Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 120
The blast threw Damchak against an inner bulkhead so hard his head rang. He bounced off the wall and stumbled back, legs quivering as the world swam about his skull. It took immense force to stun a Space Marine but the detonation was certainly equal to the task. Damchak's face hurt inside his helm and the uncomfortable movement of his Black Carapace told of broken bones in his fused ribcage. Purple spots whelmed in his vision and a feeling of nausea squeezed his guts while sounds seemed to come from far away.
Voices rang in his ears but Damchak glanced backwards, seeing a swirling cloud of black smoke outside. Nemkir's eldritch protection had spared his life, diverting the heat and shrapnel away but the shockwave had struck Damchak like a wrecking ball. He had come within a hairsbreadth of sharing Abizil's doom but of the Raven Guard there was no sign. Nemkir was nowhere to be seen, perhaps dead, and the thought struck to hearts of Damchak.
"Prowlmaster, we must be away," Nizca's voice intruded.
"He was right behind me," Damchak breathed.
"First, what are we to do?"Zyanya asked fretfully.
"He may yet live," Damchak refuted.
"Umbral Flame!" Aapo rumbled, "The prey escapes while you dither!"
Reality came back to Damchak in a flash. They were at the apex of the hunt and he was dreaming. All they had worked for was slipping away and it fell to him to inspire the hunters. He took a quick stock, six of Umbral Flame, six of Bone Gnawer Prowl and Aapo, had made it into the Great Byson. Less than he would have hoped, but sufficient, more than sufficient.
Damchak shook off his lethargy, "The moment is at hand, but we must clear the way for Marcher to enter the snare. Move in pairs, take the weapon blister and defang this beast. We shall draw Marcher in and then come together to close the trap. Remember he must not die, this is vital. We want him alive when justice falls."
"And I?" Aapo asked.
Damchak pointed to a large hatch that led into the vehicle bay, "Make a great slaughter."
"You spoil me Prowlmaster," Aapo chuckled as the Dreadnought set off into Invicta Nova's bowels.
The Smoke Jaguars split up, moving in pairs towards their objectives. The way was tight for a Space Marine, their bulky frames just fitting through the narrow apertures that passed for hatches. A starship was a vast construction, a city in space, but a Capitol Imperialis was a more modest affair. Though the largest moving bastion on land the interior was packed with piping and thin stairs, the passages bound by girders and confusing in their twists. Had Damchak not committed the design to memory he would have been lost in seconds. It didn't help the entire deck was tilted at a thirty-five degree angle, making standing difficult, walking twice as hard.
Nizca followed a step behind and climbed a narrow stair to another level. Each step had to be carefully measured as the stairwell was tilted at an angle, the entire affair leaning perilously to one side. Distant shouting rang through the thin walls, mortal screaming for orders and barking confusion at each other. The Tellarites knew they had been boarded, but had thought the rear ramp would be the only vector of attack, how wrong they were.
The young Smoke Jaguar clutched his meltagun tight as he asked, "Did Tuun-Ok pass from the world of the living?"
"His fate lays in the Sun-Emperor's hands," Damchak replied as they crested another level.
"He wished the Great Byson slain," Nizca pointed out as they looped about and rose again.
"And it will be," Damchak affirmed, "But first we serve our own purpose. Vengeance calls and we answer, Marcher must come to us and we shall clear the way. Our spirits demand justice and will not be denied. Once the hunt-kill is made, then the Jade Foot will have his prize."
Nizca switched tongues, "The sun sets on all men."
Damchak concurred, "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
Higher they climbed, passing unseen through the innards of the Great Byson. Though it was wrought of metal it was indeed a living thing. Pipes for arteries, a plasma reactor for a heart, treads for hooves and oil for blood. They had pierced its hide but made little impression. Yet a broken spear could still kill, the head sinking deep to cause a festering wound. That was the Smoke Jaguars, poisonous spoors moving into the bloodstream of the prey, bringing slow but inevitable death. Yet like all animals the Great Byson had a potent immune system.
A las-shot from above clipped Damchak's pauldron, making him duck under a turn of the stair. He glanced upwards and saw half-a-dozen foes atop the stair, leaning over the angled railing to shoot downwards. Lasrifles, hardly impressive weapons but firing at full auto could present a marginal threat to a Space Marine. Damchak could charge them but he was two turns down and would be exposed all the way. A strong chance his armour would hold, but such reckless bravado was not the Smoke Jaguar way.
Damchak whispered instructions and Nizca shouldered his Meltagun to pull a greying skull from his belt. Metallic tendrils hung low and the eye sockets were packed with extending vanes. A Magpyr, an autonomous decoy packed with anti-gravs and Transonic Technoarcana. Such devices had many applications and they let it float away to carry out one now.
The small Magpyr clung close to the underside of the stairs, drifting untroubled by the storm of shots falling from on high. Damchak tracked it, drawing his bolt pistol as it assumed position. When it was right under the heathen's boots it activated, emitting a ferocious roar in the confined stairwell. A screaming banshee let loose its wail, laced with Transonic frequencies that sank claws of terror into the hindbrain of any who heard it. Reason mattered not, rational thought ran too slow, this noise spoke to the most primitive aspect of the soul, the small primate who dared not leave the branches for fear of the predator's hungry eye. In the narrow space it reverberated a thousand-fold, making grown men piss themselves in terror.
The heathens jumped, bashing into each other as they sought the source of the terrible noise. They jostled and fought for space, and their aims wavered. Instantly Damchak pounced, leaning out of cover to fire upwards. Six times did his bolt pistol speak, six lives were reaped. The top of the staircase was painted red, the shot-bangs of mass reactives detonating and echoing all the way down.
Damchak was moving before the sound faded, bounding up the stairwell three at a time as he sheathed his pistol. At the top he found a tilted catwalk and a narrow hatch. Another man was ducking through, seeking to reinforce his comrades. Damchak's flat hand put paid to that, slamming the door closed, crushing the upper half of the man betwixt hatch and frame, pulping innards and leaving him compacted across the chest. Damchak wrenched the door open again and found another man standing, slack-jawed as he tried to comprehend what had happened. A Ceramite gauntlet grabbed the heathen's tunic and pulled him through, hurling him bodily over the railing. The sound of snapping bones as the mortal hit every level of the tilted stair brought a grim smile to Damchak's lips.
A doorway was a poor place to be caught so the Umbral Flame raised his claw and let loose a plume of black fire. Moments later he was through the door, finding himself among a dozen flailing heathens, falling to the floor as their uniforms caught light. A far grander space, with high ceilings and raised tracks upon the deck. Chains hung from on high, bearing odd tools and grapples. At one end of the room lay a massive shell, taller even than twice Aapo's height, its nose painted with warning runes and the direction lay a colossal breach, hanging open. Though the entire room was at a slant it must be the loading chamber of the Behemoth Cannon, where Macroshells were readied to bring destruction. It was impressive, and well-guarded.
Screaming crew came charging at Damchak, waving heavy spanners and sparking arc-welders. Men and women, but all heavily muscled and with the light of the fanatic in their eyes. These were the most dedicated of the heathens, those who would willingly give their lives to the firing of the weapon. Each shot would batter their bones and concuss brains, stripping years off their lives, but they made the sacrifice willingly. Damchak esteemed their fervour, though it would not save them.
The Umbral Flame ignited his lightning claw and charged to meet them. The first man he gifted a red smile, opening the throat to allow blood to flow from the jugular. The next he disembowelled with a downward swipe, the third he took the hands from and the fourth he pulverised with a closed punch. A fine start but the heathens were many and piled in, smashing and stabbing for all they were worth.
Damchak was beset on all sides, struck head, hip and knee. His armour rang with impacts but he fought on. The enemy were many and his blows few, but each one spelt death. He struck arms from shoulders, removed faces and shattered hips. His knees stove stomachs inwards, causing men to fall vomiting to the floor and a head-butt from his beaked helm drove shards of bone into a braincase. Damchak fought like the strength of Damolos, with the skill of Engar and the ferocity of Sedaxus, he called upon the cunning of Xavaar and the perspicacity of Arkqas. He was wildness incarnate, his blows keen and deadly. He did his forebearers proud, but it made no difference.
More heathens piled in, pouring from side hatches. Damchak was outnumbered by two-score, three, four, five. It was written that a Space Marine was worth a hundred lesser men, and it seemed Damchak was about to test that assertion. Flailing mortals wrapped their arms around his vambraces to slow his arm, yelling women clutched at his boots, giving their lives to trip him. Hands were everywhere, thrashing limbs and stabbing knives. Damchak was drowning in a mound of flesh, crushed by the sheer weight of numbers and the keen sting of frustration bit hard. He had come so far, risked so much, all to be thwarted by mere mortals. It galled him to the pit of his stomach and as he struggled he exhorted, "Bring as many as you desire, it matters not! I shall not be denied my vengeance!"