at him adamantly, seeing the light come back to his eyes, she picked up her longlas. A weapon he knew she prized more than her life, from the ground where she'd discarded it, and all to get him back in the fight. She wasted no more time, turning to snap off shots at any mercenaries that were stupid enough to be gunning for them, likely so that they could steal one of the few weapons that could take out the tomb stalker.
He'd played with plasmaguns before, part and parcel to the operation of a penal legion, the very unstable ones past their expiration date, and beyond repair, found their way into the hands of the convicted. It had given him the proper experience, and since he was used to such dangerous weapons in the worst condition, one kept nice and mint such as the one he held now would be no problem.
He advanced on the tomb stalker, the giant metal insect taking no notice as it coiled around itself to block incoming fire from hitting vital parts. As he walked at his steady pace Schmidt took in all the information he could, the canon on the left side of its head was out, numerous legs had been sheared off, and there were some chinks in its incredibly tough armor by now from all the fighting. Taking aim he let loose three shots with the plasmagun.
The bright miniature blue globs seemed to float through the air, impacting the tomb stalker in the side, and taking off yet another leg. Noticing the loss of another appendage the stalker uncoiled, turning its head to face its most potent threat. Recognizing the large plasmagun as something that could bring about its end. Schmidt saw its remaining canon charging up, he smirked, he'd been charging up his next shot as it'd been turning to face him, he let loose with it.
Brighter, hotter, and more destructive the charged plasma-bolt slammed into the stalker's remaining canon. Melting even the tough living metal of the stalker's armor in milliseconds, causing whatever arcane energies that powered the deadly weapon to erupt. Bright blue mixed with pale green, the right side of the stalkers head vanished in the storm of energy, when it cleared Schmidt could see the significant damage he'd wrought.
Not just the canon, but a quarter of the metal monstrosities head was now gone, slagged remains, and alien machinery visible in the wrent armor. It wasn't dead yet though, with what sounded like the shriek of a wounded animal the stalker started to lash about. It caught a few dumbstruck mercenaries with its remaining razor limbs, slicing them apart, or otherwise crushing them under its bulk. Aryn, bellowing as he charged the stalker unleashed whatever was left in his ripper, doing little but to anger it further.
The mighty ogryn was lucky he had his special made shield. Its refractor field save him from being sliced in two by the many rending legs that lashed at him. Though he was still knocked away as though he wasn't one ton of muscle and ceramite. Captain Arthur meanwhile kept up a steady fusillade of bolts, his arms trembling from the continuous fire, and Kerelia had every built in weapon at her disposal spewing forth. She seemed to be doing the most damage, her plasma-pistols slagging small sections of living metal plate, but their splash was too small to cause enough damage.
It didn't help that the tomb stalker was in constant motion, minimizing concentrated damage on any one part of its long body. If it weren't for the addition of the remaining mercs pouring whatever anti-vehicle fire into it then they'd have a real problem. As it was the stalker was eliminating whatever occupied its attention from moment to moment, or trying to.
Beginning to wither under the concentrated assault the stalker turned its attention back to Schmidt yet again. He was waiting for the plasmagun to cool down, the charge shot had overheated it, and if he fired again so soon it was liable to explode in his hands. He felt as though the alien intelligence was personally seeking him out, its malevolent intent focused solely on him. It wanted to take him down, an irrational thought, after all he doubted the thing could have a personal vendetta. However, as it charged him, paying no heed to the other dangers around it, he felt his gut feeling was true.
Willing the plasmagun to cool faster Schmidt began to back up at as fast a pace as he dared. He couldn't turn around, he knew that if he did he wouldn't get far running, and might miss the last chance they all had to kill this thing. He wished Gunther was still alive, if he was they'd be able to play keep away, he'd toss the plasmagun in his last moments, and Gunther would've saved the day. But his friend was with the Emperor now.
Anger flashed through him, he'd take this damned xeno with him, for Gunther. Ten meters from him, only ten meters! He heard the telltale beep of the plasmagun, signaling it was safe to fire again, the legionnaire let loose screaming bloody murder. He'd later find that his accuracy, speed, and bravery under such pressure impressed even Captain Arthur. No small feat being he was a Stormtrooper.
He got off six shots, the gun overheating on the last and locking up, preventing a catastrophic failure of the weapon. The bolts of blue plasma flew true, impacting one after another, digging into the center of the stalker's mighty head. With its armor already compromised, and heavy damage done to its systems the necron abomination couldn't take the overwhelming heat, the first two shot slagged what was left of its head armor. The rest melted whatever internal systems animated its nightmare body.
It smashed headfirst into the ground four meters from Schmidt, who had barely enough time to hurl himself out of its way, the body went careening past like a runaway train. Momentum carried it across the chamber, finally stopping in a screeching halt quite a ways away. Schmidt breathed hard, as he got to his feet, wincing from the heat coming off the barrel of the plasmagun when it came close to his arm. Everything had stilled, looking around he could see only three mercs left, and they seemed in no rush to start a fight.
They all stared at the horror made of living metal, only breathing easy when the ghostly pale glow of green finally faded to darkness from its exposed guts. The mercs broke into a sprint out of the chamber after a few more moments, no one stopped them, they weren't the big concern anymore. Captain Arthur took control of the situation seconds later.
"The Inquisitor will be needing us, everyone move out!" The Stormtrooper was direct and led by example, heading immediately for where Dauntless and the rest of the retinue had followed the mad psyker. Kerelia followed, tugging on Aryn's arm like a child to get him to come along, and stop staring at the wreckage of the tomb stalker. The others followed, keeping wary eyes on their surroundings, no doubt praying that another such abomination would not come bursting from the ground.
Schmidt hardly paid them attention, the immediate danger gone, his focus was drawn back to the still body of his friend. He looked to where Gunther lay, half of him gone, the damage seemed so clean too. No burnt skin, no ripped and mangled flesh, it looked for all the world as though half of his friend had just been erased from existence, an unbelievably clean cut. The left overs solid, and whatever wasn't being held in simply spilling out, blood spreading in a pool around the corpse.
He felt the despair gripping him again, right before another grip on his arm held it at bay, his attention shifted to Virtanen. Her usual haughty and superior expression not evident on her features. As though she was just a simple woman, and not some blue-blood-ice-bitch, as Gunther had often commented behind her back. Solemn empathy was all he saw radiating from her. It comforted him more than any words could.
She nodded to where the rest of the retinue had gone, a slight tug followed, and before he knew it Schmidt was walking with her. His mind set back on track, intent on finishing the mission, Dauntless and his order to stay back and fight in a nigh hopeless battle he would address later. For now, he had to make sure the bastard was alive, he'd give him a piece of his mind later.
As they caught up with the retinue both legionnaire and blue-blood noticed that Captain Arthur seemed to be having a serious conversation with Sothy and Watchmaster B-63. The rest of the retinue seemed to have come back, minus Dauntless and S-1049. That worried Schmidt as he looked to S-1050, he'd grown quite fond of the Korps troopers they'd taken on, especially those two. He'd lost Gunther today, he'd rather not see the lass go through losing S-1049 too, it was obvious what the two meant to each other.
They caught the tail end of the conversation, Captain Arthur sounded grim. "I'm afraid we've lost the meltagun, that Emperor damned xenos destroyed it with its weapon."
"I could use the melta built into my combat systems," Kerelia volunteered.
"No that won't work, there's too much rock, and your melta won't be able to put out enough energy to get through it," Watchmaster B-63 added. Schmidt had always wondered how the Watchmaster and Cog-girl had become so close, the thought distracted him from his recent grief, a needed distraction. He started to puzzle over the conversation they'd run into. Sounded like a demolition job of some sort.
"Wai' one moment, please explain wha's goin' on ta those of us tha' just got here," he interjected, aware his voice lacked its usual amiable nature. The group discussion stopped at his interruption, all eyes turned to him. S-1049 was quick to speak up, a rare breech of what he'd come to know as Korps discipline, the lass' tone almost hurt him as much as Gunther's death.
"There were explosives further into the cave system, when the Inquisitor and S-1049 went ahead they went off, causing a cave-in and separating us. It's possibly too unstable for krak-grenades, we were hoping the meltagun could make a stable passage with a continuous blast, but now..." She sounded even enough, but Schmidt could tell the girl was panicked, and he knew why.
He wracked his brain for but a moment, being in a penal legion had been nothing short of a lesson in ingenuity, you had to figure out ways to solve problems with less than what was normally given to the rank and file. It bred a certain out of the box thinking he'd taken to all too well. A certain memory was distinctly brought up in his mind. An uprising on a mining world, the judicious use of a plasma-gun to slag unstable rock to created a stable passage, he could do this, he had to do this.
"We'll use tha plasma-gun," he spoke confidently.
"I believe the loss of your comrade is still fresh, and affecting your judgment legionnaire," Captain Arthur spoke without malice, but Schmidt whipped his head round to glare at the big-toy-soldier all the same. "It may be hot enough to melt the rock, but it's too unstable, we won't get to the Inquisitor fast enough, and it may rupture under such strenuous use."
"I'm well'a 'ware of tha' Captain. But there'sa old trick this legionnaire knows tha'll get us through tha' rock. I can modify tha output nozzle, remove the limiter, this thing'll spew plasma till tha tank's empty. Done it before with shite hand-me-downs in the legion, this one being all shiny an' new… it should'na be a problem." Schmidt spoke up, noticing S-1050's posture seemed to perk up with hope, though the Captain seemed ready to interject.
"Schmidt's right," Kerelia voiced before the Stormtrooper could protest. "Modification to the valves and limiters can be done, give me three minutes with that plasma-gun and I'll have them done, can't believe I didn't think of that!" The Cog-girl seemed giddy with the idea of committing what Schmidt had been told in the past was tech-heresy. He found a new respect for her, handing the weapon over to her outstretched mechadendrites, Captain Arthur looked tense for a moment. However he seemed to relent with the Magos' endorsement of the idea as soon as she started the process.
Sounds of modification enveloped their space, Kerelia's mechanical limbs a blur of motion, it seemed to be going off without a hitch. Schmidt had to admire the quality of such a weapon, Inquisition toys were the best, at least there was that to be thankful for. Soon enough Kerelia was holding the modified energy weapon. A smile evident on her features, seemed she was of the opinion that she'd done excellent work, Schmidt hoped so.
"Alright, it's ready," the Cog-girl's smile turned into a maniacal grin, B-63 actually seemed to look worried, but S-1050's hope could be seen a mile away. The Watchmaster didn't protest. Kerelia took it upon herself to be the one to fire the weapon to create the passage. They followed her to the cavern beyond where they needed to break through.
"Everyone be sure to stand back, my chassis is rated for plasma splash-back, but you squishier baselines may get some nasty burns," Kerelia explained with a chipper tone. Schmidt was actually startled, when as they were all moving back into cover, that B-63 stayed with the Cog-girl for a moment.
"You're sure this will work, right Kerelia," was that worry in the Watchmaster's voice?
Kerelia beamed at him. "So sweet of you darling, being all worried about me, but how many times do I have to tell you. I'm a genius! Now get your lovely squishy body out of the splash-zone, cause I'm about to tear down this wall."
B-63 actually gave Kerelia a squeeze on her shoulder, before heeding her advice, and getting into cover with his subordinates. The Cog-girl turned to her task, depressing the trigger on the plasmagun when she knew they were all safely out of the possible splash zone, a bright blue globular stream erupted from the weapon. Schmidt was peaking over his cover, he could see the heat coming off of the containment tank, but true to his words it was holding. No doubt in part due to the Magos' expertise in such matters.
The Plasma was eating through the rock, leaving molten slag behind as it did, the pace was steady. It'd be a bit of a wait but Schmidt knew they'd be getting through. He looked to S-1050, saw the nervous anticipation, he felt for the poor lass.
B-52 felt terrified, for the first time in a long time, absolutely scared beyond his wits. Only the intense training, and many years of front-line combat, prevented him from freezing up into inactivity.
"Stop standing around! Everything, fire everything we've got, take that warp abomination down!" The Watchmaster ordered, getting his squad to start shooting, others immediately began to join in. Broken from their frozen state at the sound of weaponfire starting up again, there were still quite a few Guardsmen on the ground convulsing, and unresponsive to their comrades trying to get them conscious. Sick chanting began to rise in volume above the all too meager retaliation of the Guard.
Cultists welcoming their new master, B-52 thanked the Emperor that more and more Guardsmen were coming to their senses by the second. Chimera crews were even adding their heavy weapons to the torrent of fire now. Though he was hard-pressed to see what good it did. He had an inkling of what the thing was, he'd heard rumors from the last time the regiment had encountered something of it's ilk, and they weren't good.
It stood much taller than a man, voluminous robes concealing a gaunt and withered figure, it's head that of a cruel carrion bird on a long neck. Hands tipped with wicked talons, and a large staff in it's right hand, the air around it seemed to warp in and out of reality. Worst of all, the combined fire seemed to be having absolutely no effect on this horrible being whatsoever. Despite this B-52 didn't give up, and neither did the Guardsmen all around him.
Ignoring the many impacts it was suffering the thing turned its head lazily to regard its worshipers. Then with what B-52 could've sworn was a smile, it waved its hand, such a simple gesture. But the horrible effect was immediate, the cultists that were still alive all began to convulse, mutating even further than they already had in spectacular fashion. Becoming multi-limbed, organically armored behemoths, no two the same, their slavering mouths filled with rows of wicked teeth and tusks, or sharp beaks.
Fire shifted to the more numerous threat, the multitude of las-fire only had moderate success, heavy stubbers, and bolters seemed better at getting through the mutants new toughened hide. Despite this the new spawn didn't make to attack, they seemed content to wait. Most of the heavy weapons were affixed to their Chimera support. B-52 knew this was a mistake, they ought to be focusing on the first warp abomination, if they didn't kill it they'd be done for!
"Stop, focus fire on the Daemon, the Daemon! Forget about the spawn," his warnings went unheard over the bedlam of the battle being waged. Looking to what he now knew had to be a daemon he swore it was looking directly at him, a smirk plastered impossibly on its beaked face, and then it raised its hand again. Gesturing at a nearby Chimera… the A.P.C was suddenly and violently turned inside out, its metal chassis screeching. The crew screamed as they were crushed by the sudden transformation, remains extruded out from the wreck, practically paste.
It fell with a thud barely muted by the battle, and then the making another gesture, the Daemon turned loose its new creations. Most mercifully back to their senses now, the Guardsmen admirably tried to hold their line, even as the mutated horrors descended upon them. Flak, Carapace, plasteel, adamantium, none of these seemed to stop the spawns sharp appendages from cutting through swaths of Guardsmen.
Their armored hides were unfortunately very resistant to anything save the heavier weapons the Guard had brought to bear. B-52 could see troopers rallying around their heavy weapons teams, meltas, plasmaguns, heavy-bolter teams, high caliber stubbers, these were protected at all cost. Ecclesiarchy battle-priests bellowed litanies at the top of their lungs. Zealous devotion finally remembered as they'd awakened from their stunned stupor.
With their flamers the priests likewise became figures deigned important. Being protected at all cost as their consecrated promethium burning weapons spewed fiery, cleansing death upon the mutants, which withered and died under the torrent of flames. Even a few of the more zealous Ecclesiarchy members militant waded into melee range, absolutely behemoth executioner-style chainswords howling madly.
Despite their bravery, B-52 noticed the horrible being that had emerged from the warp, it seemed amused at the display of defiance. Leaning on its stave comfortably, occasionally twisting armored vehicles apart, making Guardsmen explode, or implode with a mere flick of a finger. All the while legions more warp spawn were spilling endlessly from the chasm in reality.
They weren't going to be able to keep this up, the sanctioned psykers they had were no match for this Daemon, of that he was sure. It was going to take a bonafide Emperor delivered miracle...
"Alright boys take position in this chimera, mount up!" Sergeant Grime's voice was clear even over the chaos around them. The Surrins took to their superior's order immediately, clambering onto and into the open backed chimera transport, their Sergeant taking the drivers seat. Its previous occupants snatched away by searching tentacles, dragged into a horrific rending death, but they took it anyway.
Xavier took to the mounted heavy-bolter, Cain beside him, while Eli followed the Sergeant to cover him from the passenger seat. Through heavy recoil and loud chak-BOOMS, Xavier fired into the horde, Grime putting the vehicle into a slow reverse.
"Make way! Make Way!" Cain yelled to fellow Guardsmen who had crowded behind the armored personnel carrier. Re-positioning them a little farther back to provide overwatch Grime stopped. Having gotten the valuable vehicle as clear of danger as he could the Sergeant once again added his own personal weapon fire to the battle.
Blowing apart abomination after abomination, Xavier felt only anger, it was bad enough they'd killed Hack. Now this was happening, a battle he felt none of them would survive, these things weren't mere disorganized bandits/cultists any longer. They seemed tougher then Orks! Without end their numbers seemed replaced as soon as one was put down. Xavier knew Guard forces would run out of ammunition long before these things stopped flowing through from the warp.
He and his squad had seen the damned thing, Daemon, whatever it was come through. Grime had told them of his past experiences, if they got out of this it would not be without severe losses. Desperate hope bloomed in him that this was the only area of the battlefield this was happening. It helped that he swore steady reinforcements of Guardsmen and vehicles seemed to keep flowing to the area.
"What we really need is an orbital bombardment!" Xavier grunted angrily over his loud weapon. Cain seemed to grunt in agreement, even as he kept up the fire with his lasgun, its barrel was starting to melt.
Eerie calm seemed to flood over them for a moment, it was faint but Xavier could feel it just barely at the back of his mind, he prayed it wasn't the Daemon playing with his thoughts via warp trickery. Chancing a look around he notice that whatever it was the others seemed to sense it too. Around them even, the entire Guard force seemed to become much less frantic, much more precise. Some of those that were unconscious began to wake, joining the fight against the Daemon and its hordes.
Looking to the insidious being Xavier stopped firing altogether, perplexed at the look of satisfaction on its face turning to mild annoyance, he followed its glare. It led to a stunning figure walking through the Guard formations, clad in flowing white robes, a tall spear held confidently. From the shaped armor just visible beneath the robes Xavier could tell it was female. Surrounding her were other figures, all in similar armor, bright white armor, flashes from the weaponfire filled air were reflecting off of it. Creating an ethereal glow.
They seemed as saints delivered to help the beleaguered Guardsmen in their hour of need. An Emperor bestowed miracle placed upon the battlefield. Where this group of barely two dozen walked the Guard around them seemed to part, and then rally behind the new comers, as though bewitched.
"Maybe they are," Xavier found himself thinking. He barely caught Sergeant Grime's angered questioning about why he'd stopped firing the heavy-bolter. The Sergeant's voice died down after he too saw the new players on the field of battle, and then it started up again.
"Cover that group, let them get through, at all cost," he ordered them, steering the Chimera back into action. Xavier was thrown back into the action, given no choice but to begin once again firing upon the hordes of chaos, their strafing runs ran parallel to the new group. Other Chimera were joining them, and Guardsmen broke from their lines into new formations, ones meant for assault. It was as if they were all being controlled by a collective consciousness. Xavier wondered what in the name of the Emperor was going on.
Using the considerable psychic powers at her disposal Farseer Saighlin channeled the Imperials to augment her own forces. There were quite a few dull ones that were around, but the majority were easy enough to compel, it certainly helped that for the moment they all had a common enemy. One so horrible that even the normally xenophobic Mon'keigh that weren't under her compulsion were willing to cooperate.
She saw the contempt, followed by the arrogant smirk returning on the lord of change's avian face, more felt it through her connection to the immaterium. There was a sudden, and violent pulling at her own psychic defenses, what she perceived as tendrils trying to infiltrate her mind. To allow them to win would be to undo them all, this world, and eventually hers. She fought against it, a hand gesture had her fellow craftworlders firing all manner of weapons at the warp abomination.
From shuriken catapults, shuriken canons, bright lances, star canons, and missile launchers. She'd had the Autarch arm his guardians with every destructive and powerful weapon they could get their hands on for this mission. The deluge of heavy weapons fire poured into the lord of change, it didn't seem to hurt the daemon, but it was sapping its concentration. Imperial forces surrounding them kept the warp spawn off their little group, allowing the Eldar to focus on the greater threat.
Saighlin began the difficult process of focus, coalescing her powers for the counter attack, her influence on the minds of the Guardsmen in the area fading to a degree. Though at least the Mon'keigh retained their impulses to kill the warp spawn instead of turn on them. It was difficult, channeling her energies, so close to a daemon that was certainly more versed in the warp than she could ever be. Persistence and discipline were long ago ingrained in the Farseer though, her not inconsiderable will and control pushing her through the ordeal, and soon enough she sent out her first salvo.
Unseen energies collided, and straining she began to close the tear in reality, guard also up to catch the daemon's now constant psychic attacks being loosed at her. Though the Guardians around her certainly helped minimize the amount of focus the lord of change could exert. It was tough to be sure, but all of the concentrated heavy weapon fire was starting to wear on it, combined with the diminishing connection it had with the warp and soon even a daemon of its power would be in trouble.
Beings of the Immaterium couldn't last too long in reality, not without a host, or connection to the warp. Saighlin knew it wouldn't be able to possess any being in the area, at least not with its full power, if it did the vessel in question would not likely remain intact.
Her unseen grip on the tear was tightening, she could tell that the lord of change was very perturbed, they weren't often outmatched. At least not unless it was part of some greater plan. Which their fickle patron deity could indeed have for them. However, creature so used to complete knowledge and control most certainly don't like the loss of it.
Sweating with the exertion the Farseer finally closed the tear, mending reality, ceasing the legions of spawn, and cutting the daemon's time in the material plane short. Even now she could sense its before omnipresent, and oppressive, psychic presence lessen and begin to fade. Power was leaving it, massed weapon fire finally began to take its accumulative toll on its powerful, but weakening form. Saighlin decided to help the deamon along, even as it tried in petulant fury to take down her defenses, she hurled her singing spear at it.
The weapon flew, curving through the air, avoiding all but its intended target. Raising its stave the lord of change tried to deflect the sharp projectile. It failed, the spear impaling it through the middle, and exiting through the back. Were it a creature of flesh and blood the wound would be weeping with its guts. As it was it was merely weakened further from the physical, as well as infused psychic damage caused.
Catching her weapon as it returned to her Saighlin watched as the daemon finally went down. Accumulated damage dissipating what energy it had left, and with an angered look twisting its beaked features, the daemon simply faded from the materium. It was anticlimactic, no explosion of energy, no final warbling screech. However, the warp spawn did lose some of their cohesion and toughness, the Imperials with her compelled cohesion and massed ranks started doing what they did best. Exterminating the warp-touched mutants from their world.
Short of breath, and exhausted from the whole ordeal, the Farseer gave the command. They would become scarce, and leave the Mon'keigh with the clean-up, before they fully realized what had happened. Saighlin allowed herself a smile as the maelstrom which had heralded the warp incursion began to dissipate. Its unnatural presence on this world fading away.
She hoped the Mon'keigh Inquisitor held up his end of the mission.
Georgii was having a good time. He had been so certain that his day would be ruined once he'd found out the Necrons would be a no go for the plan. Luckily enough this duel with Dauntless was lifting his spirits. Really the whole encounter had done that, although he'd hoped there'd be more of the mechanical omnicidal xeno machines involved, but that bit with the tomb stalker! Perfect, he hadn't seen that coming, the surprise of it still had him giddy. Parrying another thrust he countered with his own riposte. He'd forgotten how fun the Inquisitor was to fight!
"I certainly hope my pets keep Jericus busy, it'd be too bad if he interrupted before we finished," the mad witch thought, his ever present grin growing wider at the thought. Swords spanged off of each other, power-fields and the metal beneath them colliding. He felt evenly matched with the man, his one true equal in the way of the sword, their psychically enhanced muscles worked over time. Faster, and faster they went, each exchange more furious and precise than the last.
Georgii felt as though he was dancing, and he was, the dance of life and death. What could be more unpredictable? More fulfilling? He lived for the moment. Besides, he wasn't above playing a little dirty now and again, kept the flavor of life fresh, if things got too out of hand he certainly remembered the nice little compact bolt-pistol he had stashed under his long-coat. Though the mad psyker was loath to use it to end such a fantastic fight as this.
Dauntless grunted as he parried one of Georgii's strikes with a little more force than necessary. Georgii felt the invasive creep as the Inquisitor tried to use his powers to sabotage his movement, but he was very keen about the intricacies of such things, and adjusted accordingly. Dauntless grimaced in response as the energy he'd just expended was reflected back at him.
"Now I've been nothing but fair here Inquisitor, perhaps I've been a bit too lenient? What do you think?" He taunted, sending a sudden accelerated burst of psychic energy to his muscles. With his quick increase of speed he slipped Dauntless' guard, his blade skimming the top of the Inquisitor's knuckles, causing him to lose grip of his own blade. Georgii snatched it out of the air as it fell, advancing in-step with Dauntless as he in-turn tried to retreat.
Feeling the Inquisitor try yet again to get a grip on him with his powers, the mad witch pushed out with his own, meeting Dauntless' considerable psychic might. As he did he thrust forward with the Inquisitor's own blade, running him through at the shoulder. The sudden pain caused his opponent's concentration to falter, Georgii smirked, willing his own powers to reach forth. He began to batter Dauntless' psychic defenses, twisting the blade deeper as he did, making the process of peeling back the layers of his mind that much easier as he lost focus to the pain.
"Getting weaker are you?" Georgii paused, savoring his moment, willing his opponent to say something! "You know this isn't nearly as fun if you've got no response..." he implored. Dauntless spat at him, standing as straight and dignified as he could, which wasn't very because of the sword through his shoulder.
"Wouldn't want to give you the satisfaction," the Inquisitor bit out through the pain. Georgii smiled a bit… at least it was something.
"I can feel it, soon enough, I'll crack into that pretty little brain of yours. Then this'll all be over, which is too ba-..." His speech petered off, realization that his power wasn't flowing as it should anymore, drained away, no… cut off. Georgii glanced toward the sound of heavy boots hitting rock.
Surprise bloomed on his face. "Ah shi-" Seventy-five kilograms of Korpsman barreled into him behind a shoulder check. So taken off guard that he was sent reeling back, the sword he had Dauntless pinned with going with him, he was vaguely aware of the Inquisitor's grunt of pain as it was extracted. Finding himself sprawled several feet away from the sudden hit the mad witch barely had time enough to register his new opponent bearing down on him. Axe raised high for a killing strike.
With abrupt urgency Georgii rolled back from the strike missing it by mere inches as he sprang to his feet. He stared at Jericus slightly taken aback, this close up the masked Korpsman's powers were almost perceptible, the air around him seeming to distort in wrongness to the witch's psychic senses. Likewise the feeling was intense, his energy being pushed back into him and restricted, the vacuum of energy was palpable.
Georgii smiled, Jericus pulled his axe up from the rock where it had embedded itself. He couldn't even circulate psychic energies to his muscles. The mad psyker felt his heart stirring, this was the fight, the encounter he longed for! Dauntless was just a warm-up. Thinking of the Inquisitor caused him to cast a quick glance toward him. Barely conscious, the sword wound had been opened wider from said weapon's abrupt exit, add to that having his mind almost peeled open… and Georgii was confident Dauntless wouldn't interrupt as Jericus had.
He turned back to the Korpsman, his assessment had only taken a split second. "You kno-" Without a moment to let him even start Jericus surged forward, a flurry of quick, calculated, and brutal strikes. Georgii found himself miffed, and solidly on the defensive, luckily he was able to handle two swords as deftly as one. Unluckily the usual spryness he enjoyed because of his psychic abilities was sapped from him. Combine that with the fact that the Korpsman before him had the advantage of augmetics and he knew he'd be having problems.
Using his greater experience the witch parried, redirected, and then opened up space between himself and his much more ferocious opponent. "Didn't even let me share my thoughts, and to think I was going to complement how you're abilities have gotten stronger, guess all the stress I've put you through has had an effect." He tsked as Jericus turned to him and renewed the attack. Georgii found himself on defense again, though the redirects and parry's were starting to come easier to him now, his powers diminished, he started to fall back on his superior experience and multitude of memorized technique. It made the fight marginally easier, but he didn't like being on the defensive, certainly not this much.
At least he could breath again, enough to get a few words in during their blows. "This isn't like you," parry, dodge dagger coming from the side, attempt counter. "You're usually much more reserved," block, lash out with sword's knuckle-guard, retract strike to avoid hand being lopped off, careful there… "Always on the defense, hardly on the attack, helps differentiate yourself from the Korps close combat doctrine." He noticed the slight muscle tick of his opponent's hand. Bingo, still a soft spot there to exploit! Georgii smiled inwardly.
"Think about my offer yet? Malal would absolutely love to have you." Jericus' attacks became quicker, Georgii kept them at bay, doing a stance adjustment to avoid a stomping boot aimed at his knee. "You could be free of that mask, free to choose, get your humanity back!" The witch frowned, his words were having an effect… but still not quite enough. He exchanged another flurry of blows, energy fields colliding off of each other, mono-edge blades biting into each other beneath. He remembered another tidbit about the Surrin, Jericus hooked Dauntless' sword with his axe while he was distracted with his thoughts.
It was pulled from his non-dominated hand, flying through the air, away and out of recovery. Now he was in a bit of a pickle, he hoped his new line of prodding would work… Desperately he held the Korpsman's flurry of strikes off, suffering a glancing blow to his right arm. Just a flesh wound, had he not reacted faster it may have been his arm that was lost, as it was just a bit of skin had been flayed off.
"You could be with her!" A falter in his rhythm, Georgii capitalized, beginning his counter assault. "Yes, think about it. You and her, free from the people that took you from your world, from the people who killed your family. Sure the Inquisition's got looser regulations, but we both know that as long as you're attached to the Imperium there'll always be your 'duty' to obey. Trust me I know the Inquisitor, he'll see a relationship between you two as a liability, he won't allow it. You're too big of an asset to him to be 'compromised' like that. He knows she's your weakness, he'll keep you from ever getting that close to her, he'll keep you both from getting what you really want!"
A feral growl erupted from Jericus' throat. "Shut up witch! You don't know anything!"
Georgii smirked internally… got him! "Don't I? You may be a blank, but that doesn't hide you completely from foresight, or planning. Ever since we met, I've been keeping eyes on you, you love her yes? Both of you are just too brainwashed now to take the natural steps, too wrapped up in your training, wearing your masks to block everything out. Well let me tell you Jericus Quint, at some point the mask has to come off!" His sword blade feints an attack, the Surrin takes the bait, he redirects, his blade slicing along his opponents dagger arm, the fleshy one. Muscles and tendons are cut, Jericus can't stop the dagger from tumbling to the ground, clutching his mangled arm close.
Georgii has him on a desperate defense now, his augmetic arm makes it easier, but an axe is a clumsy weapon by itself. At least compared to a sword, the witch is making headway now, pressing his opponent back.
"Figured I'd take that back, seeing as I was the one that gave it to you," Georgii laughs, swiping with his sword almost lazily, mocking his opponent. Jericus does all he can to keep up, it isn't working so well, the mad psyker sees a chance too good to pass up.
"Mind your footwork," he says gleefully. The attack is swift, bypassing the Surrin's guard altogether, Georgii feels triumphant as his sword cuts clean through his opponents left leg below the knee. He swears he can see Jericus' one remaining eye widen behind his mask's lens. Suddenly without support, the Surrin can't adjust fast enough, he lands on his stump, the pain lances up his leg. Before he can even think to break his fall he's kicked onto his back, Georgii moving with him, the psyker's right foot pinning his axe arm.
Bleeding out, and in a bit of shock, Jericus is nigh helpless. The mad psyker positions his deadly power-sword just below Jericus' chin, at the ready to end the fight. Feeling his blood flowing from where his lower leg used to be Jericus wasn't sure Georgii should've bothered. Despite the pain and shock the Surrin felt fury seeing that smirking face looking down on him. It was the same as before, helpless before the same madman.
"OH, that was good. You haven't a clue how much you just get me pumped up." Georgii at least had the decency to sound out of breath. "I gotta stop relying on my powers so much, there was more than one time there, you almost had me Jericus. I salute you!" He poised his sword over his remaining natural eye.
"So," Georgii spoke slowly, waving his sword tauntingly in and out of Jericus' vision. "Have you perhaps reconsidered my offer now?" The sword straightens, coming closer, tip going just through the lens of his gasmask for emphasis. "Or shall I give you another little scar to remember me by? Think fast… you're running out of body parts! Soon you'll be just like one of those cog-heads!"
Neither of them noticed the heated, blueish, melting rock not fifety strides from them.
Fenria waited anxiously, B-63 and the rest of the squad was around her, despite her anxiousness her exterior didn't betray her. She appeared calm and collected as ever. Or so she thought.
"Don't worry, S-1049's tough, and the Inquisitor's with him, they'll be fine, probably don't even need us." S-360 tried to reassure her as they waited, S-548 nodded with her in agreement. Why was the damn rock taking so long to melt through! B-63 eye'd her warily she noticed, she prayed to the Omnissiah that he didn't order her to stay back, she wanted to be on point. She was the most accurate shot in the room, barring maybe Lieutenant Virtanen, and it was Jericus on the other side of that debris who was in danger.
She had to be the first one through. Her thoughts were interrupted by a whoop of elation. "We have made a hole!" Kerelia exclaimed, the plasmagun ceasing its expulsion of hot blue stream. Without thinking Fenria was up in an instant, B-63's fingers just missing her webbing, she slipped past a confused looking cog-girl. Heard orders to stop being shouted at her from behind, including a warning that the tunnel was still hot.
Fenria didn't care though, she went through that tunnel as quickly as her legs would carry her, avoiding still cooling puddles of slagged rock. Feeling the passing heat of the walls and ceiling around her, and barely avoiding deadly drops of plasma heated slag that fell from the tunnel ceiling above. She emerged on the other side, her mind and senses amplified, taking in the situation in an instant. Inquisitor Dauntless was down, barely conscious it seemed, and the mad psyker had Jericus pinned and at his mercy, she didn't think. Her training had her putting her longlas to here shoulder, aiming, and squeezing off a shot in a split second.
Las-bolt met unaware witch, scoring a hit on his sword arm's shoulder, throwing it back and causing him to take an involuntary step off of Jericus' right arm. Fenria was aware of five things after that, the sword clattering to the ground, a bolt-pistol suddenly in the psyker's left hand, its loud report, and her world spinning as she took the hit dead center in her carapace breastplate.
She heard Jericus shouting as she lay on her back staring up at the cave ceiling, unmoving…
Jericus had seen the las-bolt impact, felt his axe arm freed, saw Georgii draw his bolt-pistol, where'd that come from anyway? Heard its loud Chak-boom, and his head followed the psyker's aim involuntarily, a horrible feeling swelling up in his guts. Fenria spun through the air, he could tell it was her, he'd memorized her body language, and she was the only one in the squad to use a longlas.
Time froze for him, she took so long to hit the ground, knocked from her feet by the secondary detonation of the bolt, her carapace shattering. Fragments ripping into her despite the protection, blood spraying up into the air, frozen red tendrils to his perception. Then things sped up, his body went into action, ceasing his chance, and venting his sudden rage. Georgii was only one step away from him when he turned. Overcoming any residual shock, he used his remaining leg and mangle left arm, propelling himself at the mad psyker.
His axe came with him in a wide vertical arc, and buried itself in Geogii's chest, bypassing the refractor-field he'd had on. He hung there for a moment, staring up into the witch's shocked looking face, and then he pulled the axe free. Rolling into his opponent's legs Jericus sent him falling backwards. He was crawling over Georgii before he even got a chance to react, yelling unintelligible obscenities he hadn't used since he'd been conscripted, feeling hatred he'd never known before.
He brought his axe down into the psyker again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and it wasn't enough. Soon there was not enough left to hold legs to torso, entrails minced, bone chopped to slivers, mid section completely obliterated, blood everywhere. Still the witch was alive, Jericus paused in his red-stained carnage, looking into the man's face. He was smiling back at him, eye's still shining with life, though fading.
"Didn't…. see that coming..." Georgii gurgled out. Jericus had no idea how he managed to draw breath enough to speak, and he didn't care, raising his bloodied axe high one last time he delivered the coup de grace. Splitting that keck damned grinning face in half. He left his axe there, immediately concerned with something much more important.
He turned, saw Fenria still on the ground, and got up. How, he didn't know, and soon enough he was sprawled on the ground again, forgetting that he'd just lost most of a leg as he tried to take a step. Shaking off his fall, he'd had worse, so much worse… he began to crawl. Using his remaining leg to kick, and his augmentic arm to pull, his other arm was too mangled to be of enough help.
Despite the weakness brought on by blood loss he persisted. Leaving a red trail in his wake, but it mattered little to him, he had to see if she was okay. It hit her carapace! There was a chance the bolt was stopped! Slim, but… no she was okay…. was the thought running feverishly through his mind. She had to be, had to be, had to became his chant, as he crawled what seemed miles to reach her still, so still… body.
Finally he was there, propping himself up on his augmetic arm, right next to her.
"Fen..." His mangled arm moved to her own still intact right. He looked down at her masked face, his breath caught as her own head turned slightly, just enough to indicate she saw him. It had gouges taken from it, shrapnel and spawling having penetrated through, right into her face. He imagined he could see her green eyes through the damned lens of her mask, blessedly intact, if they weren't she'd have lost her eyes. He felt her hand grasp his, it hurt a little, and he couldn't tighten his grip back to show her he felt it.
"J-jer..." Her voice was weak. He looked to where the bolt hit… it had gone through, her upper chest, just below the collar bone on her right side was shredded. A ragged hole through which he could see her inner workings, her life pouring out, he pushed the horrible sight to the back of his mind by miraculous will alone.
"Y-you're gonna be okay, the others aren't far behind you right?" he tried to stay optimistic, but he wasn't really hopeful, for either of them. She nodded weakly, her grip on his hand loosening, he forced his mangled, barely responding limb, to redouble his grip. She tried to lift her head, it fell back down immediately, blood loss was weakening her. Where were the rest of them!
"H-hey, hey hang in there now, no, don't move. We're gonna be fine," he tried to sooth. She laughed, a wispy sound, hardly able to be heard. He thought it was beautiful, even in these circumstances.
"Take it off," her voice regained some strength. He knew what she meant, he hesitated for only a microsecond, so hardly at all. Positioning himself next to her so that he wouldn't fall on her, he worked with his augmetic hand as fast as he could, ripping his helmet from his head, followed by the mask from his face. The suction of it felt like it would pull skin off with it. It was thrown as soon as it was off his face, going only as far as the hose attached to it and the filters on his back would allow though. As though it never truly wanted to leave him.
He was back in her vision a moment later, how he was moving so fast while losing so much blood he didn't know, nor did he care.
"Now mine..." her other hand, shaking gestured to her own mask, desperately pawing at it. But the fingers seemed to lack the coordination. He nodded again, pulling his mangled limb from her own grip, his heart nearly breaking at the panicked mewl that escaped her. But he needed it to prop himself up, so his other hand could work quicker. His augmetic hand undid the straps and buckles, gently, but as fast as was possible. Until, eventually he pulled her mask from her face, revealing it to the world.
Teary streams of red ran down her face, several lacerations dotted it, weeping the liquid. Her eyes were vibrant as he'd remembered them though, clear deep green orbs, meeting his own single lighter green. She smiled up at him, her right hand lifting with tremendous effort halfway to his face, he took it gently as he could in his augmetic hand, helping it the rest of the way to rest on his cheek. He was aware of her fingers pulling themselves around to the back of his head, and then her weak, but insistent pulling.
He let himself be guided by her, what she wanted was clear, he wanted it too. Their lips met tenderly, and then became desperate for a brief moment, stopping too soon after for both of their likes. Though they didn't have much of a choice on that, foreheads resting lightly against one another, they locked gazes tears brimming in their eyes. Jericus felt Fenria's grip on the back of his head tighten for a second, before going lax, he caught her hand in his before it could fall completely.
Becoming aware of the light in her eyes fading he began to shake his head.
"Don't do this to me Fen, not now, not after all this," his plea was desperate. She smiled sadly, her breathing starting to rattle off, something unspoken from her moving lips. Suddenly she was very still, her eyes fluttered closed. Jericus began to shake, his guts twisting, hand threatening to shake apart. It was worse than any battle tremors he'd felt before, his heart feeling as torn up as her wound looked.
He heard footsteps approaching them rapidly, and shouting, must've been the rest of the group… it didn't matter now though. Besides he felt tired… that would be the blood loss… his last thought was a prayer that he meet up with her again soon. Jericus Quint's world went black.
Meanwhile, watching the tragic scene play out, Dauntless sensed greater fluctuations of Jericus' psychic null field. It flared outward as the situation progressed, becoming much more concentrated, and much more overpowering. The Inquisitor had to use all of his own willpower not to faint from the invisible pressure, it felt as though his head might explode, and looking in that direction he'd have sworn a black hole had engulfed the space around the two.
Mercifully it lessened as the Surrin had finally passed out, back to normal as it were, he archived it for later. Such knowledge was useful, and could prove beneficial in controlling such power, something he was keen to do. Dauntless smiled at his revelation, and at the rest of his retinue streaming into the caverns, minus one or two unfortunately. Most of them lingered around the two Surrins, Kaede and S-360 applying first aid immediately. Seemed the two still had life left in them to coax. Sothy and Captain Arthur made their way directly to him though.
"My lord are you all right?" Sothy asked kneeling next to him. The Stormtrooper Captain covered the nearby corpse of the witch despite the axe still embedded in its head. Dauntless nodded, only superficial wounds, and the psychic attack had subsided.
"Yes, but we must get help for those two soon. I want them to live through this, any means possible for their revival Sothy, take this, it should stabilize them long enough to get back to a proper medical facility." He spoke, pulling a kit filled with vials and syringes from a coat pocket, it was a little something special he kept on hand just in case. He hoped that it would work, he honestly wasn't sure it would, the two had taken quite deadly hits. Nevertheless his loyal acolyte nodded taking the offered kit and making all haste to the two troopers. Dauntless watched on, the whole thing had been interesting indeed, and the witch was finally dead.
He really hoped that Jericus would live, even with his special contribution, it would likely be a close thing. Of course the same went for Fenria, there was something to be used there though, so he hoped she'd pull through as well. Time would tell, for now he was quite please, the future would be interesting.
"Captain, help us up would you?" Dauntless spoke, a smirk on his face, job well done.
A/N: Well there you have it, the epilogue will deal with most of the fall out, fate of characters, and other such minutiae. I do hope this was worth the wait, and I will say more on such things at the end of the next, and last chapter.
Shout-outs:
BIBOTOT- Thank you as always for your review, they are appreciated as always, please forgive me for my lack of reciprocation. Things for me in life are rushed at this time really, contributing to the length in this chapter's coming, and other such things. If you're still reading this, know that I have actually binge read 'The Long Journey' which I'll be giving a proper overall mega-review in the very near future. Sorry it took me so long, and that I didn't go over each individual chapter, but to be honest I'm a sucker for romance really, and I couldn't stop myself once I got into the flow of it. Suffice it to say my overall experience with it was very positive, though I'll be giving you a few things to chew over, as I always expect from you for me as well.
OnyxIdol- I hope it continued to be so if you've gotten this far (Chapter two is quite the long way off from here). If you do see this response though, I hope you did enjoy the story, almost at its end now.
Roach1415- Glad you enjoyed it, I very much appreciate your praise, though I feel you do me a bit much credit. You're welcome, and I hope you'll enjoy the ending, I believe it will be quite suitable for the universe and story/characters in general.
See you soon, 300-709.