Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 148
It began with a glint of light in the night sky, flaring fireflies moving in the firmament of heaven. Against the aching brilliance of raging fires they barely existed, but they soon grew into mighty lamps, plummeting earthwards in trails of smoke. Retrorockets fired to brake their fall but swiftly they fell, smacking the sodden ground like the hands of gods striking down the heathen. Thunder rolled and burning buildings collapsed into themselves, but the calamity had barely begun. Ramps slammed down like opening petals, revealing the packed interior. There were no Space Marines, no ranks of towering Transhumans, only stacked ranks of missile launchers and gleaming assault cannons.
The Deathstorm pods let slip their wroth, inundating the repair base with rockets and bullets. Simple Machine Spirits aimed for anything nearby, heedless of creed or colour. Krak missiles smote buildings, sending them tumbling into themselves to crush anyone within. Assault cannons swept right and left, chewing up bodies with bites of bullets. A Chimera repair vestibule exploded as its fuel stores cooked off, blowing the roof a hundred metres across the base. A Shrine of the Omnnissiah in humanoid form was blown apart by missile impacts, basic Servitors brains unable to distinguish inanimate statue from living foe. A knot of Enginseers who'd miraculously escaped the attention of the Chaos Marines were condemned as assault cannons ripped through their number, cutting them apart with torrents of hot lead. The Traitors were surely discommoded by the assault, but many of the Sun-Emperor's Serviles were culled too. It mattered not, vengeance called and the Smoke Jaguar's blood burned hot.
Damchak looked upon the devastation and was pleased. The Shadowhawk had brought the Smoke Jaguars in on the heels of the Deathstorm assault, landing as the last missiles exploded. As Shadow Chieftain he was first down the ramp, with Umbral Flame close behind. To his left Argent Talon Prowl emerged, to the right Excubant Eagle Prowl advanced. They were but a small part of the counter-attack, for other Smoke Jaguars were alighting gunships across the base. Every last Kinsmen on Nova Terra, including two of the Living-dead, all heeding the call of vengeance.
Q'umarkaj's voice carried over the vox, "Seek the heart-foe in the heat of inequity! Bring them to me, beaters to the huntsman!"
Damchak echoed, "Spread out and drive inwards, force the Traitors to the Shade-lord. As they sow so shall they reap!"
Argent Talon and Excubant Eagle split off, heading to encircle the perimeter. Damchak led his Prowl straight forward, pressing into the base. They had alighted at the edge of the perimeter, throwing a ring of Ceramite about the base, whereas the Shade-lord and his most vaunted comrades had taken the centre. The Traitors would be herded inward by vengeful Smoke Jaguars, only to find Living-Dead, Seers and Terminators awaiting them. None would escape.
Damchak could see they were on the Traitor's heels. Despite the devastation of their arrival older damage was still evident. Here trampled Razorwire showed where Traitor Rhinos had surged over the fences, there blood splatters showed where bolters had blown apart defence posts. Scattered body parts showed the grizzly work of Chainswords and skinned bodies hanging from high windows spoke of torturous endings. That last one was a signature, someone who would pause during a fight to enact pain and terror, Night Lords were here.
"The Traitors await," Damchak hissed.
"And yet they are kin to our hearts," Tikal lamented.
"We share not the soul of the Devil-sons!" Damchak spat.
"And yet we kill Serviles of the Throne as readily as they," Tikal bemoaned.
"The setting sun and the rising dawn seem similar, but what follows is beyond compare."
"The end justifies the means," Tikal breathed, "How hollow those words ring."
There was no use arguing with him. Sable Brand had him in its grip and he was lost to despair. Over the last few days his lucidity had waxed and waned, at times able to converse if morosely, at others whispering to the walls and listening to ghosts only he could see. There was nothing to be done for the cursed soul, the Genewrights and Seers had no answers. Tikal would recover in time, or he would not, the tides of destiny were not for the Smoke Jaguars to question.
"The shades of death stir!" Nizca hissed.
Damchak flexed his claw and drew his Obsidian Blade point-down as he snapped, "So it begins."
"Our path steers through a briar-thorn," Nizca warned.
"Devil-sons," Damchak uttered, "No wait... what... what enigma unfolds?"
"The breath of Gods most foul," Nizca growled.
Ahead of Umbral Flame motion swirled between the leaning remains of a crane and the charred ruin of a comm-station. Stumbling shapes, lurching on bloodied feet, legs staggering as if knees were locked solid. Mortals, coming to greet the Astartes with arms outstretched. Damchak would have taken them for survivors, save for the fact they were all dead. Gaping holes had been blown through chests, necks hung by threads and faces had been shattered, revealing dripping brains behind. They had no trace of natural life, instead tiny white threads of Cordyceps wriggled in hollow eye sockets and from gashes in arms, fungal growths puppeteering the corpses into an unholy parody of life.
"Smite the unclean!" Damchak spat as he brought his claw about in a vicious sweep. The blazing talons met the first undead and opened the chest cavity. Damchak expected a waterfall of blood and organs, and a swift collapse of the enemy, but the organs had been consumed by fungal growth and the stick-figure man did not fall. It surged forward, trying to wrap its arms around Damchak and tackle him to the ground. A meagre threat, but there were many of them and only a few of Umbral Flame.
"They are ensorcelled!" Nizca yelled as a shade grabbed at his Meltagun.
"Beat them back!" Damchak snarled.
"The arrow misses its mark!"
"Heed the example of Bezharad, fight as the sons of Sigismund!"
Damchak matched deeds to words, swinging his claw about in a brutal strike. The long talons caught a shambling horror by the shoulder and carved diagonally down, shearing the vile thing into chunks. He used his Obsidian Blade's edge to hack off an arm, scorning the point to cleave as the rudest butcher. Unlovely were his blows, lacking in precision but where prudence had failed sheer brute force proved superior.
Umbral Flame set to, chopping at the tottering things. No heart thrust could fell the foe but dismembering strikes ripped them into chunks, coating the ground with wriggling fungal growths. Damchak flung himself into the fray, slashing and mangling shuffling undead. Inspired by his charge Umbral Flame did follow, carving wasted bodies apart. Blade and fist and boots made a grey smear of the massed foe, but none of them compared to Tikal. The beset youth flung himself into the centre of them, heedless of danger. He struck with wild abandon, uncaring for his own life, reaping a fell tally as he sought their ending. He was swift and deadly, the arrow sprung from the bow, beautiful but in his fervour he was left over-extended. A dozen ungainly undead he unmade, but his rear was threatened as they closed about him. Damchak saw the danger and threw himself towards Tikal's back, cleaving apart any who made it past the youth's blade. Tikal to the fore, Damchak to the rear, together they smote a trail of destruction through the horde, leaving nothing but ruin.
"They are no match for us!" Nizca cried.
"Leave no trace to threaten!" Damchak called.
"First!" Zyenya called from behind.
"Be swifter! You fall behind!"
"The tanglethorn has me!"
Damchak spun on his heel and saw a vista of ruin behind, pieces of dismembered Guardsmen strewn everywhere. Umbral Flame was carving apart the last of them, but Zyenya was caught against a wall. No, he was caught by the wall. His arm had brushed the stonework and wriggling white tendrils had erupted from the surface, ensnaring his limb. He pulled against it, but even Astartes strength was meaningless against solid stone, and impossibly the wall seemed to be swelling around his limb.
"Cut him free!" Damchak yelled as he leapt to intervene. Obsidian Blades were applied to the wispy things, severing many but they grew back impossibly fast. More of them, more, dragging Zyenya's arm up to the elbow in solid rock. Damchak scored his talons over the surface, but left only grooves in Ferrocrete, unable to free his Kinsman. Chaos had him, the tainted filth of the Warp had polluted not only flesh but stone too, perhaps even the ground they walked on.
"Stand clear!" Nizca yelled as he levelled his Meltagun. It had to be done and Damchak's autosenses blanked out as the fusion beam spat microwave energy into the union of stone and Ceramite. Bright whiteness covered Damchak's eyes but when sight returned the wall had liquefied, molten stone running free as Zyenya's arm was vaporised below the elbow. The Cordyceps reached for him but the Smoke Jaguar staggered back, clutching his blade in his remaining hand. He was free but the danger only multiplied.
All around buildings groaned as their walls began to heave and crack, swelling impossibly from within. Fungal growths pushed out of rent Ferrocrete, reaching for Umbral Flame like beggars pleading for alms. Damchak was aghast at how far the corruption had spread, and how fast. It had made this base a palace of Chaos in mere hours, how the world beyond could survive he could not answer.
He backed up as he voxed, "Shade-lord, the lord of decay has tainted this soil!"
Q'umarkaj voxed back, "Be bold, be brave!"
"We must gather our strength before we are picked off!"
"I have sighted the quarry and will not be stymied! May the Dark Tusks beware!"
"We are in the snare!"
"Vengeance calls and I answer!"
Q'umarkaj was blinded by vengeance, his furious spirit given entirely to revenge. Damchak was on his own. He cast about, seeing rapacious growth pressing in from all directions, save one. A single building stood inviolate, a Machine Shrine of considerable girth. Holy ground, consecrated to the Omnissiah, perhaps that aura of sanctity held the rot at bay, perhaps it was merely the last fane to fall. Either way it represented safety.
"To the shrine!" Damchak yelled.
The others turned for the shelter but Tikal snarled, "My death will not wait!"
"You will run!" Damchak snapped.
"My song is sung, let it end and be done!"
"You will heed me, or I will knock you out and carry you as a babe in arms!"
Tikal's helm lingered on the closing threat but he obeyed. Reluctantly but surely, following his First towards the shrine. Damchak was glad he didn't have to enact his threat, he didn't know if he could best one touched by Sable Brand but thankfully it was not necessary. Together they followed Umbral Flame into the shrine, leaving the world beyond to the rapacious taint of Nurgle. White veins spread across the ground, making a fungal carpet that covered the dead in furry blooms of mushroom blooms. Ugly beyond words, fecund and vile, the spirit of pollution given free rein to corrupt the world.
The Shrine's entrance proved inviolate, denying the spread of white tendrils. Damchak sagged among bulky machine arms and heavy conveyor belts, thankful for whatever holiness protected this place. Heavy chains hung from on high, and from the darkness of the roof dripped sacred oils, anointing the ground continually. The simple solid shapes of tools and winches were a blessed relief from the horror outside.
"We must abscond," Nizca implored.
"Flee before the hunt-kill is claimed?!"
"This land is tainted," Nizca argued, "Unto the very ground we walk on. Cleansing fire must we call down, lest the rot claims this world entire."
"The Dark Tusks and Night Lords yet breathe!" Damchak snapped.
"We shall not be breathing long," Tikal interrupted.
Damchak turned to snap at his morose Kinsman, only to see what had caught his eye. Among the blessed machines movement stirred, insidious and evil. Piston cranes turned to face the Smoke Jaguars like sleeping lionids awakening, and chains writhed like snakes hanging from branches. Tools slithered about to point jagged drillbits their way and conveyor belts rumbled in challenge. White tendrils entangle in the gears and circuits, moving the devices like living things, metal no more proof against their corruption than flesh. This was no holy ground, Damchak belatedly realised as his hearts turned to ice, it was a trap and they'd blundered straight in.
A wet blob of oil smacked onto his helm and Damchak frowned as he realised it wasn't oil. He reached up a finger and gathered a drop to examine closely, then his breath froze as he understood what was falling from the roof. Blood, rich vitae torn straight from the vein. It was raining blood inside the shrine. Slowly his head rose to the rafters and that was when a dozen Night Lords fell from the darkness, hissing, "We have come for you!"