Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 135
The clashing of Transhuman violence sounded over the hills, Smoke Jaguars and Night Lords laying into each other with the fury of the ages. Ceramite rang like bells and bellows of hatred carried far. Serrated skinning knives and Obsidian Blades stabbed deep, becoming slick with blood and the ground was soaked with vitae. Among the trees courage and fortitude were tested to the limit, however Damchak remained still.
The First looked upon his enemy and beheld atrocity. The Night Lord oozed lethality, his every line etched with murder. The gauntlets holding the Chainglaive were stained by the blood of millions and the boots that crunched pine needles underfoot were overlaid with clawed talons. His wings hung high, shimmering with Warp power, but among the trees they would be less effective. The weak sunlight rippled off his plates like oil on water, not like the Shadow-path in its' subtly but more a declaration of presence. Vorshaan wore terror proudly, he wanted to be seen, he wanted to be known. He wielded fear like a weapon, but that was a battle Damchak knew well.
"Traitor," Damchak growled as he circled right.
"Lapdog," Vorshaan scoffed as he matched the move step for step.
"You should flee," Damchak hissed, "Else your reign of terror ends with the setting of the sun."
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Vorshaan sneered.
Damchak flexed his claw, "I have faced devil-sons on many worlds and slain them all. I bring the judgement of the Sun-Emperor to the faithless and the craven. None whom face me live to tell the tale. The name Damchak brings fear to the scions of the skull throne and principalities of excess alike. Look upon me and see the mantle of dread I own, flee or you shall know terror before your ending."
Vorshaan actually chuckled as he spun his Chainglaive hand over hand, "Boy, you may have dabbled in the basics of terrorization, but I was forged in the fires of Heresy. I fought through the Legionary Wars and witnessed the Lion cross swords with his degenerate brother Kurze. I have lived through horrors you cannot imagine and bested nightmares that would blast your sanity to ashes. I have walked upon Daemon worlds and traded blows with the greater emanations of Chaos itself. I was born of fear, undone by fear and raised again to unholy glory by fear."
Damchak didn't wait for him to finish. The First threw himself forward, a cry of feral rage on his lips, slashing for the centre mass with his claw. The energised talons would smash through the haft of the Chainglaive with ease and tear out this cur's hearts. Vorshaan however was no longer there. The Dusk Princes' wings snapped wide and down and he was propelled upwards. Damchak's blow cleaved nothing but air and then a boot slammed into the back of his helm, sending him staggering. He felt danger in his spine and hurled himself forward, hitting the ground with his pauldron and rolling over. He rose in a fountain of pine needles, whipping about to rise on one knee, only to find a roaring chain weapon coming at his face.
Damchak whipped his knife upwards and managed to deflect the edge over his helm, but the whirring teeth ground across his ear like a rasp. Before he could recover the other end of the Chainglaive came about, slashing upwards to bring a vicious spike to bear. Damchak was thrown backwards with a jagged crack ripped through the broad front of his breastplate, his hearts left aching at the nearness of death. He sprawled in the dust and then the sole of a boot caught his faceplate, snapping his head back.
Damchak saw stars before his eyes and knew the moment of his end had come. Yet no final blow landed. He shook his head to clear his eyes and beheld Vorshaan backing off, Chainglaive held nestled in the crook of an elbow like a lance. The Traitor could have won but chose to stay the killing blow. It was not mercy, Damchak knew that much, the Dusk Prince was taunting him, mocking him with his inferiority. Vorshaan was supremely confident of victory, so much so that he dared to toy with his prey. Damchak would make the scum pay for his arrogance.
The First got his feet under him and threw himself upwards, slashing with Obsidian Blade and claw. Vorshaan couldn't block both and chose to counter the greater threat, using the long reach of his weapon to knock Damchak's elbow aside. The claw missed but the blackened knife ripped over the side of Vorshaan's torso, tearing in and out in a spray of polluted blood. Damchak felt the rush of triumph but the fight was far from over. He spun about and lashed out with his claw, forcing Vorshaan back a step, then cut low with his left, aiming for the belly. The Dusk Prince was forced to retreat, hemmed in by the trees and unable to dodge. Damchak grinned as he saw his moment, and unlike this arrogant cur he would not waste it. He drove forward, knife and claw slashing constantly. He was fierce, he was indomitable, fury drove his hands and murder was in his hearts, but he was also being played with.
Vorshaan knocked the claw aside with a lateral block, then suddenly his spiked fist let go and backhanded Damchak across the face. A spike caught the right eye lens and glassic shattered, leaving him blind to one side. Instantly Vorshaan was on the attack, driving the Smoke Jaguar backwards, his chainglaive everywhere, slashing in a flurry of vicious spite. Damchak felt his armour sundered at the elbow, the hip, the thigh, the belly and the greave. Vorshaan was taking him apart one piece at a time, his superiority evident in every move. Then he got serious.
Damchak felt the Chainglaive penetrate his flank and vicious pain sank fangs deep into his nerves. Another lashing blow let blood flow from his pectoral and a third tore over his thigh, sending him staggering. Blinded in one eye Damchak could only marvel at the beauty of the Dusk Prince's attack. Four thousand years of war had honed his skill to a peak of deadliness, the Devil-son's speed remarkable and precision absolute. He moved through the fight with grace and élan, poetry in motion, the macabre traits of his armour only adding to the dark majesty of his skill. Damchak staggered into a tree, his guard dropping, only for the spiked end of the Chainglaive to punch under his right pauldron, pinning him to the bark. He smashed the length of his Obsidian Blade against the haft, but the Adamantium was proof even against Transonic weaponry. The First was pinned, and Vorshaan could end him at any moment.
"Pathetic," Vorshaan sneered, "You blunder about like an oaf. I have faced Orks with more skill than you."
"Where did you learn such fierce skill?!" Damchak gasped.
"I have fought every day against the worst the galaxy and the warp have to offer. You would have to wage war for a thousand years just to present some small sport. You lack perseverance, resolve and the sheer grit to attempt such a feat. A shame, the Raven Guard of old were tenacity incarnate, even in defeat. Corvus Corax would weep to see how thin his bloodline has become."
Damchak could not reach far enough to touch the Dusk Prince and could only snarl, "The Sons of Sedaxus shall avenge me!"
Vorshaan paused then, "Sedaxus… the Moritat… What's that he got to do with anything?"
Damchak blinked in confusion, "The founder of our blood, his name is ours to bear, his spirit is with us."
Voshaan's head twitched as he took in Damchak's Chapter emblem, a feline skull in profile. The Dusk Princes' grip slackened a hair as he snorted, "Sedaxus… Smoke Jaguars… oh he didn't, that churlish, grouchy, loner only went and made himself a Chapter. I thought he died on Istvaan V. And you… don't know… do you, you don't know what he was?! This is a jest, tis a cosmic joke of epic proportions! By all the Gods Below, this is rich! Oh, it's just too damned good!"
Vorshaan's grip loosened and Damchak's arm was freed. Not enough to break contact, but enough for him to lift his claw and trigger the underslung flamer. An inferno of black fire was unleashed, coating the ground in umbral flames. Vorshaan snarled in outrage but was forced to break off and fallback, lest he be bathed in fire. Damchak's arm was screaming in pain but he ignored the feeble impulse as he swept his hand back and forth, gushing fire in a wide arc. He set a dusky conflagration among the trees, emptying his tank entirely, making a wall of flame between him and the traitor. Vorshaan was forced to beat his wings and fly from the blaze, gifting Damchak a second of respite.
"The day is lost, be as the wind!" Damchak roared into the vox as he turned and ran from the fight.
"We are engaged!" Nizca protested.
"We are outmatched," Damchak barked as he pounded from the copse, "Deathmakers, They Who Thunder, Umbral Flame, remember the seventh Axiom!"
"But…"
Damchak would not be argued with, "The avalanche has begun, it is too late for the pebbles to vote!"
Across the slope Smoke Jaguars broke from the Night Lords, beating a retreat from their traitorous cousins. Four of They Who Thunder remained, six noble Kinsmen murdered. Damchak's hearts ached at the sight but he noted only two Night Lords lay dead. The Smoke Jaguars had been well ambushed, but would not die for stubborn pride. As the Ravenlord had taught, attack, retreat, attack again, thus it was written, thus shall it be.
One Smoke Jaguar did not fallback, Tikal. The young brave was harrying a Night Lord corpse, smashing his Obsidian Blade into a ruined chest over and over. The traitor was dead but Tikal would not leave him be, hacking in a furious onslaught. Though his wounds ached and blood painted his legs Damchak veered off, grabbing at Tikal's shoulder. The young fool tried to shake him off, continuing his butchery but Damchak forced him upright then smacked his fist across the helm. That seemed to wake Tikal up from his stupor and he staggered after, legs shaking and arms trembling as the newborn babe.
Damchak had no time to ponder this strange miasma, focused solely on running. Across the hills they fled, chased by random bolt shells. The ground was too open to trust to the Shadow-path alone, but the steep slopes above would let them disappear. Nizca paused at the foot of a sharp incline and set loose a Magpyr skull, sending it veering off in another direction. Packed with misleading technology it would simulate a Prowl on the move, fooling auspex and audio-thief alike. It would draw any pursuer away, leaving the Smoke Jaguars free to truly disappear. The field belonged to the Night Lords, but the Smoke Jaguars would return, this was sure as the rising of the sun.
Far behind Vorshaan landed with a brisk jog, watching the shrinking dots of the Smoke Jaguars as they ran. The Dusk Prince wasn't overly bothered by their withdrawal, though he'd have liked to reap a few more lives before they were sent scurrying. Still he was amused by the discovery he made, rare were the days when he got to experience genuine mirth. Sedaxus' gets still fought for the False Emperor, a farce worthy of the God of Change.
One of his Night Lords approached and growled, "They got away."
"Good, good," Vorshaan sniffed as he planted the spike of his weapon in the dirt, "Chase them for a few kilometres to make it look real, then let them slip away."
"We could have gunned them all down the second they turned their backs."
"I gave you specific orders not to," Vorshaan dismissed.
"I obey, but I don't understand."
Vorshaan grinned under his helm, "I deliberately let them see us, so they could carry warnings to their brethren. Alarms will be raised, voices shall cry out for vengeance, forces will gather and armies will muster. Outrage will spread amongst them and their campaign will shift in ways that suit my needs. No longer do the loyalist lapdogs control the narrative of this war, I do. First we mastered the eyes… now we control the tongue."