Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 33

In the cavernous launch bay the Night Lords waited for the return of their Master. In long lines they stood, presenting an honour guard of two lines. Winged helms stood still as gauntlets held bolters in parade perfect stance. There was no deviation or wavering in their ranks, all knew what they were about to attempt was supremely dangerous, to kill Kharkul would be no mean feat, which was why they had gathered their full numbers. The Claw-leaders had returned to their Brothers and inducted them into the secret, a few stubborn fools had had their throats slit but the rest turned surprisingly easily. Ninety-seven Night Lords stood ready to spring the trap, all they needed was their Lord to step into it.

"This is too rigid," Savare growled from the line, "We look like Ultramarines, the sons of Curze don't do parade marches."

Arkqas retorted from across the way, "It will work, Kharkul's ego will overcome any doubts. He thinks he deserves praise and adoration; he won't question our assembling to greet him."

"You assume," Savare spat, "I still say we should spread across the Starfort and pick him off when his guard is down."

Xavaar was stood at the head of the column and snapped, "Overly complicated plans only mean there is more to go wrong. This trap's genius is its simplicity, Kharkul marches in, we cut him down with sustained bolter fire. Whatever sorcery he's worked into himself, few things in the galaxy can withstand a hundred bolters firing at once."

Arkqas nodded in agreement but Cantus snorted, "And what of the other claws?"

"They'll be confused and divided, easy to isolate. Then I give them a choice, join us or die."

"Under your rule?" Savare accused.

"I see no other candidates presenting themselves," Xavaar scoffed, "Can any among you match the legend of Herdian?"

Any response was cut off as a glint of motion moved beyond the atmo-field. From the red tainted void came a single Stormbird, cruising nearer in a lazy approach. Xavaar stiffened as it burst through the crackling electromagnetic sheath, arcs of lightning playing everywhere as ice formed where air touched its void chilled surface. Thrusters kicked in before gravity caught it, slowing the descent until it clanged down with a final burst of exhaust. Hot wind lashed over the waiting Night Lords but none swayed a morsel as the engines spooled down to nothing.

Xavaar's hearts beat faster in his chests as he awaited his lord's emergence but though the front ramp descended, no Red Flayer stepped out. The dark hold waited, tempting in its open state. Xavaar's concern grew as tiny glances showed the Night Lords questioning the delay and wondering what it meant. Did Kharkul suspect a trap or was he gravely injured, Xavaar wondered, could it be he had died already? The sorcerer didn't know, but decided to find out.

Reluctantly he stepped forward, pacing the twin lines of Space Marines until he reached the foot of the ramp. There he paused and called out, "My lord?"

"Skinned Man," came Kharkul's voice, faint and thready as if from a dying man.

"Master, your troops await your presence," Xavaar dared.

"You brought them to me," Kharkul whispered, "How pleasing."

Xavaar swallowed nervously then said, "We saw the storm you created, its power is wonderous and we wish to pay homage to your glory."

But Kharkul replied, "I meant, it is pleasing because it saves me the bother of tracking you traitors down!"

"He knows!" Xavaar yelled in alarm but too late. Red flashes of light erupted across the bay, fat and yawning slits of hanging lightning. Teleportation, born not of technology but sorcerous means. Aching flares of light hung for a moment and when they faded hundreds of Mutilators crowded the bay, all of them glittering with wisps of smoke trailing off the spikes embedded in their flesh. The Night Lords spun to engage but the creatures were upon them in an instant, swords and cudgels forming from hands to slash and pummel. Bolters fired, blowing craters into flesh but the Mutilators cared nothing for wounds and powered through, slamming into the surrounded Astartes in a wave of silvery-green bodies.

Xavaar stood amazed as furious conflict erupted. He had never suspected Kharkul had forged so many Mutilators, nor developed them so far. These ones moved faster and more surely than any of his previous experiments, their motions fluid and choked with indomitable resilience. He saw Arkqas pepper a hybrid with bolter rounds, making a moonscape of its front, but the holes closed over swiftly, making the Ork seem a moving pincushion as its green skin was overwritten with metal. It slammed into him bodily and a lance stabbed through his leg, sending him toppling over with a cry of distress.

Elsewhere Savare swung a roaring Chainsword at a Mutilator, tearing its face off, only to be smashed down by a maul that crumpled his pauldron like tissue paper. Juru managed to force one to double over with a gut punch from a weighty hammer, only to be set upon by two more who bore him down and pinned him to the floor with spikes driven through his joints. Cantus actually managed to put one down with a pinpoint shot to an eye, but a silver whip swung low from behind and tore his hamstrings out, leaving him flopping helplessly on the floor. Everywhere Night Lords fell, beaten senseless and left helpless. They were Space Marines, once humanity's finest warriors but they were being bowled over with ease, caught in a trap of unnatural forces. Of the Mutilators critical flaw there was no sign, Kharkul must have found some way to extend their lives, for none seemed about to spontaneously implode.

Xavaar saw his allies falling to the floor and spun on his heel, racing up the ramp. He drew his bolt pistol and summoned his power, determined to end the Red Flayer while he had chance. He spied the bulky form lurking at the back of the troop hold and sighted his pistol on the head, squeezing hard. It was the most perfect shot he had ever made, straight and true and the spinning bolt round caught Kharkul on the forehead, ploughing through skin and brain with ease before detonating and blowing the back of the skull off. Kharkul swayed for a moment, then to Xavaar's utter horror the head began to grow back, brain tissue rebuilding and bone sealing over in moments.

One of the Bladeslaves paid for this dark miracle with his soul, physically burning to ashes as the Red Flayer devoured their essence. Xavaar had never imagined such a thing was possible and stood amazed at the heights of sorcery on display. Kharkul's mastery of warpcraft had outstripped his own to a degree the conjurer had never dreamed possible. Kharkul's head finished rebuilding and he looked up with a grin as he laughed, "My turn!"

A forest of silver whips sprang from Kharkul's hands, lashing across the troop bay to bowl Xavaar off his feet. The Night Lord felt like a wrecking ball had hit him in the chest and was sent flying, hurled backwards out of the gunship to smash into the ground beyond. His staff and pistol fell from his hands and he heard heavy footfalls chasing him, the Red Flayer pouncing in his moment of vulnerability. Instinctively he conjured a decoy image, two, three, all in various states of weakness, but the silver coils were not deceived, ignoring the illusions to wrap themselves around his legs.

Xavaar was yanked away and lifted high, hanging upside from the whips wrapped around his legs. They jerked him to and fro, whipping him like a damp cloth with force enough to shatter mortal bones. Kharkul laughed, "Your pathetic tricks have no power over me, Skinned Man!" Xavaar was incensed and drew upon fundamental power, unleashing his gaze upon the Red Flayer. Despite being tossed about in mid-air his power washed over the foe, boring into the Red Flayer's mind to cripple him. Yet to Xavaar's amazement Kharkul was unaffected, holding him tight and sending more whips to ensnare his arms and throat.

"You dare to touch a god's mind!" Kharkul roared as the coils tightened, cutting off air and grinding limbs against bones. Xavaar stopped fighting instinctively, forgoing any attempt to break free. Xavaar hung in the silver coils, pinned by their tightening embrace. He knew to resist would provoke them to squeeze, crushing even Transhuman bones in their lethal grip, so he went limp and did not fight back. It was galling but he knew he did not have what it would take to beat Kharkul. The sorcerer had been outmatched in strength, ferocity and mystic arts; the Red Flayer was a force he could not match. So Xavaar relented, trusting Kharkul's need to gloat would keep him alive longer than fighting would.

Sure enough Kharkul righted his prey in his grip, lowering Xavaar down until they were eye to eye. Across the bay the Mutilators squashed the last of the resistance, their silvery forms growing ever more sharp and non-humanoid. Surely their time must be running out, the fatal moment when they would burn up, but it seemed not to be coming today. Xavaar cast his eyes about but saw no help was coming, the Night Lords had been defeated, though few had died all the rest were pinned and unable to fight back.

Kharkul grinned evilly as he hissed, "A foolish mistake, Skinned Man. I warned you I had grown beyond your ken."

"How?" Xavaar wheezed around the tight whip that gripped his throat.

"Your inevitable betrayal was easy to predict," Kharkul mocked, "But I can't take all the credit, I had help. You have a mole in your ranks."

Xavaar's guts clenched in dread as implications swam over him and he gasped, "No..."

"But yes," Kharkul chortled, "Come now, trusting Night Lords... I never would have expected you to be so naive. Come out, there's no point pretending anymore!"

A motion in the corner of his eye betrayed one Night Lord climbing to his feet, brushing blood from his scored plate. The Mutilators didn't react as the figure stood tall and then spun about, revealing the face of Savare. The Arlstone Strangler grinned wickedly as he picked his way nearer, casually resting a battered chainsword on his pauldron as he sneered at the resentful Night Lords pinned at his feet.

"Savare," Xavaar gasped, "But no, you... you pacted with us."

Did you really think I would pick your side?!" Savare jeered, "You are feeble and pathetic. The notorious butcher of Herdian, deceived by a simple lie."

"But you slew Greul too."

"Ah Greul, he had the right ideas but was too stupid to live. To think, he openly told you no, to your face. He deserved to die for that alone. But I knew if I played along, I could signal our Lord and warn him of your little trap."

"You betrayed us, you betrayed your Claw," Xavaar growled.

"Oh, let them die, I have no further use for them. Kharkul is mighty, he is ascending in glory and power, and I will follow in his footsteps. Kharkul's rewards shall grant me power beyond a mere Claw!" Savare laughed.

The Red Flayer interrupted, "And you shall be rewarded, my faithful servant. I name you my First Commander, guardian of Oblivioni Cavum and master of Claws. All those who stayed true shall be rewarded, but for you, my faithless lackey, for you your punishment will be excruciating."

Xavaar clenched his fists and glared furiously as he spat, "Just kill us and get it over with!"

But Kharkul laughed, "Kill you?! Why Skinned Man, have you forgotten your own teachings? Never go for the kill, when you can go for the pain!"