Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 149
They said a Space Marine could feel no fear, but Vorshaan knew they were wrong. The primal impulse of fear was a powerful drive and could make the meanest wretch run further or fight harder than one could believe. Space Marines depended on that impetus to achieve staggering feats, or to survive the most harrowing ordeals. So when the Smoke Jaguars scattered they did so with the fleetness of terror gnawing at their heels, diving among the writhing machinery like cockroaches fleeing from a lumen orb.
Vorshaan banked about to give chase to a fleeting form, angling his wings to coast along. After a second and a half of plummeting, then he snapped himself upright and his boots hit the Ferrocrete floor. All around the cries of Transhumans clashing arose, knife and bolt pistol blaring. Vorshaan was content that his murderous followers would entertain themselves picking off the Smoke Jaguars and concentrated on his chosen prey. A single warrior rolling under a grinding conveyor belt. The machine growled in feral hunger as Chaos granted it unholy animus. A sight to unman the boldest mortal, but for Vorshaan it was amusing.
He flapped his wings and soared over the bulky machine, knocking aside wriggling chains that snapped at his heels. Below his prey was emerging from cover, a single warrior with one arm only. Vorshaan grinned under his helm as he twisted his Chainglaive's butt around, bringing the sharp tip into alignment. When he fell he did so as a thunderbolt, driving the tip of his weapon between the helm and neck seal. A solid metre of Adamantium drove into the chest cavity, spearing through the lungs and secondary heart. An instant later Vorshaan's bulk slammed home, crushing the prey into the floor and sending him tumbling, having never seen what killed him.
Vorshaan had to let go of his Chainglaive as the body took it to the floor. A mere instant of disarmament, he would recover it momentarily, but then he was surprised. From the side erupted a feral roar of denial and another Smoke Jaguar came charging at him, lightning claw drawn back to strike. Vorshaan recognised this one, Damchak the fool, but the fact that he was armed and Vorshaan was not was pressing.
Vorshaan threw himself aside as the claw swept about, passing within a hairsbreadth of his chest. Damchak snarled as he reversed his swing, trying to bring an uppercut to bear. Vorshaan easily evaded this with a snap of his wings, but it was merely a feint for the knife dangling in the other hand to sweep for his neck. A good strike, hidden within a deceptive move, were it against any lesser foe it might have worked, but Vorshaan had been fighting dirty for millennia and saw the blow coming as if it had been telegraphed.
The Dusk Prince stepped in and blocked the strike with his rising forearm, then drove his other fist into the elbow of the lightning claw, sending it wide. Damchak tried to body bash into him but Vorshaan got there first, smashing the Smoke Jaguar back with a ringing of Ceramite on Ceramite. Damchak staggered, drawing back his claw to thrust for the hearts, but Vorshaan's clenched fist slammed into his helm, knocking the lackey into a crane arm. Chaotic taint scented prey and the arm swung about, slamming into Damchak and pinning him against the machine's bulk. The Smoke Jaguar fought to break free, but was trapped, as white tendrils began to edge his plate.
"Pathetic," Vorshaan sneered as he stepped to the corpse on the floor.
"Zyenya's blood is on your hands, this I shall repay tenfold!" Damchak spat.
Vorshaan stooped to draw his Chainglaive from the body, "Your poetry grows tiresome, and you really need to stop telegraphing your attacks. I can read you like a cheap pamphlet."
"The scales of justice shall be balanced! So swears the sons of Sedaxus!"
Vorshaan smirked under his helm as he took up his weapon, "I could tell you of Sedaxus, things that would shatter your mind. The histories you have been taught are myths built upon lies. Sedaxus: a name of little repute, and much scorn in my era. A discontented loner, surly and bitter. He was a jest, laughed at behind his back, even I only knew the name in passing, as an object of derision. Sedaxus, was nothing, you hear me, nothing!"
"You lie," Damchak hissed.
"Lies are hollow when the truth is so much more painful to hear," Vorshaan chuckled, "And I haven't even got to the good part, you think your founder was some noble hero of the Raven Guard when in truth…"
Vorshaan was about to reveal the damning truth that Sedaxus had been a Night Lord, and bask in the delicious denial and disbelief of Damchak, but then something strange occurred. A blur in the corner of his eye came out of nowhere, charging straight at him. He instinctively swung his weapon about only to feel a knife sail past his guard and tear over his gorget, a moment slower to realise the threat and he'd have had his throat cut.
Vorshaan's eye could not track where the knife went after that, disappearing into a haze of blurring motion. The Dusk Prince was forced to back off, swinging his weapon wide to clear space, trying to penetrate the haze covering his eyes. Something was there, a Transhuman in Ceramite, but the outline was indistinct and shimmering after images multiplied in his eyes. Vorshaan had danced with Daemonettes of Slaanesh and navigated mazes woven by the Scintillating Legions of Tzeentch but never had he seen anything like this.
"Claim the hunt-kill Tikal!" Damchak roared. A Smoke Jaguar then, Vorshaan deduced, employing some arcane talent. There had always been rumours of the XIXth's Primarch harbouring an unnatural ability to slip his own shadow, that went beyond the bounds of mere technology, but it seemed mixing in VIIIth Legion blood had mutated that gift in strange ways. Somehow these pathetic lackeys of the false Emperor had managed to produce something actually dangerous. The momentary distractions cost Vorshaan dear. A slashing attack caught his arm and blood flowed, another nicked his hip and then a tearing cut sheared over his faceplate, taking one of the decorative wings from his helmet.
Vorshaan snarled as he thrust laterally with his weapon, slamming the length of it through the dancing illusions. Something was struck, and forced back, but three forms split away from the impact. Vorshaan went right, driving the Adamantine teeth for a blurring shape, only for the point to pass through nothing save air. Then a knife sank into his wing, sending sharp splinters of agony through his nerves. Vorshaan grew worried then, his abilities were formidable, but this mutant was supremely gifted with a blade and his unnatural gift made eyes useless. Vorshaan wasn't about to give up though, he hadn't spent lifetimes perfecting his skill to lose to some mutated by-blow.
Vorshaan could not see his foe, so stepped back, then closed his eyes. The world disappeared, smothering his vision and all was noise. He heard the banging of bolters, the feral curses of Nostramean mixed with lyrical poet-cries of the loyalists. Machines rumbled, distant buildings collapsed and fires outside crackled as they spread further. Amid all that clamour he heard the heavy tread of a Ceramite boot landing to his right.
Vorshaan was in motion before the echo faded. He spun about and felt a knife score over his pauldron, as a Space Marine stumbled on the missed strike. Instantly he was countering, swinging his Chainglaive about. He felt a heavy impact, the tearing of teeth chewing armour and heard the shrieking of Ceramite being shredded. The force of it nearly tore the weapon from his hands but he clung on, then the scent of blood hit his nose and he smiled.
Vorshaan opened his eyes and saw a Smoke Jaguar sprawled on the floor, bleeding from a vicious rent in his flank. Shimmering ghosts faded as his gift ebbed, making him nothing more than another victim. Vorshaan loomed over the duellist, exulting in his superiority. Once again he had proved himself the better combatant, once more he'd overcome impossible odds with guile and skill. Vorshaan had traded blows with the best of the Traitor Legions and found no equal. The Dusk Prince was unrivalled among the Night Lords, and that knowledge filled him with dark glee.
"I win again," Vorshaan chuckled.
"You shall suffer eternally!" Damchak yelled from where he was fighting to free himself.
"Not before I kill you both. No soul can match Vorshaan, no living thing. Let the Emperor's Children boast of Lucius, the World Eaters can howl Kharn's name, they are not my equal. One day I will hunt them down and prove it blade to blade. You were a fool to test me, now I will end you."
Tikal lay groaning on the floor and Vorshaan drew back his arm to strike, but then something snagged his elbow. Vorshaan started in surprise as he saw a hanging chain had wrapped itself around his arm, trying to pull him into a death grip. The Dusk Prince jerked to free himself, but another chain was reaching for him, and another, yearning for a deathly embrace.
"Get off me!" the Dusk Prince snarled but the chains were all twisting his way, and then other machines too. The crane arm pinning Damchak rotated away as it tried to grapple with him, a drill bit jerked to the end of its power cable as it tried to stab him and a trolley of tools rumbled nearer, attempting to knock him over. Vorshaan snarled in fury and he took the Chainglaive in his other hand and severed the chain entangling his arm, then kicked the approaching trolley over. It was only the start, he heard cries of distress from his Night Lords, all similarly beset. The afflicted matter of the base was turning against them, and he knew why, the pestilent boons of Nurgle comprehended no difference between friend and foe, all life was the same to Chaos, all things existed to be corrupted and consumed.
"Break free!" Vorshaan commanded, "Disengage!"
"The blessings of Nurgle are so bountiful," Mekret breathed.
"Get out now or I'll rip your spine out!" Vorshaan commanded.
The situation had turned against them, but Vorshaan could still kill these two fools. He turned to where the Smoke Jaguars had been pinned, only to find them gone. In the mad confusion the loyalists had slipped away, disappearing into the bedlam. They could be leaving the building already, or just behind the corner, but it was the same effect. More corrupted machines were turning for the Dusk Prince and he had no time to look for lost strays.
Vorshaan snarled in frustration as he swept his wings high, then beat down. The floor vanished as he rocketed upwards, shooting for the roof at tremendous speed. A skylight shattered as he crashed through, breaking out into the base beyond. The vision that awaited him was nightmarish. The repair base was utterly infected by Cordyceps, white veins covering every inch. Buildings swayed like trees in the wind and machinery ran riot, attacking friend and foe alike. He could hear his Night Lords over the vox, attacked by the Plague God's spores, their perfect trap turned against them. Vorshaan gritted his teeth, this was supposed to be the Smoke Jaguar's end but now he'd be lucky to get his own forces out intact.
"Empex!" Vorshaan snarled, "Empex you wretched cur! You used your boons too freely, you've lost all control! This is your fault!" His cries went unheeded as the sound of thunder rang over the base. At the centre the largest building was collapsing, Ferrocrete walls crumbling into dust. It was not explosion or rot that brought it down, but something from within, something stepping forward to join the fray. Legs wrapped in Cordyceps blooms as white tendrils worked pistons and forced cogs to turn. Silentio Gravis smashed through its confinement like a man stepping through a bead curtain. The Reaver no longer had a Princeps, but it did not need one. Nurgle's gift brought it to life, so it could bring death to all it surveyed. Vorshaan looked upon the Titan and snarled, "Empex, I will have your head for this!"