Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 132
"You could have supported me," Von Tor grumbled as he leaned back in a leather chair.
Disquisitor Leyra sounded unapologetic as she remarked, "Nothing personal."
"It felt personal," Von Tor snapped back, "Reminding everyone of my origin was a low blow."
"I saw a weakness and exploited it," Leyra dismissed, "Don't pretend you wouldn't have done otherwise. We both know you've been looking for dirt on me for years."
Von Tor glared irately as he eyed his counterpart. They met in Leyra's apartment, a modest affair in the structure of Nu Zantium. The mobile citadel was not overly blessed with space and lacked much of the grand, soaring architecture one associates with a functioning capital. Typically, the Ur-Council favoured visiting cultural sites across the planet in sequence, sampling the best of what others had to offer. Leyra's quarters were average as a result, with high-backed chairs and a large wooden desk with whirring cogitator stacks. Various pictures hung on the wall, not friends and family but images of her most famous investigations, with small plaques underneath noting when, where and how she'd disposed of them. Von Tor beheld the abode of an elderly matron, lingering over memories of better times, but knew it was a carefully crafted facade, which is why the Amasec she'd poured him sat undrunk on a low table. He didn't trust Leyra enough to accept a drink from her hand.
Her twin Vigilants stood in one corner, while Kazial lounged in a chair in the other, seemingly flicking through a pamphlet on the inevitable triumph of Nova Terra, but never blocking his eyeline or encumbering his pistols. Von Tor knew he heard every word, despite the air of boredom he affected.
Leyra shifted he bulk in her seat, "Archmagos Zobatten musters his Titans for war."
"They won't make any difference," Von Tor sighed.
"Defeatist talk from you Jethro?"
"Realism," Von Tor countered, "If the Moirae Schismatic's Titans could win alone, they would have already. It simple numbers, the Terrans have more."
"They wouldn't if you'd secured Tellaris for us."
"That wasn't my fault," Von Tor shrugged.
Leyra snorted in derision, "We needed those tanks, for our wars. Losing the biggest producer of Super-heavies outside Mars was the first pebble in an avalanche. Since then our strength has withered, while Terra's grows. The end is upon us, it's just a question of how long it takes."
Von Tor shook his head in disagreement, "We can match the Terrans in almost every way, but it is the Space Marines who tip the balance. If we can eliminate them then we could drive the invaders off our planet. One large victory can rally the other planets to rise up against the Terrans. They only went over to the Crusaders because they saw which way the wind was blowing."
Leyra smiled coldly, "Just the small matter of eliminating the Astartes."
"It can be done, if we explore more extreme options," Von Tor argued, "The Eversor clade can match them man for man, Vindicares can pick off their leaders, Callidus can get close enough to sink the knife in. Let loose the Assassins, put us on an even playing field with the Terrans. We can still win."
Leyra was not convinced, "It's too late, the Ur-Council will never sign off on it, not until the hour is past. It's time to accept the inevitable and start thinking about contingencies. I... have a ship secreted in the outer system, and an evacuation corridor through the orbital defences that the Terrans haven't closed yet."
"You mean to relocate the Ur-Council," Von Tor blinked, "Start again elsewhere?"
"No," Leyra refuted, "Just me, I have embezzled enough wealth to live as a queen on some backwater planet. You're a talented man Von Tor, I could use your skills in building a new life."
Von Tor's jaw fell in shock at the offer, "Abandon Nova Terra?!"
"The war's all but over, we lost," Leyra shrugged.
"No," Von Tor hissed, "I refuse to accept it. We can't lose, the High Lords can't be allowed to win. We have our issues but it's nothing compared to the festering cesspit Holy Terra has become. All thought, all vision, has been soured from their minds. If Terra wins then the galaxy devolves into mindless stagnation, nothing but dusty Adepta reenacting orders that stopped making sense millennia ago and teeming masses of peasants unable to think for themselves. I won't let that happen, I can't."
Leyra's face fell, "You won't leave Nova Terra?"
"I can't, I won't," Von Tor asserted.
"Then it seems we are at an impasse."
"Indeed..."
Suddenly both Disquisitors were moving, Von Tor throwing himself backwards in the chair as Leyra ripped a stub gun out of a hidden pocket and let rip. Von Tor felt a bullet pass over his head as the chair slammed down and he rolled out of the way. A moment later Leyra's boot came crashing down, splintering the chair into kindling, her Augmetics even more ferocious than he'd believed. Von Tor caught a glimpse of the Vigilants swinging their spears to bear, but a flurry of bolt rounds caught their thick plate in the heart. Kazial's draw was terrifyingly fast, but his ammo was more remarkable. Banestrike rounds, archeotech of rare quality, fashioned one at a time by a magos Von Tor had gone to extreme lengths to recruit. Enhanced propellants to increase penetration, denser explosive cores to fracture armour and a secondary tip to punch even deeper, Banestrike rounds were specifically designed to overpower Ceramite and with a concentrated burst Kazial took down the first Vigilant.
Von Tor was still rolling but heard the other Vigilant charging, swinging the spear for his acolyte. No time to watch, for another stub round slammed into the floor behind his skull. No room to recover, no exit that wasn't a bullet trap, the only option was to seek cover. Von Tor threw himself behind the heavy desk, even as another bullet slammed into the wood. The Disquisitor drew his Xenoslock pistol, trying to guess which way Leyra would come, but his rival chose to go straight through the middle.
A hand grabbed one edge of the table and flipped it away, augmented strength effortlessly tumbling bulky cogitators to the floor. Von Tor skidded backwards on his rear in shock, but his hand brought up his weapon and pulled the trigger. A purple ray struck Leyra over the heart, but when it dwindled to nothing it left only tattered clothing and a smoking blemish over a metallic chest. A second beam produced no greater results and a third was no better. Von Tor was astonished, he knew Leyra was augmented, but not to this degree. He dropped his useless pistol and began fumbling with his rings.
Leyra grinned, "Displacer not working? Oh yes, I know about that little trick, and have blocked it."
"Clever," Von Tor gulped as he fidgeted desperately.
"I was genuine in my offer, but then I suppose you'd have betrayed me later anyway. Better to kill you now."
"You're wrong," Von Tor retorted.
Leyra raised her gun, the barrel looming, "You don't think I'd buy that you're capable of loyalty."
"Not about that," Von Tor uttered, "You're wrong about this ring being a Displacer!"
The ring he was fiddling with was digi-grav weapon, and at his touch it unleashed a microscopic black hole. Space contorted, the whole room leaned dangerously inwards and suddenly Leyra was skidding backwards. Her boots squealed as she was dragged away, bits of splintered wood and torn furnishings flying past her towards the nexus point. Even the air seemed to implode, sucked towards the grav-field as an instant wind sprang up. Anything that contacted that point would cease to exist, but the digi-weapon's power cell was tiny, and the effect proved short-lived. Leyra was still a metre from death when the gravity faded, leaving her standing in the middle of the room unharmed.
The Disquisitor grinned as she levelled her stub gun, "Any more tricks?"
Von Tor spread his hands, "Nothing that would work on you."
"Shame, you are a worthy opponent, I'd almost be tempted to let you live, but you know my plans and I can't leave witnesses."
"It's a shame you won't consider better options," Von Tor sighed, "I can still use you."
"Your options are to die quick or die slow!"
"There it is again, your blindness. All that power and wealth and you can't see the obvious when it's right in front of your nose."
"What are you talking about?!" Leyra frowned.
"There were five of us in this room at the start, now there's three..."
A flurry of bolt rounds struck Leyra in the back, penetrating the reinforced skin to punch into her lower half. Banestrike rounds could breach Ceramite, they could certainly overpower cybernetic implants. Explosive detonations ripped Leyra's lower half to shreds and she collapsed with a shriek, dropping her gun as blood and oil gushed from the gaping ruin of her abdomen. Beyond Kazial was revealed, holding an empty pistol as he fished about in a pocket for a fresh clip.
"Took you long enough," Von Tor grumbled as he got to his feet.
"I was busy dealing with the other Vigilant," the acolyte retorted.
"I suppose you were," Von Tor allowed as he brushed debris off his coat, "Remind me to give you a raise."
"Just for that I'll finish her off for you," Kazial offered as he pointed the gun at her head.
"No, I have a use for her," Von Tor dismissed.
Leyra lay oozing on the carpet, her mouth working like a beached fish as she struggled to stay alive. Eyes distant, lifeblood pouring out, Von Tor had to work fast. The Disquisitor knelt and dipped his fingers in the oily-blood, then began drawing a circle around her. Tainted vitae, poor quality stuff for his purposes, but it would have to do. He hurriedly drew twisted symbols at ninety degrees to each other, then began daubing more icons onto Leyra' face and body.
"We really doing this boss?" Kazial asked nervously as he backed up.
"We're out of options," Von Tor grimaced as he worked fast.
"Here... Heresy..." Leyra gasped.
"Necessity," Von Tor replied as he marked her eyes with blood.
"Damn... you..."
"I'm afraid we're long past that point," Von Tor sighed, "All conventional means have failed, it's time to consider more extreme measures."
The Disquisitor finished the hasty circle and rocked back on his heels. He was no master of arcane lore, but one did not survive service in the Inquisition and Disquistion without learning a few things. What he was attempting would have been denounced by the most grasping Radical, but as he said, he was out of options. He drew in a breath and recited, "Filius noctis venator. Qui media nocte incedit. Te voco. Venite ad me vesperum principem et nostrum foedus signamus!"
The room shivered as a strange sense of weight settled upon the air. Von Tor remained kneeling as the symbols of blood shone, then evaporated, becoming a cloud of vermillion vapour. It writhed in the air, then drew together, becoming a suggestion of shape and shadow. A giant figure with arms broad as his chest and clawed feet, wickedly sharp. A chest of smoke and a skull of shadow, with hints of a monstrous visage obscured by the enteral shimmer. A staff was clutched in one swollen hand, vicious and spiked, and the suggestion of wings moved behind, fluttering with every breath. The image was only half-formed, a suggestion of presence as opposed to a true imposition upon reality, but then the sacrifice's quality was poor.
The creature of mist and shadow hissed, "Long have I awaited, are you ready to pledge to me?"
Von Tor faced the apparition, "I pledge to noone, but I am willing to bargain."
"Bargains are for equals," the ghost hissed, "And you are not my equal."
"Do not play games with me!" Von Tor barked, "You know what I offer, you know what I need!"
"Death," a sibilant voice hissed, "The deaths of loyal Space Marines. A mighty boon you crave, for scant reward."
Von Tor gestured at the dying Leyra, "My sacrifice passes, accept my terms or do not. but be quick either way."
The shadow seemed amused and shifted, becoming clearer, "As I said when we spoke last, I can be flexible. The bargain is intriguing, but it must be sealed in person. Come to me, in the City of Whispers and we shall talk further."
"You're already on the planet?" Von Tor blinked.
"Let us say I expected your call," the shadow chuckled, "I am in place already, the board is set, the players about to take their marks."
"You will do it then, wage war upon the Adeptus Astartes?"
The shadow suddenly condensed, revealing details of dark-hued armour and spiked edges to vambrace and greaves. The staff became a Chainglaive and the emblem of the winged skull was displayed upon a breastplate large as a table. The helm became a leering mask, framed by bat-wings that were swept back aerodynamically and the pinions over the shoulders were revealed to be mutated membranes stretched between skeletal fingers, shimmering with warp light. He was terror incarnate, the fears of men made real and Vorshaan the Dusk Prince, Champion of the Night Lords Traitor Legion laughed, "War?! This is not war, this is sport!"