Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 80
Aapo ran, what else could he do? The tutors who had drilled him had bestowed no lessons to alter the balance of this fight and no lessons taught on Copan would alter the outcome. Aapo had not the strength to trade blows with Methuselah, cunning would not deceive this foe, and he had not yet mastered the Shadow-path. Only one truth mattered at this moment, if he died the fight was over, so he could only try to stay alive as long as possible and trust a miracle would unfold.
Among the cryo-tubes he pelted, desperate to avoid instant death. Methuselah was on his heels, a rampaging Juggernaut set upon ending him. Aapo had nothing but a knife, his bolt pistol spent, so he ran, seeking any way to reverse his misfortune. A tearing sound caused him to veer aside a moment before a Cyro-tube went barrelling across his path. It had been torn from its housing and hurled after him, even one-handed Methuselah's strength was remarkable. Aapo jumped over the rolling tube and raced on, the pounding of boots ringing after him.
"Come back and die!" Methuselah roared.
"No and no," Aapo spat.
"You can't outrun me; I am the Bronze Beast!"
The pounding of boots grew louder, Methuselah was catching up. Aapo wasn't fast enough and he wasn't strong enough. Even with his wounding the Thunder Warrior outclassed him utterly. Aapo veered right, diving between two tubes. The gap was narrow but Methuselah smashed the chambers aside with ease, only to find Aapo greeting him with a thrown knife. The Obsidian Blade caught Methuselah's brow, Transonic metal harmonising to tear it apart. The impact shattered the helmet, causing it to crumble into pieces but the blade tumbled away, leaving Methuselah bare-headed but alive. Aapo's hearts sank, he was unarmed, his doom was now certain.
"Blood of Corax," Aapo gulped.
"For that you die slowly," Methuselah hissed.
Before Aapo could blink Methuselah's fist caught his breastplate, heaving him off the floor and slamming him into a Cryo-tube. Aapo's spent bent at the impact and his head slammed into the unyielding surface. The taste of blood in his mouth, a haze of purple over his eyes, then he was slammed again into the chamber. He lashed out, fist hitting a shoulder but to no effect, the reward was to be slammed into the tube again, then his breastplate straps failed and his plate came apart.
Aapo hit the floor and groaned in pain. Before he could think to move a boot slammed into his guts, driving the wind from him. That was calculated, Methuselah could have stoved in his chest had he so chosen, the Bronze Beast wanted to make this painful. Aapo's strength was a memory, his limbs water, and was forced to confront the fact he simply didn't have what it took to beat Methuselah. Xavaar had fallen short, Engar and Magpyr, even the Dark Fury. The Illchosen was the least of their Prowl, and his fate would be no different to theirs.
Methuselah kicked him over then placed a flat hand on his chest, pressing down firmly and squeezing out the noise, "Glagh!"
Methuselah pinned Aapo firmly as he growled, "I am going to make you suffer, your pain will be unimaginable, until you plead for death."
Aapo couldn't move and only gargled, "Gnurrrgh..."
"I do wonder how much pressure your ribs can take before they snap like kindling... let's find out."
Aapo couldn't breathe, the immense weight bearing down on his chest increasing second by second. The Thunder Warrior's grip was a mountain dropped upon him, crushing his chest as a mortal would a beetle. Aapo tried to inflate his lungs but could not move the diaphragm, not even with all his genhanced strength. Greater and greater the pressure grew, killing him inch by inch. Aapo's Black Carapace groaned as the weight increased, his ribs flexed and his hearts struggled to beat as organs were squeezed out of shape. Pain clawed at his throat, his body begging for one breath, just one, such a small request and yet it was denied. Methuselah took his time, bloodshot eyes saucers of dilated mania. He was enjoying this, taking pleasure in Aapo's last moments. Here was one who understood the joy of killing, and Aapo was sickened to experience it from the other side.
Shame, such inexorable shame washed over the Doan. He had failed, his Kinsmen would go unavenged. The Smoke Jaguars would never learn of the hidden monster in the Boscage and would be caught unawares when Methuselah came for them. Aapo's name would never be recorded, his bones would rot here and never join the dignity of the Stair Abyssal. The end was upon him and there was no comfort in having died fighting. Aapo didn't have what it would take to beat the Bronze Beast, there never was any hope of victory.
His vision was growing dark and the last beat of his hearts sounded when a blur shot across his dying eyes. A ragged mass of fur and metal pounced upon Methuselah, slashing and biting with razor-tips. Unlooked for, unexpected and forgotten, K'oy leapt upon his master's killer and as he was taught he went first for the eyes. Titanic weight disappeared as Methuselah reared backwards, snatching at the tiny ball of spite gouging his face. Aapo had a moment to choose, use this moment to breathe, or fight. He chose to fight.
Aapo scrunched his knees then kicked upwards. Both boots caught Methuselah on the belt, smashing a panel of brass dials and driving him back. K'oy was snatched from the Thunder Warrior's face and flung against a Cryo-tube, breaking pins and rods as it tumbled to the ground, but Aapo was already gone. He rolled away and managed to get his feet under him. He was running as he drew a breath, red raw and ragged but glorious beyond measure. Aapo sucked down air like a drowning man breaking the ocean surface as he fled, scrambling for a moment more life. Legs like water, lungs burning, head swimming and tears in his eyes, his prospects for lasting another minute seemed slim indeed.
A flash of white ahead and Aapo dove through Plastek sheeting. He was back in the medical suite, among stiff corpses and overturned tools. Aapo had bare seconds to prepare and cast about for a weapon, looking for anything sharp. A bonesaw would do, a drill bit or cauteriser, anything, anything at all. There was no time, Methuselah could only be a step behind. Aapo felt him approach as the Jungle Maus senses the Smoke Jaguar bearing down, the prey's understanding that the predator's eye was upon them. His frantic search discovered a trolley laden with bulbous injector-guns, fitted with glassic tubes of many hues. Aapo had no idea what function they served but saw nothing else that might suffice and snatched up a yellow and a green, then spun on his heel as the Plastek curtains were ripped asunder.
Methuselah charged through, his face a mass of bloody scratches. A lone arm swept wide, exposing his armour, battered and scored by the fighting but he remained a force of nature. His jaw frothed and his truncated arm dripped thick blood that hissed upon the floor, yet he moved as quick as a thunderbolt, wrapping his one arm around Aapo's waist and hoisting him aloft. The Doan gasped as a vice of steel ground into his spine, trying to scissor him in half. The vicious band of ice squeezed inexorably and his legs became numb, but his arms were free. He gazed down into Methuselah's ugly visage, filled with hate and fury. The Thunder Warrior's ire knew no bounds, he was a walking catastrophe, one that should have been wiped away centuries ago. One last chance, a forlorn hope, by any measure, but the alternative was to cower in fear. Curze had gifted his sons the dark majesty of fear, but Corax had gifted them the dream of hope and Aapo clung to the fading light with all his hearts. So he spread his arms wide, then rammed both injector-guns into the sides of Methuselah's neck and emptied the contents into the jugulars.
"Yeearrrrrgh!" Methuselah screamed as he rocked in a frenzy of violent juddering.
"Aaargh!" Aapo shared the yell as he was shaken so hard his neck threatened to snap.
"Gnnnnargggh!" the Bronze Beast seethed as he let go the Smoke Jaguar and jerked about in distress.
Aapo's legs gave out; he could not move but it hardly mattered. Methuselah convulsed like he was having a fit, legs stumbling as a drunkard's, his guts writhing. Aapo had no way to know but he had just injected Methuselah with massive overdoses of Yellow and Green, causing it to mix with the Red flooding his system in ways they were never intended. Veins burst inside the Thunder Warrior's body as internal haemorrhaging grew out of control. Organs burned, overloaded with drug cocktails of unspeakable toxicity and his hearts beat as fast as a hummingbird's, beyond even his tolerances. Methuselah's eyes began to boil in his skull, his tongue swelled and stomach acid chewed through its lining and began to dissolve his intestines. White blood cells began to attack his cell membranes, modified to assault any contagion as viciously as he would an enemy, they no longer recognised his metabolism and so his body began to eat itself alive. Methuselah burned from within, froze from without and thrashed wildly about, desperate for relief.
"Blue!" Methuselah screamed as he smashed his fist against his belt, "I need Blue!" It was useless, Aapo had broken the controls, fixing his backpack to continually pump Red into his veins. Desperately he reached over his shoulder, trying to tear the backpack off but could not reach, his own bulk hampered him, preventing him from touching his own back. More drugs, more Red to fuel his awareness, Green to sharpen his intellect and Yellow to fire his emotions. Methuselah felt it all, every burst vein, every beat of his hearts, every mote of pain magnified to the infinite degree. Torments too great even for a Legiones Cataegis to withstand.
"Blue! Tvos, bring me Blue!" Methuselah roared as he staggered among the Cryo-tubes, seeking an ally mysteriously absent. Methuselah staggered into a standing chamber, causing it to lean perilously, then he crashed to his knees as blood gushed from his ears and eyes. Aapo watched in amazement at the sudden reversal, and yet he did not trust it. The Bronze Beast had been unstoppable, whatever this was there was no certainty it was fatal, Methuselah may recover and come at him again.
Aapo forced his numb arms to move, dragging his useless legs behind, feeling his bones protest at every twitch. The injector-guns were empty, and he peered about for another weapon. Nothing, only broken Cryo-tubes and dancing flames. Then he spied it, the miracle he had sought and the restoration of hope. He crawled over the floor, head reeling and fighting the urge to throw up as his innards churned. Hand over hand he pulled himself along, till he reached the truncated arm of Methuselah, left where it had fallen, complete with the lightning claw.
Aapo yanked the severed arm free and shoved his own into the opening. It was a wonder of Archeotech to be sure, with its own internal generators, sadly it was too heavy for him to wield in his broken state. Aapo gritted his teeth and pushed his other hand under it, then hoisted it a few inches off the floor. The claw was ancient, without a gauntlet, the fingers were long talons instead. Aapo could not use them, not as broken as he was, but the flamer attachment was simple enough to operate.
Aapo rolled over and pointed his arm back at Methuselah. The Bronze Beast was on his knees, juddering manically. Blood wept from every pore and his armour steamed. Toxic blood was corroding through his skin and eating at the plate, the torment must be unimaginable, but still he formed words, "Blue... blue... give me blue..."
"Death has waited long to greet you," Aapo hissed as he lined up his shot with both hands.
"Greatness was mine!" Methuselah spluttered, "Can't be stopped... I feast on pain... I will grow stronger yet!"
"For my Kinsmen I claim vengeance!" Aapo snarled as he squeezed his fist.
A spark of black flame appeared at the ignition point, then a second later a torrent of umbral flame arched across the gap, bathing Methuselah in the fires of hell. The last of the Thunder Warriors blazed in midnight hues, his body consumed utterly, every inch from head to toe set alight. Aapo felt raw heat wash over him as the conflagration consumed the Bronze Beast, boiling his blood as the skin sloughed off. Something in the drug cocktail filling his veins didn't react well to the intense heat, chemical reactions cooking off with explosive effects. Methuselah detonated like frag grenade, his guts exploding in all directions, showering nearby tubes with viscera. So the Legiones Cataegis passed into history, their end as bloody and cruel as the war they waged upon the soil of Terra.
Aapo was struck by flying guts and was thrown onto his back, lightning claw splayed to one side. Pain was his companion and yet so too was victory. The Bronze Beast was dead, killed by his hand. Soon there would be the rush of triumph, a victory hard won and bought at sorrowful cost. His Kinsmen were avenged, and their names would endure for generations. Soon he would rise and gaze upon the remains of his kill, revelling in the conquest, but for the moment all Aapo could do was lay still and count his aches.