Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 155

The launch bay of Domolos' Wroth was a flurry of activity, with Serviles tending the machines and vitals of war with due diligence. That their masters were indisposed mattered not, the work was never-ending and so they toiled. The noise was considerable, the smells of grease and sweat potent and yet they sang ancient chanties, in the lyric tongue of Copan, describing a rhythm to which their hands moved. The meaning of the songs had been lost to the ages, and yet they sang regardless.

Damchak heard the tunes and his hearts twanged with sorrow. This would be the final time he heard such refrains, for he did not intend to return from this hunt. The path was set and his feet must walk it, the geas allowed no other course. And yet he lingered, savouring the last morsels of experience, saying goodbye to the world of the living while bathed in music. It was as noteworthy an end as he could wish for, a worthy sidebar to the saga of his death.

"Make your feet lighter!" Tikal spat at the Serviles tending their gunship, "The sands of time run dry!" The mortals nodded, hastening their efforts to ready Sable Pinion. The Shadowhawk steamed on the hanger deck, its stealth baffles and heat diffusers being checked over and over to ensure they were perfect. The pilots were absent, dismissed by Damchak, he would fly the gunship himself and desired no more lives be spent in the hunt than required.

"Waste no time on missiles," Damchak ordered, "They shall not serve."

"We may have to fight our way through," Tikal argued.

"If we are seen then the hunt has failed, to pass as a whisper in the night is our sole chance."

"Tenfold a hundred are the eyes of the enemy," Tikal refuted.

"To see is not to understand, we shall slip by their guard while they are distracted."

"The Fire Lords shall trample the grass for us?"

"Tis what they are good for," Damchak affirmed.

Tikal's pale face lowered in acceptance. The young Smoke Jaguar was armoured, but his health was failing. The black eyes of the Sable Brand had flecks of green and the skin around his gorget was starting to blister. That he stood was a miracle, but such blessings were no relief. Time was the enemy now, as deadly as flesh and blood foes. Tikal's doom was written, and the rot was spreading. Damchak accepted his death but Tikal yearned for his, before the bile and bone of his body turned against him and transfigured him into a monster.

Damchak lowered his voice, "The pain abates?"

"Yes," Tikal breathed.

"That is good."

"No," Tikal refuted, "Ebbing pain no longer hides the whispers. The visions of black feathers are coated in grime and putrefaction, the sands of Istvaan becomes a swamp and the Raven's cry is drowned out by the laughter of thirsting gods. Voices in my ear, promising respite and rejuvenation, if I bow to the whims of Dark gods and receive blessings of corpulent virility."

"Your will is firm?" Damchak asked worriedly.

"Tikal is dying but not dead yet. I am trothed to greet death as the Marine I am. Better to die pure than live as Abomination. Thus is it written, thus shall it be."

Damchak was heartened by his young Kinsman's resolve and was sure he would make a good account of himself. But the hour grew late and the time for departure neared. He spied his Prowlmates closing across the landing bay. Six of them remained, led by Nizca. Umbral Flame was coming to farewell their First, it was fitting and Damchak looked sadly upon them, searing the sight into his memory.

"The hour grows close," Nizca proclaimed.

"Jorrim makes his attack?" Damchak asked.

"Our augurs tell of a vast army charging across the plains, hellbent on Nu Zantium. Within the day the city will be besieged, wreathed in flame and sorrow."

Damchak nodded, "Mil-Arder is ever predictable. He hears the rustling of grass and leaps out of cover, brandishing his spear, before even looking to see what prey has passed his nose."

"To our advantage," Nizca pointed out.

Intercepted vox-transmission betrayed that the Novan leadership had been deposed, replaced by some cur called Von Tor. Rumours spoke of the Devil-sons standing at his side, walking brazenly the streets of the mobile capital. Jorrim had responded as one would expect, pulling vast forces off the front lines to launch a massive spearhead at Nu Zantium itself. To one who followed the Codex it was too good a chance to miss, to decapitate the enemy's command structure in one stroke and end the war. The Testimony was less exuberant, prey rarely exposed itself unless it was baiting a trap, but still where the Devil-sons Vorshaan and Empex lingered, Damchak must go.

"Speak to me of your plan," Nizca urged, "Twice you have crossed blades with Vorshaan and escaped only by fickle fortune."

Damchak smiled without warmth, "May your heart be lightened to know that I intend not to bleed him with my claws. Nu Zantium is mighty and powerful, but in its towering majesty beats a weak heart. The power of the sun, caged and bound, to unleash it is our goal."

"The plasma-reactors," Nizca mused, "You two shall infiltrate the heart of the city and break it wide open. The Devil-sons will be burned from the galaxy forevermore, and you with them but you stray from the wisdom of the Seers. The Testimony teaches that the perfect war is won with a single shot."

Damchak scowled, "The Testimony holds many truths, but they are not fit for this day. I set aside restraint and embrace my darkest aspect. With purifying fire shall we destroy the Devil-sons, and if millions must die to see it done, so mote it be."

Tikal sighed longingly, "Light so bright the Sun-Emperor will see it from his throne of gold."

Damchak faced his Kinsmen, "When Jorrim leads his Fire Lords against the heathen's walls we shall depart, slipping past the rear while their eyes are drawn to the fore. The odds of our setting foot in Nu Zantium are slim, and if we do then we shall not return. My geas compels me, but as First I must ensure the legacy Umbral Flame endures. Therefore take my claw and vouchsafe its return to the halls of Copan. I dream that you Nizca will be First after me, but whomsoever is voted leader shall bear this weapon as a sacred trust."

Nizca lowered his eyes to the claw for a moment, then lifted them saying, "Alas that I cannot, for we are bound to accompany you."

Damchak blinked in surprise, "This is the path of the Moritat, for the lone stalker, not the Prowl entire!"

But Nizca refused, "We have trothed to you, First of Umbral Flame, we shall not be turned away. Where Damchak strides, we shall follow: into fire, into darkness, into death!"

Six hands slapped their bolters in unison, as their right boots hit the deck in thunderous agreement. Damchak was stunned, he had not meant for his Prowl to come with him. He would not have it, his life was his to give, and Tikal's doom was certain. The rest could yet live on, their hunt-kills glorious and their legacies long. There was no returning from this hunt, and no glory to be had in dying to see it done.

Damchak squared up to Nizca, "The name of Umbral Flame is ancient and esteemed. It must endure, you must make certain it endures. Stay Nizca, rise to glory and be counted among the mighty."

But Nizca was unmoved, "What worth is the name of cowardice?! The First goes into the den of the beast, while his Kinsmen cower at the door. Umbral Flame will be disgraced for ten generations."

"There is no shame in living as the dead fade," Damchak argued.

"Trothed in blood and murder are we, a bond none can set aside. We stand with you, Kinsmen to the bitter end."

"The name of Umbral Flame will be no more!"

"Then it ends in ways most fitting. Mayhaps some future Smoke Jaguar will take up the name, or it shall be remembered with awe for ten B'ak'tun, either fate is welcome."

Damchak was incensed at this defiance, "Why do you set your feet upon quicksand?!"

Nizca set his chin, "You think vengeance is yours alone to claim? Caulli and Zyenya were our Prowlmates too. Our spirits yearn for justice upon their killers, our hearts burn with the clarion call of vengeance unsated. The Ravenlord speaks to us, his cries commanding the universal scales be balanced. The Dark One stirs, his madness seething in our souls, unceasing until our blades taste blood. We Smoke Jaguars are creatures of twin souls and both demand the Devil-sons be made to weep."

Damchak was struck by the fire in his tone, the unrelenting zeal but he whispered, "I would not have you die for my sake."

But Nizca's will was adamant, "When your blood-brother Abizial was murdered you moved heaven and earth to see his killers brought low. Did you think we were blind to those events? We saw the stony path you would walk to give your Kinsman's spirit rest, and were moved by it. Now death comes for you, and we can do no less than thou did. Do you think your life means so little to us that we would forsake you in your hour of greatest need? This shall not come to pass; we are Kinsmen to the bitter end. This is the finest truth of the Testimony: the troth we honour to our final breath."

Damchak's hearts were touched by his sentiment and he had never been prouder of his Kinsmen. They stared into the face of death and did not flinch, standing shoulder to shoulder even when obliteration fell upon them. No finer Smoke Jaguars had there ever been, no worthier Space Marines had Damchak known. He was blessed to know such unflagging loyalty. He could not deny them, for better or for worse Umbral Flame was one.

Damchak sighed, "Your towering spirits could eclipse a sun. I count my manhood cheap that I thought to send you away. I am humbled to die in the company of the most worthy."

Tikal said, "We shall walk into hell together."

"And may the wrights of the underverse hide their faces, for our arrival shall sound into the deepest pits," Nizca affirmed.

Damchak smiled despite the bleak fate that awaited them. The Smoke Jaguars would enter hell side by side and make the price of their deaths steep indeed. May the devil-sons know fear, for this time there would be no escape. To death and glory eternal Umbral Flame would march, and none would stay their wroth.