I am the Flail of God. If you had not committed great sins, God would have not sent a punishment like me upon you.
— Gengizkan, M2
A maelstrom of dark blue fury exploded upward through the canopy of leaves. It was fast: faster than anything Jens could have prepared himself for. He'd reminded himself of the astartes superhuman speed, but it was one thing to know this, another to experience it. To brace oneself against it was as futile as setting oneself against a hurricane. So he did not. A set of wickedly sharp claws as long as his arm flashed through the foliage, turning thick branches to sawdust. A split second before the talons destroyed his perch, Jens pushed himself off and plummeted.
He struck the space marine's power pack, knocking the breath from his body and near dislocating his left arm, but he clung on to the unforgiving object like a drowning man clutching at wreckage. The thing roared at incomprehensible volume. Jens winced at the sheer noise. He fought the urge to vomit, sucked in a huge vital breath through his nostrils and grabbed his combat knife from his boot.
His opponent emitted another distorted, ear-splitting howl. The blades of its claw flashed to his right but did not threaten him. Despite the hopelessness of his situation, in this exact moment — clinging to the monstrous thing's back where it couldn't reach him — Jens sensed the brute's frustration and grinned. Each second, each moment he remained alive was a victory.
It couldn't last. He had to act now. He waited for the terrible blades to make another fruitless slash, and as the traitor gripped the tree with both hands to steady himself, Jen hauled himself up the marine's back in one swift movement. He groaned as his body weight finally tore his left arm from the socket. The pain was excrutiating. For an instant, Jen's world was nothing but red and black spots. He yelled at the top of his voice, willing his body to avoid unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, he saw his target — the join between the traitor's helm and body armour.
In one fluent movement, he thrust his knife, grip reversed, into the gap in a downward strike, twisted and pulled it out. At home, they'd called that a Leigora Kiss. Jens' combat blade was a traditional Leigoran gang blade, one he'd used to kill many, many times even before he'd become Militarum. In addition to the main blade point, one of the knife's edges also featured a small hook, the point of which faced back towards the wielder. When such a blade was stabbed into a man's jugular and twisted before being pulled loose, blade and hook together inflicted a horrible, messy wound that was near-impossible to staunch before the victim bled to death.
Jens heard a distorted rumble coming from the traitor's vox speaker. It was a long second before he realised it was laughter.
"Very good!" The space marine roared.
He felt the beast's non-bladed hand grip his tunic collar. Then Jens was pulled from the traitor's back and dashed against the vast tree trunk as easily as if he were a rag doll. The impact was only bearable because the pain of his dislocated left shoulder was a screaming bitch so loud it drowned out all other concerns. He felt his rib cage give way and part of his right shoulder collapsed. He was distantly aware of being flung upwards and draped over one of the trees great arms. Then impossibly, in the same movement, the huge metallic nightmare had reached the branch and was crouching next to him. It looked down at him, head cocked, almost like a dog.
"Hmm." It's voice was a deep rumble like all astartes, but thickly accented, as though Low Gothic was not it's first language. "You are a curious thing, aren't you? So many fine augmentics — too many for a common soldier, in fact. Best to be on the safe side—"
Jens felt a rush of air against his cheek as the awful talons flashed downwards in a blur. He stared stupidly at the stump where his right arm had been. He saw the limb tumbling downwards before it was lost in the canopy of leaves. There was no pain. The cut was so phenomenally clean that his nerves hadn't yet registered it. That, or his body had no more pain to give.
There were sparks of light dancing in front his eyes. He tried to suck in air through his nose, but his nostrils didn't work and his throat felt blocked. He gagged, then retched. A cascade of blood and teeth emerged from his lips.
The traitor extended an arm. Jens waited for the next flash of it's claw, but instead, it injected something into his neck. The dancing lights immediately receded. Then the space marine reached into a pouch at it's belt and began patting a wad of dark clay onto the stump of Jen's arm. It's touch was suprisingly gentle. When it was done, it surveyed it's handiwork, nodded and patted his leg.
"There, see? All better," the monster purred. "Now, little man. Let us have a talk, you and I."