Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 82

With startling speed the Smoke Jaguars cleansed Xilbalba, bringing back order to the streets. In the depths of Sonyhu city Deathmaker Prowl chose the path of the hunter, stalking the many levelled tenants, tearing out the throats of rioters and criminal scum. Within six hours the riots ended, every man and woman cowering in their homes, and so peace was imposed. Hanged Men Prowl chose the path of command and strode into the PDF headquarters, within an hour all their scattered units were ordered to return from the fruitless search of the wastelands and move to restore order in the cities. They Who Thunder Prowl chose the path of the hero, striding through the streets of Turnphu city at the head of a column of Troopers. No blood did they shed, for the riots became celebrations, cheering throngs raising voices in praise as First Calakmul carried past the banner of the Sun-Emperor for all to see. Word spread on the vox-waves and panic vanished from the streets. Meanwhile Unerring Eye Prowl summoned nobles to begin the selection of a new king and White Crow Prowl disappeared into the criminal underworld, to begin the laborious work of dismantling Methuselah's criminal empire.

Aapo however saw none of that. The Doan sat on a low mound, watching as his masters scoured the hidden fastness of Methuselah. It hadn't been hard, with the Bronze Beast dead his personal guard betrayed their fickle fealty by grabbing whatever loot and weapons they could carry and fleeing in all directions. Aapo had found himself nearly alone, and limped to a Vox-set, using the boosted arrays to summon his Kinsmen. They had arrived swiftly and secured the fortress, leaving him little to do save watch.

Aapo observed a knot of Serviles trudging from Shadowhawks into the smoking ruins, looking for more evidence of the Bronze Beast's handiwork. They would find copious amounts, Aapo was sure, and the Smoke Jaguars would be busy chasing down every last strand of the web their unseen foe had woven. A Techwright was with them, the master of machine lore directing the collection of various cogitators for interrogation back on a Chapter ship. Aapo had little to do with those Smoke Jaguars cross-trained by the Cult Technis on Alar-Median and was content to ignore and be ignored by them.

"It seems we have been forgotten," Aapo sighed as he patted K'oy deformed head. The cyber-simian rocked gently under his touch, its mechanisms grinding every time it moved. Methuselah had broken its legs and smashed half the skull in, but that didn't stop it from whipping about and sinking its teeth into Aapo's fingers. The Illchosen grimaced and whipped back his hand as blood drops fell to the grey earth and he hissed, "I still hate you!"

"Speak softly for the universe hears all," a venerable voice carried to his ear. Aapo turned his head and gawped as he saw a trio of lordly figures striding towards him, names of legend. To the left strode a figure in white, his armour bedecked by the bones of dead men, his hips heavy with vials and canopic jars. This was Kaax, Lord Genewright, he who brings life from the dead, literally and figuratively. His hands collected Progenoids and his mind wove them into fresh implants, but his soul was said to commune with the ghosts of the departed. All respected him, for his understanding of the mysteries of life and death was deep.

To the right strode a far sterner figure. Clad in black and icons of detestation. His helm was covered by feline skull, in an echo of noble Sedaxus, a hunt-trophy won with his own hands that few could match. In his hands was Giant's Roar, the axe of Damolos, reclaimed from the fortress. This was Yaxkin, a proud Headsman of that stern order, Lord Headsman now Aapo presumed. Yaxkin was the hand of judgement among Smoke Jaguars, the enforcer of their laws and customs. No warrior of their Chapter would dare spill the blood of a Kinsman when they thought Yaxkin was watching, and he was always watching for his Shadow-path waxed strong.

The third figure commanded awe. In dappled armour he strode, with wooden kill-tallies hanging as a cingulum over his groin. His head was framed by a curved band of Eruth feathers, worn as a mantle of command and adder skulls hung from his pauldrons. His left hand was engulfed in a massive Power Fist and his right hip bore a harpoon-gun to bring prey to him. Behind him trailed a double-procession of eight times eight Serviles, each carrying the skull of a fearsome Orruk Warboss, a testament to his many successful hunts. This was Palanque, First of Firsts, Chosen of the Sun-Emperor, He Whose Word Was Law, Shade-Lord of the Smoke Jaguars. Kaax the Prowls respected, Yaxkin they feared, but Palanque alone they obeyed.

"Four began this quest and yet only one sits before us," Kaax remarked.

"A tale of sorrow and woe," Palanque noted, "The ending of ages and the loss of Kinsmen beloved."

"Beloved places an onerous burden upon truth," Yaxkin stated, "Yet more onerous still is that he does not rise to address his betters."

Aapo gulped as he realised he was disrespecting the masters and wearily rose to his feet. His legs protested and his back ached most sorely. Oh for the blessings of full ascension, then his wounds would be healed long ago. It didn't help that he had to bear the immense weight of the lightning claw he had claimed. It was meant to be carried with power armour assistance, but he would not be parted from it. Despite that it caused creeping agony to snag his shoulder he did his best to stand before his Shade-lord as a proud Smoke Jaguar ought.

"I offer apologies and abase myself," Aapo stated.

"The tongue of heathens upon his lips," Yaxkin hissed.

Aapo blinked, "Xavaar the Shade-seer insisted we practice our Gothic."

"The lightest touch seems not to break the vase, yet the drip of water tells of cracks run deep!"

Palanque held up a hand to stay further argument, "The Shade-seer oft followed his own strange wisdom, yet he walked at the Dawning and knew deeper truths than we. I shall entertain his follies one last time, and discourse as the heathens do. Now young Doan, tell us what happened here."

Aapo swallowed, "Under Xavaar was set forth to find the missing Lord Headsman…"

Kaax cut in, "This part we know, tell us of their ending. Tell us of the Bronze Beast."

Aapo nodded, "A warrior ancient beyond the Dawning. A monster of an older breed, a Thunder Warrior. He slew Engar, Xavaar, Hanphu and Takana with his own hands."

Yaxkin scorned Gothic as he accused, "A Doan triumphs where greater souls fall short. The whispering wind over the mountain peak lies most sweetly."

Aapo shook his head, "I don't understand how he died. Something went wrong with his biology, some cellular breakdown or chemical reaction, I triggered somehow. It bought me time to take up a flamer and burn him leaf to root."

Palanque turned his head to Kaax, "Is such a thing possible?"

The Lord Genewright mused, "Legiones Cataegis… the memory of a myth of a rumour. Barely a reference remains in our lore, a few lines of script from the Sun-Emperor's emerging, no more. That such a being lived so long defies belief, but the remains I examined were no Astartes. This Methuselah was cunning and powerful indeed; the Doan could not make this up."

"It seems your tale contains more truth than lies," Palanque said as he reached up to remove his helm, revealing a face pale as the moon's reflection on water and hair dark as midnight. Sorrow etched his face, long years of lonely command, isolated from the comradery of a Prowl. Aapo wondered if darker truths had marred his soul, if he knew of the two fathers of the Smoke Jaguars. Aapo would not speak it, he had sworn never to leverage his knowledge to his own advantage. This was a line he would not cross.

"The hunt-kill is not mine to claim, the firstborn son's portion belongs to my lost Kinsmen," Aapo declared.

"To turn from glory is the mark of a true heart, or the lying tongue of a serpent," Yaxkin accused.

"Leave the boy be," Kaax scoffed, "His time here has taught him well."

Palanque sighed, "To lose the Dark Fury is a wound to our hearts, and Engar's passing will be lamented for a B'ak'tun. The Skinned Man will be officially mourned, even if no one misses him. The Magpyr… found a worthy end. It is all we could expect of him."

K'oy scampered forward and climbed up Yaxkin's armour, Aapo was vexed the spiteful thing did not hiss and scratch at the Headman, and the Lord said, "The secrets of Hanphu's hands shall be delivered to the Techwrights, so his strange genius can live on. Magpyr decoys shall be available to all."

Kaax agreed, "Their gene-seed is reclaimed and their bones shall return to the Stair Abyssal. Their names will be carved into Steles, so their names shall live forever."

Palanque accepted this, "We have much to do. Five Prowls I diverted from Marajo, a tenth of our strength distracted at the hour of greatest need. We must work fast, Xilbalba must be secured so we can return to the greater war and cast down the Orruk. But first we must cleanse this place, salvage Spectre of Woe and ensure no trace of the Bronze Beast remains."

Yaxkin however pressed, "A fool is he who sets foot upon the road before checking his boots for lurking scorpions. This Doan offends my eye, he was chosen by Xavaar, and I would know what lessons the Skinned Man imparted before he ended."

Yaxkin knew already, Aapo was sure of it, the Headsman knew of Kurze and the tainted blood of the Smoke Jaguars. Now he interrogated the boy to uncover what Xavaar may have let slip. Palanque and Kaax probably knew, Aapo could just reveal the truth and accept the consequences, dangerous but honest. Or he could lie and deny all knowledge. Safer but uncomfortably close to Kurze's path, it was easier, too easy. Aapo rejected both options.

Aapo lifted his chin and declared, "Xavaar taught me that the Smoke Jaguars are twinned in our souls: light and dark, justice and vengeance, hope and fear."

Kaax pressed, "And which path do you choose: are you a son of Corax or a child of the Dark One?"

Aapo replied boldly, "There is no choice to be made. The Smoke Jaguars stand between the noonday sun and the veils of midnight, creatures of twin natures. We must embrace both sides of our souls to the fullest degree. We do evil deeds to further a loftier good, wielding fear as our weapon in the service of hope. I am no haunter of the night nor a proud raven of the day, I am a Smoke Jaguar of Copan."

Palanque smiled coldly, "Well said, it seems you have learned deeper truths on this moon than many Firsts ever grasp. I consider the matter settled. You shall return to Copan as a Doan, to be presented to the Prowls and await their selection."

"I invoke a denial!" Yaxkin spat.

"The time for denials is passed once my will is set," Palanque admonished, "The Shade-lord's word is the law of the Smoke Jaguars. Thus it is written, thus shall it be."

"And the other matter?" Kaax prompted.

Palanque addressed Aapo, "Your place among Prowls must abide, but one matter cannot wait. You have performed mighty deeds and thus have earned a title unique to yourself. Few ever claim a deed-name that can enter legend. If you live long enough to become a First a Prowl may even adopt this name as their legacy."

"This is a mighty boon," Kaax advised, "I understand you have been daubed…. Illchosen."

Aapo however refuted, "That name is no long fit. I shall choose a new name."

Yaxkin growled, "Speak then and claim your due."

Aapo lifted his arm, the immense weight of the lightning claw straining his bicep to the limit. Still he raised it before his eyes and lit the underslung flamer. In the dancing pilot light was darkness and mystery, a black fire born of evil blood and yet wielded in the service of the light. It was the truth of the Smoke Jaguar's creed writ large and he declared, "You shall call me Illchosen no more. Henceforth I am Aapo, the Umbral Flame."

Afterword

The Smoke Jaguars have been isolated for a long time and have begun to drift into strange practices. As time passes they will get even weirder and you may notice a lot has changed. They are currently in a half-way stage between normal Space Marines and the hunters they will eventually become. The issue of language was a bother. Their cameos in other stories show they have a very poetic cadence, which was fine when there was one guy in the room but all of them speaking that way was a headache to write and read. I quickly determined that they needed to 'practice their gothic' and occasionally slip back into their native tongue when distracted or under stress. In the next story much time will have passed and I will be moving them on to explore the Smoke Jaguars return to the Imperial fold