Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 160
"This is a complication," Vorshaan begrudgingly admitted as he gazed at the wrecked gunship.
Empex agreed, "While we were distracted fighting Fire Lords the Smoke Jaguars slipped in through the rear, how like them."
"One transport, two or three squads at most," Vorshaan mused, "Manageable numbers, if we can find them quickly enough."
"That could be a challenge, the Smoke Jaguars excel at passing unseen."
"You Dark Tusks are supposed to be stealthy too, go find their trail!"
"We did."
"And?!" Vorshaan snapped.
"We found seventeen separate tracks," Empex admitted, "I've seen them using a decoy variant of skull-probes in the past, they must have released a crateload into Nu Zantium's guts."
Vorshaan's grip on his Chainglaive tightened in frustration, knowing the situation was becoming untenable. The wrecked gunship lay in a food warehouse, fire-suppressant foam being layered over it by mindless servitors. The gunship was wrecked, wings missing, spine broken, the internal bracing twisted in ways even the Forges of Mars could not undo. It was as dead as a machine could be, yet hack marks around the cockpit and hold showed someone had survived the crash and slipped away. This Vorshaan did not need.
The battle outside Nu Zantium yet raged, Terran regiments dying by the hundred to the mobile cities' guns. Nothing could withstand the moving fortress, and yet there was a finite amount of ammunition it could carry, and scant chance to restock whilst under siege. The armies of Terra stretched all the way back to the distant spaceports, where endless lines of shuttles brought down more troops. Would they run out of bodies before Nu Zantium's guns coughed empty, in any battle of attrition Vorshaan would not bet against Terra. Rogue Smoke Jaguars loose in the warren of tunnels and buildings was a distraction at the worst possible time, especially since the surviving Fire Lords were still out there.
Vorshaan turned to his comrade in arms, "You know the Smoke Jaguars, what is their plan?"
"They'll start gouging our eyes and tongues, then lopping off hands and feet," Empex replied.
"Sedaxus wasn't much of an original thinker," Vorshaan scoffed bitterly.
Empex continued, "But their true objective will be to isolate and remove our leadership. They don't think like Imperial Fists or Ultramarines, they value a quick knife in the dark over dismantling infrastructure or pivotal battles."
Vorshaan opened up a comm channel to his Claw-leaders, "Imperial lapdogs have penetrated the city, spread out and find them. Von Tor is secured in the Senatorial dome, trying to manage the larger battle, assume the curs will be encircling his position. Also watch for signs of them doubling back, just in case they guess I'd be coming to inspect their gunship."
Claws of Night Lords would be spreading out rapidly, covering the most likely routes the Smoke Jaguars would take. The city was a maze, but knowing their objective narrowed it down considerably. Vorshaan would rather have his killers on the walls, but he expected they'd make short work of the intruders. The thin-blooded mongrels wouldn't be a match for true Night Lords, you can't water down the gene-seed that much and not produce an inferior warrior.
While Vorshaan had been directing his Claws Empex moved to the Servitors, peering at the half-dead things with a tilt of his helmed head. The Dusk Prince didn't fail to notice the Dark Tusk's action, but found it strange. The lobotomised slaves were endemic across the galaxy, men and women cut up and impressed to serve on every planet and ship. The Imperium's consumption of human life was endless, even in the heady days of the Great Crusade. It had been baffling how the other Legions could look down on the VIIIth when even the vaunted XIIIth and XVIIIth depended on mutilated slaves to function.
Empex pondered distantly, "There is a faster way."
"Why do I suspect I'm not going to like this?" Vorshaan asked warily.
"I can spread a mycorrhizal network through the city, passing from flesh to flesh like an infestation through a blood stream. The Smoke Jaguars are a foreign body, they would disturb the mycelial network with their mere presence. I would be able to sense them anywhere."
Vorshaan's helm locked on with predatory intensity, "You should not own such power."
"My understanding of the Warp has grown immeasurably," Empex explained.
"Your talent with the Warp is marginal; you have barely begun to paddle the shallowest waves of possibility. Such a feat would require outside assistance... Daemonic aide."
"What of it?!" Empex retorted snappishly.
"You ignored my words! I smell it on you, you have been dabbling with powers you cannot control. I warned you fool!"
"You may fear Chaos, but I do not!" Empex growled, "Your timidity makes me retch! You think you can touch the warp and it will not change you, it is you who are the fool! Chzugral has told me..."
Vorshaan's hand slid down his Chainglaive as he hissed, "Chzugral has been whispering sweet glories into your ear. You witless simpleton, you believed the lies of a Daemon! They will promise you armies to command and magics to wield, legions of adoring minions, anything to get you to do their bidding but they never tell you the price you must pay. Look to the folly of Magnus the Red, the failures of Mortarion, and see what happens to those who accept the gifts of Chaos without question. Chzugral will make a chewtoy of your soul!"
"I don't care!" Empex snarled, "Ten years I hid my true face, ten years of swallowing the upright piety of Bezharad and Q'umarkaj. I will not suffer this straightjacket another day! I pay any price to see this planet wither and die, to watch the galaxy fall apart. You say my sanity is imperilled, when it is already lost. Let Chzugral eat my soul, I will be reborn into new and stranger forms. Nurgle has shown me his great truth: everything decays and everything dies!"
Vorshaan's looked upon Empex and understood he had underestimated the Dark Tusk. Empex was hungry for destruction and too blunt to manipulate. The Dusk Prince had planned to lead him around by the nose for a few years, feeding him morsels of knowledge while getting the Dark Tusks to do Vorshaan's bidding by proxy. Of course, Vorshaan intended to murder Empex before he grew too powerful, lest the Dark Tusk reach the same conclusion, but it seemed patience was not a virtue they shared. Empex had thrown caution to the wind and embraced the gifts of a Daemon, which made him an immediate threat.
Vorshaan's Chainglaive burst into life, roaring as he swept it down in a fast slice. Empex's skull should have been cleaved but the Dark Tusk was already in motion, sweeping his flail upwards to intercept. The two weapons collided and Vorshaan's arm was shaken by the reverberations, like he had struck a wall of Adamantium. He was not discouraged and pivoted on his heel, stabbing underarm with the spiked talon at the end of the haft. It struck Empex in the gut, driving deep but when he withdrew mottled white flakes poured out of the wound, fungal mould where guts and intestines should be.
"Again you underestimate me," Empex chuckled as he began to spin his flail in a figure-eight pattern. Where the flail passed mottled spores hung in the air, spreading rapidly. Vorshaan backpedalled, looking for the effect it caused and was worried to see it was potent indeed. Some spores settled on wooden crates, which instantly began to blacken with mildew. In seconds they collapsed and from the moist debris wriggling maggots with gnashing fangs and hundred-legged bugs began to emerge. The effect on the Servitors was worse, pinkish green veins running from the point of contact as muscles swelled and tissues grew bloated. Dull thuds rang out as implants were rejected from mutating bodies, replaced by dripping tentacles and black tongues that licked the damp air.
"This is not your power to wield!" Vorshaan hissed as he backed away.
"Power is power!" Empex snarled as he advanced, "Chzugral is generous with his gifts, unlike you!"
"The Blight Arroyo exists only to corrupt and destroy; it has no other gifts to give. Whatever it offered will consume you!"
"I embrace my destruction, but yours comes sooner!"
The cloud of spores spilling from Empex's flail was growing perilously near, but Vorshaan had a plan. He set his feet firmly on the ground then drew his wings back. He spread them as wide as he could, then snapped them forward, creating a great wind. The force of it nearly blew him off his feet but the gust scattered the cloud of spores and rocked Empex backwards in a stumble.
Vorshaan bounded forward, lashing high with his weapon. One chance, one small chance. Devotees of Nurgle quickly grew corpulent and putrid, vital organs replaced by semi-sentient plagues and fungi, but they still needed a brain. If he could but separate Empex's head from his shoulders then he could still end this. So Vorshaan attacked with all his strength and speed, imparting all the skills he had learned in four millennia into the blow. It was as fine a strike as the galaxy had seen, one Lucius of the IIIrd or Sigismund of the VIIth would have admired, and yet before contact could be made Empex's hand caught the shaft behind the spinning head, stopping it dead.
Vorshaan blinked in shock, then a twist of the wrist sent him tumbling into a pile of crates. The Dusk Prince rolled over, splintering wood beneath him as he fumbled with his weapon. He had no idea where that unearthly speed had come from, Empex had never displayed such swiftness before, leaving Vorshaan flummoxed. He rolled upright and desperately tried his vox, attempting to summon reinforcements, only to find no response on any channel.
"No aid for you," Empex chuckled, "Your little band of murderers are busy dying, my Dark Tusks had their positions marked."
"You planned to betray me all along," Vorshaan accused.
"As did you, but I foresaw your schemes, the wheels turning in your head," Empex sneered.
"You cannot have known my thoughts... unless... Gods Below... Dolt! You let Chzugral's essence into your flesh?!"
Empex's bleak merriment overflowed, "Just a drop, the tiniest morsel to enervate my gifts. I didn't ignore all your warnings, Chzugral remains confined to the Warp, though his true majesty beats against the walls of reality. He needs a proper vessel, a host that will allow him access. Your body will serve, yes, Vorshaan the mighty Dusk Prince will make a fine Arroyo Gate. Nurgle thanks you for your sacrifice. Prepare to die knowing that this planet will become a new Deamonworld thanks to you."
Vorshaan was alone, facing a rival infused with the power of Daemon, armed only with a chainweapon. Warp magics crackled in the air and the fabric of the city was infected with impossibility, the unholy processes in motion could not be stopped. He had faced worse odds, but not willingly and never without a back-up plan. To fight Empex like this was a sure way to die, so he chose the favoured option of the Night Lords when overmatched, and elected to run away.
As Empex attacked he beat his wings and shot upwards, evading the spinning flail by the narrowest margin. No roof to smash through this time, he could only curve over and drive for a narrow door at a high level. He didn't even bother to land before smashing through, tucking in his wings to become a flying cannonball. He tumbled into a thin corridor, barely wide enough for his bulk even when turned sideways, then he was on his feet and scurrying away as fast as his awkward pose would allow. Vorshaan's plans had come undone so fast even he struggled to comprehend it. His schemes unravelled by waiting too long to remove a threat, he wouldn't make that mistake twice he swore, but for today he need to concentrate on survival.
Behind Empex watched the Dusk Prince flee and was vexed. He'd planned to make Vorshaan into a Daemonhost and watch the bloated ego deflate, but it hardly mattered. All things died, so Empex had been taught, sooner or later Vorshaan would be found and his torments would be eternal. In the meantime Empex contented himself watching the fungal spores multiplying and spreading into the fabric of Nu Zantium. Too long had he been forced to hide under a false face, too long had this war been fought under the wrong banners. Terran, Novan, none of that had ever truly mattered. There was always and only Immaterium against Materium, False Emperor against the Dark Gods, and it was a war that Chaos was destined to win.