Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 158
"Seal the reactor room!" Von Tor barked into the vox.
"The crew are already within, hatches are locked", Archmagos Zobatten protested from afar.
"Not good enough, have them weld the door shut!"
"That will compromise efficiency."
"Efficiency be damned, a lock won't stop what's coming! A dead crew is useless, weld those doors now!"
It was almost too late already. Von Tor heard pounding footsteps echoing over the noise of the fight, and a cold sense of dread stole over him. He knew what was coming, he knew the lethal efficiency of the Disquisition's creations and he also knew he was standing in their way. Curse Vorshaan for leading him into this mess, and curse his own stupidity for walking into this fight. He should have stayed above, safely behind the Eversors, not be stranded right in their path.
The fight behind took on a new timbre as the Night Lords suddenly broke off. It shouldn't be possible in such tight confines but they had millennia of experience in strike and fade tactics. The Fire Lords were surprised as their foes turned and ran, leaving the loyalists stabbing at nothing save air. Even Transhuman reflexes required an instant to adjust to this foolishness, and in that moment the Night Lords were away and accelerating down the corridor.
Von Tor had problems of his own, trapped between Astartes and Eversor. There was no cover, no convenient grille he could pull up and cower beneath. The idea of standing his ground and fighting was so laughable he gave it no heed, his only thought to hide. His rings, a slight chance they could save him but better than nothing. Von Tor hurriedly pressed his back to a wall and fiddled with his rings, trying to find something useful. The displacer was long gone, but he had an alternative. A small wraithbone circle, barely bigger than his little finger, bought at an exorbitant cost from an Eldar Harlequin. He had never used it before, but he recited the thought-forms taught to awaken it and the ring responded, casting a psychic and Holographic veil over him, merging his image into the wall so seamless that even Astartes eyes could not spy him.
Barely a second later five black-suited forms burst into the corridor. Leering skull masks contained eyes of blue so cold the interstellar void would shudder to behold them. Taloned fingers ended in neurotoxic needles and in their other hands were thin power swords. They did not carry needle pistols, such refined weapons would be useless in this fight, instead their weapons were more blunt and savage. They were swift, they were agile and their motions hinted at immense strength under that obsidian skin. Murder oozed out of them, an aura of lethality even Space Marines must respect. The Astartes were the finest soldiers in the galaxy, but these were not soldiers at all. They were savagery made manifest, the act of ending lives writ in flesh and when they clashed the universe held its breath.
Von Tor stood stock still as he beheld the Eversors leap into the midst of the Fire Lords, stabbing and hacking in a frenzy. Any other class of warrior would have died instantly but the Astartes responded impossibly fast, meeting this new threat blade to blade. It hardly mattered. One Eversor found its strike blocked by a raised vambrace, it merely cut through the arm with a gesture, energised blade melting Ceramite and bone to continue on to end up deep in a chest. Another assassin wove under a lashing blow from a knife, coming up to plant one foot on a knee. It vaulted high and drove its needle fingers into both eye sockets, injecting fatal neurotoxins straight into the brain. Another leapt over a thrust and its boot slammed into the side of a helm, knocking the head aside. While that occurred the sword whipped sideways, spearing into the skull of another Fire Lord who hadn't seen it coming. The blade withdrew and the Astartes collapsed, while the killer wrapped its arm around the first Fire Lord's neck and slit his throat.
Von Tor was amazed, the Eversors were every bit as lethal as he remembered, but he'd only ever seen them go up against mortals before, and he'd been desperately trying to stay alive at the time. Always he had questioned if they could truly compare to Space Marines. Surely they could not dream of fighting as an army, not for them the conquest of worlds or forming a defence against impossible odds, but in the act of killing they were unrivalled. Space Marines were the ultimate tool of war, but the Eversor was murder incarnate.
It seemed the Fire Lords agreed, for the remaining Astartes broke off and began falling back, save one. An injured Fire Lord snagged an Eversor and pulled it into a bear hug, gripping tight as a vice. Instantly four others turned on him, sinking power swords into his back, but the lone Fire Lord was not dismayed. He squeezed tighter, crushing his foe's bones in his mighty arms, even as his lungs were penetrated and spine severed. Tighter, tighter still, till his hearts stopped beating and his life ended in pyrrhic glory.
The mangled Eversor flopped to the deck but deadly biological processes were already in effect. Bone and blood deformed at a molecular level, forming an explosive compound that fed on fading lifeforce. The resulting detonation eviscerated the body, demolished the Space Marines' corpse and blasted them both into sprays of bone shard and Ceramite that plastered the corridor with hypersonic shrapnel.
Behind his screen Von Tor could not dare move. He felt pattering against his Carapace and wicked sharp razors nick his cheeks, any one of which could end him. Thankfully the fight had moved a long way down the corridor and he was spared the worst, but when it ended he beheld another Eversor had been crippled, left to drag itself along the floor without legs. The other three were turning to give chase to the Fire Lords and Von Tor let out a sigh of relief, only to freeze when one Assassin stopped to look back. Von Tor's heart beat a thunder in his chest as those cold eyes scoured the wall, searching for any hint of life. Von Tor refused to breathe, terror running through his veins as he feared the noise of his heart beating would betray his location. For a moment the Eversor lingered, alert for the smallest sign of a living being, but no trace of life could be found and it suddenly bounded away.
Von Tor sagged as he saw them disappear, the one without legs dragging itself along with surprising speed. He let the field drop and emerged from cover, seeing the ruins of the fight. They had held the Astartes, and repulsed them, but he was not fool enough to think the battle over. He would have to follow and make sure the Capitol Imperialis was cleared. A scuff of a boot, Kazial emerging from Emperor-knows-where. Von Tor had no idea how his henchman had concealed himself, but it could wait, they had more pressing business.
Von Tor groaned, "Good job staying out of sight. We need to follow them, come with me." Kazial calmly reloaded his pistols with icy detachment as Von Tor knelt and retrieved his pistol and sword then turned to head down the passageway. It didn't take long for them to find evidence of more fighting, Wardsmen splattered over the walls in various states of dismemberment. Killed earlier by the Fire Lords or later by the Eversors, a team of forensic savants would be required to tell the difference and Von Tor had no time to spare.
On down the corridor they pushed, dropping down a level. Here they found more signs of fighting, a blast mark that indicated another Eversor had died, probably the one without legs. How many foes had it taken with it, he trusted it was a lot. The Eversors may be lethal but all Nova Terra's efforts had only resulted in three hundred examples, the Fire Lords still held a considerable advantage in numbers.
Down another level and they found a gantry over the vast loading dock that took up the rear of the Capitol Imperialis. Below squads of Fire Lords were coming together, reforming into a defensive line across the width of the machine. More Eversors were piling out of various doorways, hacking and slashing with furious abandon. Von Tor could barely track the action, so swift was the exchange of blows. Swords parted the air, bolt pistols blew black-suited foes back while needles ripped out throats and plunged into eyeballs. It was beyond human comprehension, two breeds of Genhanced warriors employing all their speeds and strength to end the other. Pride against murderlust, discipline against frenzy, indomitable courage against surgically excised fear, no man could foretell which would prove superior.
The Fire Lords were closely engaged but with strength of numbers and more space to coordinate were holding their own. The Eversors would not be denied though, pressing against ranks of boarding shields relentlessly and every time one was cut down it would explode like a grenade going off, shuddering the line of defence. The noise was ferocious, the letting of blood astonishing and the Disquisitor dared not make his presence known, either side could end him in an instant.
Von Tor spied a heroic Fire Lord Captain engaged with an assassin, wielding a double-handed broadsword with furious skill. His wide sweeps kept it at bay, clearing room for his Brothers to steady their line. The Eversor tensed for a tenth of a second, then leapt high, trying to clear the weapon's arc. The Captain was faster, his sword shifted midswing and thrust upwards, punching into the black chest and holding the thrashing Eversor aloft. The assassin juddered violently, then exploded, tearing itself apart as the Captain was thrown backwards, his armour rent and scorched in a dozen places. Instantly the Fire Lords closed about their wounded leader, vox-clicks telling of barked orders and snarled responses. A wall of boarding shields closed about his comatose form, then the Fire Lords were withdrawing, dragging their injured Captain with them. Barked bolters clipped chasing assassins, but they were dogged every step of the way. Out of the rear ramp they went, into the wider battle beyond, with savage black blurs harrying their steps.
The Capitol Imperialis was cleared, strewn with bodies and smeared across every bulkhead with blood, but it was clear. Von Tor could scarcely believe it, he fell to his knees and lowered his head, astonished that he had survived, that anyone had survived. Relief flooded his chest, a sense of fortune beyond measure and the lightheaded feeling of drunken joy that came with living through the impossible. He wanted to laugh and cry and race after them and collapse into a ball and never move again, all his emotions raging out of control. His hoarse breath rasped in his chest for nearly a minute before the fit passed and he was able to compose himself. Then he found he and Kazial were not alone.
Vorshaan looked over the rail and sniffed, "They won't be nearly so lethal outside, but in close confines we count two slain Fire Lords for every Eversor lost."
Von Tor glared upwards in resentment, "Where in the name of sanity have you been?!"
"Avoiding dying, I've had a lot of practice at that," Vorshaan quipped.
"You wretched, duplicitous conniving grox-fondler!"
"I didn't know you thought so warmly of me," Vorshaan chortled.
"I should kill you for this, you didn't tell me you planned to send Eversors into our own defences!"
Vorshaan's helm looked down disdainfully, "First: you couldn't kill me if you tried. Second: if I told you then you wouldn't have agreed, which is why I didn't tell you. Third: on open ground those Eversors won't last long, the Fire Lords are repelled but not dead. They'll reform, cut down your assassins with long-ranged firepower and then regroup for another charge. Fourth, and most importantly, you need to get that ramp closed and call up fresh troops to man these defences. The lapdogs will be back, and we're fresh out of Eversors. You better start coming up with some new strategies, the battle outside hasn't even paused, and we're a long way from winning it."