Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 169
Blazing Shadow
14th B'ak'tun, year 254, Season of Teotihuacan
It was written in the Testimony that nightfall was a Smoke Jaguars' greatest ally. In the midnight hours sinners seek to pass unnoticed and the innocent close their eyes against the cruelty of the universe. Those who speak do not see and those that see do not speak, thus the cunning hunter may move with surety and speed. Well did the Sons of Sedaxus know this Truth: men, monsters and Xenos all feel the geas of silence take hold in the darkest hours and many paths open that would be sealed tight under the light of day. The Smoke Jaguars knew this well and none more so than Vitcos.
The First of Blazing Shadow Prowl trod carefully, each step measured and precise. He was deep in his Shadow-path, becoming the suggestion of shade to the eye and the ignored ticking of a clock to the ear. Enemies were everywhere and yet he rejoiced, relishing his ability to pass unseen in the den of the foe. Vitcos yearned to break free and run amok, but he abided, there was a time for slaughter and a time for stealth. This far he agreed with the Testimony, but not much further.
A glimmer in the night was he and yet under noonday sun he would have been clad in dappled shades of darkest grey. His Mark VII helm was sleek but his greaves and forearms were marked with brush-stroked art, like the patterned fur of the Chapter's namesake. An Orruk skull was set on a spike atop his backpack and his heat exhaust was minimal. Under the helm his face was pale but a tattooed band of black covered his eyes and the bridge of his nose,stretching back to his ears, making him seem to be wearing a mask at all times. A figure of awe to many and yet his untamed nature was evident in the blood-red gauntlets he wore, for the Smoke Jaguars a mark for those who embrace the most errant of paths, adopted by Vitcos as a deceleration of his independent ways.
Enemies stretched to the horizon, the old foe, the Orruk. Dim-witted creatures of savagery and hate, stumbling around in the dark. Snores rose all around, for while such creatures loved to be in motion even the Greenskin cannot defy nature. Thick growls of feral rage rang through stapled-together walls, and caused canvas tents to billow, and that was merely the emissions they made in slumber. A full-throated roar of the Orruk was sufficient to turn bowels to water and make knees go soft, but Vitcos was not afraid. He had fought many foes across the heavens and was not dismayed by this horde, vast as it was.
Around Mekshops and mess tents he slinked, trying not to smell the scents of bubbling human flesh in watery stews. He ghosted past a pile of Gunz, where diminutive Grots dragged Shootas as big as they were into orderly rows to be counted by a hulking Black Orruk. That was concerning, Orruk cared nothing for neatness or tally chart, but then WaaaghOrkamemnon had been anything but typical. Almost Vitcos reached for his Bolt pistol but froze as the Black Orruk paused, turning its lumpish head to scour the shadows. It sensed him and Vitcos became a stone.
Silently he waited, unable to do anything save ponder the doom of this world. Vast was the horde and terrible in aspect, marring the pristine shores of Praedium with their was an old world, located deep in Segmentum Solar. No industrial hellscape as so many others had become, not famed for its mineral wealth or its lauded martial accomplishments. None of its sons had risen to glory in wars among distant stars, no mighty potentates among the Sentorum Imperailis dreamed of childhoods among its fields. Even the newly established Synod Ministra of Ophelia VII would not recognise its name. Its populace was thin, despite its vast acreages and lush seas, yet for all that Praedium was the rarest of treasures in the Imperium of Man: a Garden World. The outstanding natural beauty of its snow-capped mountains and pristine beaches made it a haven for the Imperial nobility, a place where retiring plenipotentiaries could enjoy respite in the twilight of their lives. Those days were past, the rustic farms had been devoured, the broad plains despoiled and the vast forests razed. Waaagh Orkamemnon had fallen upon this island of tranquillity and the Greenskins had reshaped it into their own paradise of carnage.
The Black Orruk seemed content and Vitcos disapparated into the night. He trod lightly past rows of Squig kennels, he stole past workshops where crude bombs were assembled and past the silent lines of Wartrukk and bikes. Great confusion could he have caused but his goal was far loftier than reducing a handful of bikes to ruin. His target was singular and his hands had sown calamity. The empty sack at his hip attested to that.
Finally Vitcos spied his destination, a rude shack cobbled together out of torn-up panels. A Boyz hut, a lowly one at that, no fit place for Bosses. It was ideal for the rendezvous, save that two Orruk lingered outside. The crude beasts were engaged in a head-butting contest, slamming their skulls into each other and guffawing in turn. Idiot things, but dangerous. Vitcos dared not bypass them, they had to die.
Silently he drew his bolt pistol and checked the clip of gas-fired rounds was loaded. He drew his aim upon the nearest Orruk and waited. As the rival jerked forward he pulled the trigger and the gun fired so softly he even struggled to hear it. The nearest Orruk's head came apart with a soft plop just as the headbutt rang. The headless body swayed for a moment then dropped, leaving the other to gawp in confusion, actually thinking its skull had splattered the rival's with the force of the impact.
Vitcos was already in motion, leaping forward as a blur in the night. His bolt pistol he fixed to his hip and his hands took up his Transonic Chakrams. Dull-silver circlets, heavy and razor-sharp, quivering with potential as the machine spirits awoke. Vitcos felt them as tremors in his palms, but was not in danger. The innards of his gauntlets were coated with demyelinated fibres, rough to touch but also able to negate the Transonic vibrations, leaving him unharmed by his own weapon.
The Orruk spied him at five paces and lifted its arms to pounce. Vitcos was faster, he twisted aside and his Chakrams flashed, parting the hands from the wrists. The Orruk stumbled, wondering where its hands had gone. It swung about; splattering thick blood on the mud it drew in a breath to scream its rage. Vitcos did not will that and sliced upwards, cutting the Orruk's face from its skull. A slice of meat fell to the churned soil at their feet and the Orruk staggered back, its eyeballs staring from a dissected skull, with nostril cavity and teeth on display. Vitcos would have relished its suffering but time was short, so he sliced a third time and opened the beast's neck.
The Orruk fell to the dirt, just a couple more bodies among the Greenskin's massed dead, they would draw no comment. The First secured his Chakrams then stole to the hut, slipping inside without a mummer. Within he found slaughter, a score of Boyz culled without a hint of alarm. Heads had been removed, skulls split and hearts pierced by expert hands. The killers were still within, nine Smoke Jaguars of Blazing Shadow, Vitcos' Prowlmates.
From the dark the whisper of Ilquitio in the tongue of Copan, "How dost thou abide, proud First?"
Vitcos nodded his helm,"The sleeping head stirs not, the resting eye sees only dreams."
"The butterfly's wing flaps but once and storms follow," Ilquitio approved.
"Hate all foes, trust none, spare none,"Vitcos chuckled.
"Do have time for this?" came the gruff voice of Sechura in the coarse inflexions of Low Gothic.
Vitcos grimaced under his helm at the blunt rudeness of his Kinsman but replied, "My deeds are a Testimony unto themselves, art thou claiming to equal my boldness?"
"The stars steered us to haven before they deigned to notice you," Sechura scorned.
"Then let us sow havoc," Vitcos snapped in an irked tone.
The Smoke Jaguars pulled a large gain vox-caster from somewhere and began fiddling with it. Vitcos allowed them to work, his Prowlmates knew comms better than he, but he eyed his comrades. Ilquitio stood tall, his bearing proud. Litanies from the Testimony were carved into his plate, the words echoing from the Dawning as truth beyond question. He backed this up with twin Daga blades, the edging tines collapsed for the moment but were able to spring wide upon command. Sechura by comparison was savagery incarnate. His collar was strung with grot-skulls and under his helm sharpened bones had been pierced through his cheeks and nose, how he wore an enclosed helmet was a question Vitcos dared not ask. His plate was adorned with zodiac marks, the secrets of the stars emblazoned upon his person, marks of destiny and prophecy. Vitcos loathed subservience to fate but respected his Prowlmates' kill tally.
Sechura looked at him and said, "Haucha will be fury and wroth."
"Haucha walks so slowly the tanglevine grows underfoot," Vitcos scoffed.
"He is voted Prowlmaster and Shadow-Chieftain. We are trothed in blood and murder."
"He may lead but Blazing Shadow has ever walked an errant path."
Ilquitio bristled at that, "The Truth of the Testimony holds that a house divided cannot stand!"
But Vitcos waved off, "The First of Hounds Sinister may mark the quarry, but we choose the lures and set the snares. He will thank us when it is done."
"And Tachna?" Sechura hissed.
Now Vitcos bristled, "We have gifted the Headsman no offence to punish!"
"Lies?" Sechura mocked.
"The laws of Sedaxus are known. Il-Tzak dispenses justice in equal measure to the sin, but the Gaze Catcher cannot chastise Blazing Shadow for being Blazing Shadow."
Ilquitio snorted, "Tachna's wroth is not for the Prowl, but for you alone... First."
Vitcos glared in annoyance but his debate was cut short as the vox-caster blinked ready. He moved to the wall where a crack allowed him to spy outside. Against the cold stars the camp was jagged row of teeth, lumpy and misshaped, yet fangs remained in the gums. The towering shapes of a dozen Stompas, squatting giants with weapon arms the size of tanks. Mighty weapons of war and icons of the crude Gods Orruk worshipped. Yet even they paled in comparison to the Bosspole of Orkamemnon. A skeletal structure of girder and scaffold, ramshackle, teetering, likely to fall at a mere brush of wind and yet never toppling. This was the Warbosses'symbol of authority, the embodiment of his rule, a reminder to every Greenskin under his flag that he was invincible. It was the spiritual nexus of the Waaagh and as the Testimony taught, a battle is fought in the heart and mind long before the spilling of blood begins.
Vitcos sent a vox-pulse from his armour and the distant Transonic mines he had planted awoke. The Bosspole quivered for a moment, then sagged into itself. Thunder rolled as girders snapped and beams shattered. The tower imploded, collapsing level after level as it plummeted into ruin. A great Orruk face set atop flashed with reflected starlight, then slammed into the dust and was no more. Simultaneously other mines planted across the camp went off, blowing up vox-masts, signal flags and even Grots stuck in cages upon poles, to wave paddles in a degraded form of semaphore. Meanwhile Vox-hailers began to blare ferocious roars, echoing the Vox-caster's transmission via Technoarcana spliced into the cabling.
Vitcos set his eye to the crack as he waited for the bedlam to come. Sure enough Orruk spilled from their huts and tents, bellowing in outrage. The Bosspole was gone, Orkamemnon's authority was shattered and warcries echoed in their ears. The Greenskin knew only one way to respond and they fell upon each other in a mad frenzy of hacking and stabbing. Blood stained the ground roars of ferocious savagery echoed loud as heads were bashed in and meaty fingers throttled former comrades in arms. The madness had begun, the Orruk would fight till a new Warboss arose, and by that time half of them would be dead. With a single strike Vitcos had ended Orkamemnon's rampage across the stars, or so it should have been.
Through the mad scrum stomped towering Black Orruks, the underbosses of Orkamemnon. Wherever they strode the fighting stopped, Greenskins ceasing to kick and punch as they meekly stood to attention, or as upright as any Boy could manage. There was no breaking of heads, no bashing defiant bucks into submission. The Black Orruks seemed to pour oil on troubled water by their mere presence, quelling the anger of the Greenskins with a word and a look. Vitcos stood dumbfounded, had the Black Orruks commanded the sun to rise early and seen their word obeyed, he would have been less shocked.
"The universe is upended," Ilquitio breathed.
For once Sechura agreed, "The Greenskin forsakes its love of violence, the pillars of heaven shake to their foundations!"
"What manner of Orruk are they?" Ilquitio gulped, "What manner of devil is Orkamemnon?"
Filled with worry Vitcos hissed, "We must be away before they scent our presence!"
"Huacha must know of this dark marvel," Ilquitio urged.
"The sun and the moon are in alignment," Vitcos agreed for once.
Silently Blazing Shadow made their departure, slipping through a gap in the back wall. Into the night they went, moving with utmost stealth to link up with their distant Kinsmen. Vitcos was the last to go, taking one last glimpse out the crack at the horde. The Black Orruks had nearly restored order, settling disputes and putting lesser beasts back to work. The horde was already working to clear the damage, pulling out vox-hailers and kicking grots to spread word all was in hand. Vitcos felt a cold rush at the sight, something was different about these Greenskins, something was fundamentally wrong with them. He trusted the Prowlmaster would heed his warning, for if the Hound Sinister did not then calamity would surely follow.