Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 127
Dusktide
12th B'ak'tun, year 301, season of Q'umarkaj
It began with Nova bombs, flaring in the void of space like newborn suns. Gravitic impellors flung engorged plasma charges at near-luminal speeds, gifting the stars with light, heat, electromagnetism and all the energies of the universe. Many they were, firing in sequence to deny the coming of the blackest night with a wall of purest light. Across the vectors detonations blossomed, furious in their intensity, desperate in their ardour. No sane spacefarer would dare to cross that blazing wall of fire, but the Terran host was steered by faith alone. From the outer dark came hundreds of ships, bearing armies vast beyond counting. Troopships by the dozen packed with Frater Templars, Titan conveyors, dowdy assault barques and mass-landers. In endless succession they approached, but they did not lead the attack, that honour fell to the mightiest of warships.
The cruiser Suspiria Lex was the first to test the fury of the Nova bombs. She lasted two minutes, shields failing, the templum spires on her spine melting off, reactors haemorrhaging as she rolled over in death. Incardine Imperator lasted a few minutes longer, until she too succumbed. Other ships were no less brave, but they too suffered, unable to withstand the furious barrage, so it fell to the Astartes to lead the way. Into the hellfire stormed the mighty Battlebarge Argent Faith, her prow emblazoned with the crest of the Black Templars. At her side was the Fire Lord Battlebarge Absolutio Ignis, her hull so new that she had yet to earn a single scar. Other ships followed, lesser but no less proud, strike cruisers by the dozen, hulls bearing icons of the Black Templars, Fire Lords, Dark Tusks, and Smoke Jaguars.
The armada of Nova Terra stood defiant, ships equal in number and no less proud. Venerable names such as Flail of Retribution, Invictrix and Liberatorii Veritas. Battleships that had stood against the Xenos of the Halo Zone for centuries and not succumbed, now stood to the defence of their home. They were accompanied by cruisers and frigates of many stripes, guns ready and torpedoes loaded and yet none of them compared to the Battlemoon. A captured asteroid, wrapped in Adamantium and void shields. Vaster than a Ramilies Starfort, proof against any foe imaginable. Its Nova Cannons thundered ceaselessly, and soon the less-potent but massed weapons would taste blood. A thousand years had the Battlemoon withstood all who dared challenge the Ur-Council and surely it would do so again today. With confidence the Novans awaited the Terran invasion fleet, sure their weapons would sweep aside this foolhardy impudence, little realising they had already been invaded.
At the most secure heart of the moon Damchak picked his way with the greatest care, moving hand over hand through girder-strewn spaces. The First of Umbral Flame was the suggestion of a ghost, his bulky armour no more than a vague blur in the shadows of the high roof. His left hand gripped metal tight as he inched forward but his right was a large claw, with an underslung flamer. No man could hope to pass unnoticed, but so deep was he within his Shadow-path that none of the hurrying officers below were aware of his presence.
His target was a vast pair of reinforced doors, thicker than a man is tall. Many of the hurrying officers were dashing through those doors and yet the keen-eyed guards missed nothing. Augmented figures in red robes, the fearsome Skitarii of the Moriae Schismatics, scanning every individual that passed with swollen eyelenses and auspex. Damchak knew little of the internal politics of Nova Terra, only that they stood united against the Golden Throne. All must give fealty to the Sun-Emperor, so spoke the Living-Dead of the Smoke Jaguars, to deny Him was a sin unforgivable, and the Testimony proclaimed the wages of sin were death.
Damchak froze as a vibration ran through the girder he was crawling along. Nova Cannons, shaking the Battlemoon with the violence of their discharge. Somewhere out there leal sons of Terra were dying, but Damchak dared not rush. His goal was singular and depended on passing those doors before the guards could close the path. Sadly it was not to be. The vibration disturbed something and one of the Skitarii looked up, eyelens seeking the source of the anomaly. The Shadow-path was a gift of Corax, but it was not perfect and Damchak knew the sands of time had run out.
The First was in motion before the Skitarii could sound alarum. Instantly he dropped, a genhanced warrior of the Adeptus Astartes appearing from nowhere, along with nine of his Kinsmen. Before his boots hit the floor his flamer was triggered, sweeping the crowd below with umbral flames. Heads and shoulders were set alight, screams arose and bodies collapsed, clearing room for him to land. Two steps had he taken before those nearby realised he was there, the Novans finally understanding they were under attack from within.
Damchak cared nothing for their plight only that they were in his way. The crowd tried to part but too slowly, so he resolved to take matters into his own hands. Head down, arms pumping, he tore for the door, driving bodily through the crowd. An Astartes weighed as much as a Sentinel walker, and moved with the speed of a ground cab. Anyone he ploughed into fell as a bag of broken bones, femurs, hips and skulls shattering under his ungentle touch. Screams became high-pitched and laced with agony, as the smells of blood and piss filtered through his rebreather. Damchak felt the breaking of bodies against his frontage but did not pause, leaving a trail of woe and tears in his wake as he charged for the doors.
The Skitarii ahead raised their rifles and were jerking to and fro, seeking a clear shot through the panicking crowd, then some unseen command passed through them and they started firing anyway. Galvanic shots and electro-arcs ripped through blood and bone, decimating Novans but the Smoke Jaguars were not given pause. A flurry of incoming fire tore their way and still Umbral Flame pressed on. A Galvanic round slammed into Damchak's breast, cratering his Ceramite, but he only redoubled his efforts, smashing aside a reeling woman to engage with the Skitarii.
His claw came about in an almighty sweep but he was surprised to find a rifle raised to parry, catching his arm at the wrist. His energised claws twitched millimetres from a metal skull, singing the robe cover but doing no damage. He pulled back and punched with a closed hand only to find the foe pivoting aside, then a fist slammed into the crater on his chest, cracking the plate further. Understanding dawned, not just Skitarii, but a Praetorian, the best of the metal-men's armies. A true challenge at last.
Damchak moved as the wind, lashing out with his claw in a flurry of slashes. The Praetorian matched him move for move, hissing a Binaric warcry. The rifle swung like a quarterstaff, but the end was tipped with a power bayonet, forcing Damchak to be wary. A blur in the eye saw a slash rip into his vambrace, another cut his hip and a third tasted blood through a crack in his breastplate. Damchak was impressed, this foe was fast and skilled, a worthy foe but yet mortal.
Damchak feinted with his claw then slammed bodily forward. His mass still eclipsed the foe tenfold and the force of the impact made the Praetorian stagger. Instantly Damchak brought his arm up, tips of the claw catching the Skitarii in the groin. One slash and the Praetorian was opened like a hanging grox-carcass, guts and innards spilling from a ruptured torso to puddle upon the floor. The most nightmarish of visages, but barely worth remembering to Damchak.
The First spun about, seeing his Kinsmen engaged. Umbral Flame fought well, Obsidian Blades making short work of the lesser Skitarii. Zyenya was grappling with a foe, arm wrapped about the neck. One heave saw the head come free, spraying blood and oil everywhere. Cualli was more direct, punching his Blade through a metal breastplate to rip out a tangle of wiring that could have passed for a heart. Nizca chose a less flamboyant attack, merely pointing his Meltagun at a defiant red-clad figure and torching them into a puddle of gore.
Skitarii fell before the Prowl but none of them matched young Tikal. The newest member of Umbral Flame fought three Skitarii at once, his Obsidian Blade a streak of black light. They thrust at him with power-bayonets but he was everywhere and nowhere, moving with grace and surety, his form so fleet even Damchak had trouble following his moves. The Shadow-path sometimes threw up odd mutations and Tikal's outline blurred, making his attacks impossible to predict. He slithered through combat as the emerald viper, movements hypnotic and leaving the foe dumbfounded. When the end came Damchak almost missed it, one, two, three slices and Tikal's foes lay dead.
"My blood sings!" Tikal cried in the language of Copan as he brandished his blade.
"Waste not your breath on sallow boasts," Nizca grunted as he checked all the Skitarii were dead.
"The doddering old man beholds the glory of the dawning sun no longer!"
"Youthful tongues breed a lifetime of regret," Nizca retorted.
"A reflection cracked!" taunted Tikal.
Damchak spat, "Hollow words are as the weeping of the condemned man, the executioner's axe yet falls!" While the Smoke Jaguars did battle the great doors had begun to swing closed and Damchak hastily led his Prowl through before they slammed shut, sealing them within. Beyond lay a great auditorium, a command arena of the highest mark, filled with metal-men, Novan officers and Servitors. Everywhere arose staked rows of consoles, whirring logic engines and clouds of incense from flaming bowls to appease the Machine spirits. A great Hololithic above portrayed the orbital battle but Damchak ignored it all.
"Zyenya, Nizca, your tasks are known, the rest make a great slaughter," Damchak ordered. Screams arose on all sides as death was unleashed but the First made for the centre of the room. Here sat a man in resplendent attire, his breast heavy with medals. His skull was bored through by many neural-links and closed eyes twitched as he directed the battle beyond. Here was Umbral Flame's prey, Lord Admiral Gymeon, supreme commander of the fleets of Nova Terra.
Damchak's left hand gripped the cables and gave a tug, awakening the man from his trance, "Who's there? You… you how did you get in here?!"
Damchak growled in Gothic over the sharp screaming of the crew, "We have come for you."
Gymeon tried to rise but was bound to his chair by many linkages, "No, it can't be. You can't be here. They said it would take fifty years for any invasion fleet to break our lines!"
"Thus it is written," Damchak hissed, "Thus you shall order your Kinsmen to flee."
"What?!" Gymeon gulped, "Never!"
Damchak placed his left hand over Gymeon's right wrist and with the tip of his right claw sliced off the little finger, "Tell your fleet to abandon the battle, order your men to forsake their posts and flee for the nine vectors."
Another slice took the ring finger, "I want your final words to resound with pusillanimity. I want your legacy to echo throughout history as craven."
Another slice took the middle finger, "I want children down the ages to laugh at the legend of the white-livered Admiral, whose spine broke like a reed."
Another slice claimed the index finger, "I want the name Gymeon to be commutable with cowardice."
He took the thumb, "I want your shade to never know peace."
Gymeon's eyes were filled with tears of sorrow and pain, "But why?!"
Damchak's lip curled under his helm, "You forget the dead of Chasquit IX, the billions you slaughtered, your own men, torched when the war was lost! The Novans fought well, they earned dignity in defeat but you unleashed Exterminatus rather than see the planet fall to Terra. Your men cried out for evacuation and you reigned fire upon their heads!"
Damchak reached for the other hand but Gymeon's courage was broken, "I had no choice, the Disquisition made me do it…"
"Give the order or suffer my wrath!" Damchak snarled.
"It… it is given…" Gymeon wept.
A glance at the Hololith revealed it was true. The Novan fleet was breaking formation and boosting out-system. Hundreds of warships breaking away from each other, fleeing in a disorganised rabble. They did not understand why, but they had been ordered to flee, even as the Terran fleet crossed into weapons range. Lances and macrocannon shells chased the fleeing Novans but it was unneeded, this was no retreat, it was a rout.
"One foe is broken," Damchak breathed, "Now another must fall."
Zyenya called out, "The Data Djinn the Techwrights gifted us is in place, the thrusters are ours!"
"Begin the final sanction," Damchak ordered, "Nizca?"
"The song Binaric rings loud in the heavens."
Gymeon gasped, "What have you done?!"
Damchak didn't answer eyes looking into the Hololith. In the hanging projection the Battlemoon's orbit was shifting, pulled out of true by flaring thrusters. Vectors shifted, courses changed and the weapon platform's orbit began to decay. Slowly at first but inexorably, putting it on a course to crash into the surface of Nova Terra. It would land in the Causes mountains, home to vast anti-invasion batteries and underground Manufactorums, its impact would shatter bastions that could have withstood an invasion force for a half-century.
"No!" Gymeon gasped, "No, you can't!"
"It is done," Damchak uttered cruelly.
Gymeon screwed up his eyes, "Stop it! Stop it!"
"No respite for the betrayer," Damchak sneered, "No salve for the spirit is deserved by he who burns his own kin. You shall watch the end come, whether you will it or not."
Damchak gripped the man's head in a vice and then with the most gentle of motions used his clawtip to remove the Admiral's eyelids. Gymeon was left unable to look away from the Hololith, unable to rise from his chair without the help of his aides and Enginseers. He would be forced to sit and watch as the Battlemoon fell from the sky, hours away but already past the point of no return. The man who had called down fire upon his own troops would die plummeting from the heavens. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Damchak left the Admiral to his fate as he moved to regroup with Umbral Flame. Nizca hastily welded the doors shut with a beam of meltafire, then joined them. A beacon squatted upon the floor, singing a siren song into the ether. Damchak took one last look about the bridge and nodded at a deed well done, then the flaring light of Teleportation swept them up and Umbral Flame was gone. The first blow of the invasion had been struck, but it would not be the last.