Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 163
Higher and higher they ascended, chasing the elusive form of Vorshaan. Damchak's blood burned to see the capering wretch dancing ahead of them, always just out of reach. They'd reach ladders only to find him disappearing over the top, hurtle around corners only to be greeted by a flutter of a wingtip at the next junction and storming along corridors to find him gone. Vorshaan's continued existence was an affront and his taunting laughter goaded the Smoke Jaguars on.
Damchak's soul was aflame. This preening cur had murdered leal Kinsmen, he had humiliated Umbral Flame not once but twice and now sought to evade his just punishment. It was an outrage and the need to end the heathen's life was a heavy lodestone on Damchak's mind, and yet a cooler voice tickled his awareness. As they ran Damchak could not help but notice that the city was degenerating around them. The tangled pipes and ladders were crusted with furry growths and mould spores multiplied in the dark corners. The sounds of battle echoed into the hollow spaces but mortal voices were absent. That wasn't right, Nu Zantium was a city at war, it should be bustling at all hours, this silence was unnatural and Damchak's suspicions were growing.
Vorshaan had led them high, too far to return to their original plan of breaching the plasma reactors and raced across a broad circular space. Girthy supports held up a roof twice their height but still it felt confined. The Dusk Prince disappeared out a far door before anyone could draw a bead on him, but Damchak slowed his pace somewhat. This space had significance, his eidetic memory had drunk in every detail of the city's layout, having been stolen long ago by Imperial spies. His subconscious was trying to tell him something, but his conscious mind took a second to process it.
"First?" Nizca asked in bewilderment as Damchak slowed.
"This place is a fulcrum," Damchak breathed as understanding dawned.
"The heathen escapes!" Tikal snarled wetly.
"The preening filth leads us into the snare, but he has outplayed himself."
"The sands of time slip through our fingers!"
But Damchak snapped, "The Smoke Jaguars are no prey beast to be lured into a trap, we are the heirs of Sedaxus and we choose our hunting grounds with cunning and care."
"Your will First?!" Nizca spat impatiently.
Damchak issues swift instructions, "We have a Magpyr... good... release it to draw the eyes of our enemy. Transonic mines, ring the perimeter, set for fifty heartbeats. Grapple guns make ready and prepare for the final culmination of our destiny. May our Prowl be remembered forevermore."
Nizca released a floating servo-skull, laden with harmonic amplifiers and auspex projectors. The tiny device would follow Vorshaan, projecting an illusion that the Prowl was hot on his tail. Only eyes unaided would see the deception, but if it bought them a minute it would have fulfilled its purpose. Meanwhile the Smoke Jaguars fixed Transonic mines to the supports, set to go off simultaneously. They fell back to the edge of the maintenance space and drew harpoon guns from equipment pouches. It would be a strain to lift a Space Marine in full plate but the Smoke Jaguars had long since perfected such techniques.
At the appointed second the mines went off, harmonic frequencies shaking the molecules of the pillars. Resonant destruction pulverised the metals as thoroughly as a Meltabomb, causing them to collapse and the roof to cave in. Metal rained from the ceiling with the noise of a hailstorm, accompanied by stone and wood. Bits of broken desk and paper chart, along with vox-set and bloated corpses so rotten one could think they had laid under the hot sun for a day and a night. Damchak had no time to ponder for daylight streamed in too, as he had deduced they were right under the Senatorial dome, dead centre in the nexus of their foes' machinations.
Swirling dust was everywhere but Damchak stepped forth and lifted his grapple gun high. The gas-cylinder discharged with violence and he felt the wire unspooling rapidly. High did it soar then the flanged head struck a hard surface and burrowed deep, setting itself firmly. With a flick of the thumb the motor burned hot, reeling in the line and yanking Damchak upwards. His whole weight was upon his arm and it was considerable, the mass of his plate trying to drag him back into the pit. Smoke poured from the gun's motor, the Machine Spirit tested to the limit by the effort, but it neither flagged nor failed, hoisting him into the arena from an unlooked direction.
Damchak spied the house of the enemy in disarray, tables overturned and disorder everywhere as the massive pit in the centre of the room dragged furnishings down. Dark Tusks stumbled here and there, a dozen or so, surprised by the unexpected entrance of their enemy. A mortal man, if such a bloated sack of diseased filth could be called that, cowered in a corner, clutching at his gut. Damchak discounted that threat, focused on the true danger as he let go his grapple gun and dropped to the floor.
The vertical assault had surprised the Dark Tusks but they were Astartes and as such incapable of experiencing shock. Barely had Damchak's feet touched down when a Dark Tusk hurled himself at the First, lashing out with a cleaver so rusted one expected it would shatter on contact. Damchak was not fool enough to let his enemy land the blow and parried by drawing his claw upwards, catching the blade between the backs of his talons. The Dark Tusk grunted as he wrestled to free his sword but Damchak whipped out his Obsidian blade in his other hand and lashed it point down across the foes' neck.
It should have ended the heathen but to Damchak's dismay the Dark Tusk seemed barely troubled. Despite a gaping rent in the throat the foe whipped back its sword and stabbed again for the hearts, trying to run Damchak through. The First was incensed, the rightful laws of life and death had been corrupted, such an affront stuck at the spirit of the Smoke Jaguars. The dead were beyond the woes of the living, their eternal rest well-deserved, but this abomination had sought to overturn the laws of mortality with the boons of ruinous gods. Such a travesty filled Damchak with disgust.
The First knocked aside the stab with his knife arm, then slammed the points of his claws into the gut of the Dark Tusk. The blow barely fazed the traitor but Damchak gritted his teeth and heaved upwards. Energised talons tore at Ceramite and entrails, steaming where four ragged tracks were drawn up the sternum. Now the heathen did falter, trying to swing that filth-encrusted sword again but Damchak gritted his teeth and ripped his hand up the breast and throat, before parting the skull entirely.
The Dark Tusk fell apart and Damchak spun about to find the battle raging. Smoke Jaguars piled in, lashing out at diseased parodies of Space Marines. They struck well and true, their blows telling and snarls of fury terrifying. Nizca blasted a Dark Tusk with his meltagun, reducing the foe to steaming offal. Another came at him from behind but a Kinsman stood at his back, fending off the blow. Elsewhere a Smoke Jaguar went down to a trio of Dark Tusks, and the lifesign winked out in Damchak's helm but Tikal was suddenly there, his outline a smear of soot in the air as he dove into the fray with a feral snarl.
Damchak was already in motion but the fight was turning against the Smoke Jaguars, surprise had allowed them to enter unopposed but they were outnumbered and fighting an enemy who death's gaze avoided. The chances of victory were scant, but then Vorshaan appeared. The Dusk Prince appeared from nowhere and in his first second spilt a Dark Tusk's helm wide open. His Chainglaive revved loud as he spun to engage another, stabbing for an eye lens with the taloned butt. His speed was remarkable, his skill lethal and his grace fluid, impressive even for a cur like him. Instantly the balance of the fight changed, the Dark Tusks forced to confront a far more dangerous foe. Damchak sensed the pressure on the Smoke Jaguars fading, loathsome as the relief was when it came from a sworn enemy.
"Took a shortcut I see!" Vorshaan laughed as he beheaded a Dark Tusk.
"Speak not to me heathen!" Damchak spat as he tussled with another.
"And here I thought we were friends!"
"Never, a thousand times a thousand years never!"
"You say that now, but I'll grow on you!" Vorshaan jeered.
Damchak had no time to respond as a shot came from the side and clipped his pauldron. To his surprise the Ceramite layering failed, causing chunks of armour to fall free. Another smashed his breastplate, crazing it into a billion pieces and a third clipped his helm, shattering the left side and leaving his eye exposed to the open air. Damchak blinked as he beheld a dead man walking, a corpse striding towards him with twin pistols held upright. Cold white eyes saw nothing and the head lolled to one side but the aim did not waver as the fingers tightened.
Damchak had never felt the touch of a weapon that could shatter Ceramite so easily and knew another shot could kill him. The First reacted by jerking aside, letting a bolt sail past as he dove at a Dark Tusk. The heathen sensed him coming but Damchak did not pause to engage, instead darting into his shadow. The traitor lifted a tainted knife but jerked suddenly as a Banestrike round slammed into his back. Another and another, causing the Dark Tusk to stumble forward, about to fall over.
Damchak didn't let that happen, he slammed his claws into the guts and his knife into the neck, using the twin pivots to hoist his foe aloft. His arms trembled as more rounds struck the body, threatening to topple them both. Damchak refused to yield, forcing his foot forward, holding the mass of his foe aloft as an ablative shield. Shots slammed home over and over, and the wet breath of the dying Dark Tusk made his exposed eye water but Damchak pressed into the face of danger, till he saw the walking corpse again.
The First heaved the dying Dark Tusk at the dead man, slamming the sheer weight of a Space Marine onto the shambling form. They went down together, crushing the corpse into paste under the shattered backpack, save for one arm that waved up and down still clutching a pistol. Damchak's gore rose as he saw the finger tighten to fire, despite the rest of the body being a puddle of gore. His boot rose and fell, crushing the hand and the pistol, ending the threat at last. One more abomination removed from existence, and the universe was that much cleaner for it, and yet it was not enough.
"Too late fools! The Arroyo gate forms!" a harsh cry rang forth. Damchak spun about and beheld Empex himself, standing with arms spread and flail hanging from his hand. The murderer of Q'umarkaj, the liar and deceiver incarnate. Damchak had thought he hated the devil-sons before but this sight filled him with dark fire like he had never known. Empex must die, no other reality existed but anger alone could not dam the tide of corruption the Dark Tusk unleashed.
Behind him the mortal man began to judder, his corpulent form bubbling like a pan of water over an open flame. A thin scream of torment issued forth as he rose to his feet, arms pulled upwards as his frame elongated and stretched. Bones snapped, sinews unwound and fatty tissue was drawn to the limit as the mortal was reshaped into a thin pillar that started to bend over and form a gate to hell. Reality was torn asunder as the Arroyo gate formed anew, punching an interdimensional channel straight to the demesnes of Nurgle and from it poured undiluted corruption.
A blast of unspeakable stench billowed forth and marble flooring began to blacken underfoot as desks collapsed in worm-riddled mulch and the high windows darkened with filthy. The sounds of the city at war became wet and distant, even the artillery of twin Imperators was heard as if from deep underwater. Skin crawled under armour and Damchak's eyeball became heavy with gloop. Concentrated decay, unbridled corruption and eternal damnation, pressing through the gate in a stream of filth. Then the first Plaguebearer Daemon put a foot through the gate and reality began to scream.