Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 161
"How long?" Von Tor asked grimly.
"At the current expenditure rate we will exhaust Nu Zantium's munition stockpiles in seventy-three hours, twelve minutes and fifty-four point nine seconds," Archmagos Zobatten replied.
"And how long will it take us to reach the Terran's spaceport?"
"One hundred and ninety hours, eighteen minutes and sixteen seconds."
"Barely halfway," Von Tor grimaced, "That is a problem."
In the Senatorial dome of Nu Zantium the new master of Nova Terra was realising his reign may prove rather short. The Nalwood table had been replaced by a tactical Hololith, which displayed the city and its environs. The situation was not good. The Novan regiments had been obliterated, their crushed remains left kilometres behind and in all directions the Terran armies stretched. Nu Zantium itself drove into the midst of that endless horde, guns blazing and shields inviolate. The mobile city had repulsed every attack sent against it, even spirited Titan sorties had been swept aside but the strength of the city was not endless. Every shell fired, every missile launched drained their stockpiles that little bit more and once they were exhausted the Terrans would wash over them.
Frustrated Von Tor cast his gaze about the dome, looking for inspiration. Junior aides and Strategoes dared not meet his eye, bending over chart tables set up hastily or fiddling with vox-sets. They dared not admit they had no bright ideas either, so they focused only on the moment. Kazial lounged at the rear, bolt pistols drawn as a subtle reminder of who was in charge. The dome stank of desperation and fading hope, shaken occasionally by the launch of Doomstrike missiles and firing of Vengeance Cannons from the Imperators flanking the chamber. Von Tor had grown so used to it that he barely registered the noise, ear-splitting as it was.
Finally Von Tor groaned, "We can't turn aside for resupply, can we?"
"Negative," Zobatten replied, "The Terrans will seize the initiative and overwhelm us."
"Then resupply must come to us," Von Tor concluded.
"The loss ratios of such an operation are unacceptably high."
"The loss of Nu Zantium will be worse," Von Tor argued, "If we bring up regiments from across the planet, add air support and spearhead with Titans we can punch through the Terran armies and deliver relief supplies."
Whirring cogitators under that voluminous hood told of calculations ongoing then Zobatten said, "Probabilities of success are low, but they rise into double digits if the Fire Lords can be removed from the equation."
"Then we need Vorshaan," Von Tor sighed, "Someone raise him!"
The aides bent to their vox-sets, trying to raise the Dusk Prince. To Von Tor's surprise they seemed to be having trouble making contact. Frowns became scowls and as hands twiddled with dials and furious whispers passed between them. Von Tor fought the urge to start shouting as confused voices became louder and more senior adjutants waded in. The disturbance spread quickly, more than the effort to contact one person, almost as if a blight of silence was sweeping the city.
Finally Von Tor's patience snapped, "What is happening?!"
Nobody dared look at him but Zobatten declared, "Vox-net is collapsing across the city, spreading from the lower level and working upwards. We are losing contact in a wave."
"How is this possible?!" Von Tor barked, "Someone tell me what's happening!"
"Insufficient data," Zobatten replied.
"Don't give me that, someone answer me!"
"Perhaps I can enlighten you," a deep Transhuman voice replied. Into the dome stepped Empex, along with a squad of Dark Tusks. The towering giants loomed over the room, causing everybody to shrink back. Von Tor was struck by how changed they were from the former loyalists they had portrayed. The pitted marks on their armour appeared rusted and the pinpricks of their eye lens were green flames in hollowed skulls. There was a sense of hunger about them, of famine, a wasting of vitality and leeching of life.
"Why are you here?!" Von Tor barked, "Where is Vorshaan?!"
"His services are no longer required," Empex spoke as his squad spread out to surround the room.
Kazial moved up to the Disquisitor's side as Von Tor eyed the Dark Tusk leader warily, "You supplanted him, and now me?"
Empex sounded amused, "You fear being cast aside, far from it. You, little man, are more important than you could ever dream. You are the lynchpin of destiny."
Zobatten interrupted, "Probability assessments refute your claim. In accordance with Astronomican prophecy the most likely outcome is you plan a coup."
But Empex snorted, "How limited self-deluded your kind is, to think the False Emperor cares enough about any of you to tell you the future. I however am a generous lord. I shall tell you the future: everything dies!"
The Dark Tusks opened fire at his proclamation, bolters banging as they gunned down the aide and adjutants. Men screamed as friends and colleagues burst apart, but their dismay was brief as they too were killed mercilessly. Blood painted the walls, smearing the charts with vitae and the Hololith was obscured by splattered innards. Von Tor's hand went for his sword but Empex smashed him across the face with one hand, knocking the Disquisitor down, as the other swung a flail and demolished Zobatten's head. Kazial lifted his pistols to fire but Empex hissed a single word and the gunslinger froze, unable to even pull his triggers.
In a surprisingly short instant of time the room was cleared, if such a term could be used for the macabre scene of death and dismemberment. Von Tor lay sprawled on the deck, his head throbbing and chest hurting. He fumbled for his pistol as he tried to push himself up with the other only for Ceramite fingers to pluck it from its holster as his sword was taken from him. Two Dark Tusks grabbed him by the biceps and hoisted him aloft, holding his feet off the ground as Empex surveyed the results of his handiwork.
"Kazial…" Von Tor slurred through the purple spots blurring his vision, "Kazial…"
"Your minion cannot hear you," Empex sneered.
"What have you done to him?" Von Tor groaned.
"I have done nothing; it is what you have done that is relevant."
"Me?!"
Empex loomed over him, "You and Vorshaan are more similar than either of you care to admit. You both think you can touch Chaos and that the taint will wash off. Fools, ignorant fools. You have consorted with the Ruinous powers and been ruined in turn. How blind you are, how self-deluded, it is laughable. I am not so limited, I see clear, the only one in this benighted city who can. At least Vorshaan retained enough sense to run away. You however are mine to do with as I will."
Von Tor shook a pained head, "You have been driven mad by Chaos!"
"You say that like you have not," Empex jeered.
"I am not mad!"
"Look at yourself, look what you've done to your flesh and bone. You are rotten inside and out, and yet pretend you are pure. What else can you be but mad?!"
"I am who I have ever been!"
Empex cast about and found a broken shard of glassic on a table and shoved it into Von Tor's face shouting, "Open your eyes and look at yourself!"
The face wavering in the crude mirror was not human. Swollen and jowly, with fluid blisters sticking out at random and scabies growing around the mouth. The hair on top was barely a wisp of grey and the skull was covered with fat veins, pulsing rhythmically in time to a heartbeat. The teeth were rotten yellow stumps in a fat-toad mouth and the eyes were staring pinpricks of madness. Von Tor didn't recognise it, this wasn't his face, it couldn't be but it was. Memory stirred, all those people averting their gazes. He'd thought it was them respecting his authority and power but no, they'd been revolted by his appearance and unable to stand the sickening bile his visage produced.
His eyes fell and he stared down at the body below, seeing for the first time in weeks what he'd become. His limbs were engorged trunks of fatty tissue and his torso swelled around the carapace plate, barely held together. Through a ragged rent in the belly intestines hung out, he remembered a machete opening that wound, he'd thought it was a mere flesh wound, but he'd been wrong. Impact craters across the shoulder where bolt rounds had blown chunks of flesh free, a massive dent over the heart where a Fire Lord's punch had folded the armour inwards. Marks that should have killed him instantly, but had barely registered. It should hurt, he should be in agony, but none of it caused any pain at all.
The scales fell from his eyes and he remembered the Ur-Council defying him in this very room. He'd thought them blinkered fools, rejecting his vision, but the corruption must have been obvious even then. They'd seen a diseased minion of Chaos standing over them, ranting insanely in a froth of delusional self-righteousness, no wonder they'd chosen death over corruption. Throne, if only he had too. Desperately Von Tor looked to Kazial but the gunslinger was dead, he'd been dead for days. The corpse of Kazial stood upright, pistols clutched in cold hands, head lolling slackly and eyes white orbs of calcified gelatine. He'd been killed sometime during the fight to claim Nu Zantium, and just kept on walking and shooting regardless. Empex was right; Von Tor must have gone mad not to see it.
"The truth at last," Empex sneered.
"When… how…" Von Tor gasped as his insanity ebbed away.
"It hardly matters, you invited corruption into your house and it made itself at home."
"Vorshaan… Zobatten… they didn't tell me…"
"The Mechanicus drone probably thought you knew, and Vorshaan doesn't care. So long as you divulged the location of his prize your fate was irrelevant. He may have planned to kill you before leaving this planet, or maybe leaving you to stew in the glorious swamp of putrefaction you bathe in, whichever one he would find more droll. I however am with you, I shall stay to the climax, in fact I wish to introduce you to someone."
Empex clamped his flail to his belt as he drew his hands together. He removed one gauntlet and revealed withered fingers that resembled a desiccated corpse. With his gloved hand he gripped his index finger, then snapped it off, holding it in his palm. Understanding dawned as Von Tor grasped his intent and struggled to break free. It was pointless, the Dark Tusks held him fast, then a gauntlet gripped his jaw, forcing his mouth open with relentless strength.
Empex drew near, the aura of misery wafting off him utterly overpowering. Von Tor felt utter terror clawing at his soul but was helpless to resist as the Dark Tusk shoved his broken finger into the Disquisitor's mouth and then clamped his hand over the nose and lips. Von Tor tried to fight it, tried to spit it out, but he was denied. The hateful thing slid to the back of his throat as if alive, then wriggled down his larynx. Muscles reacted on instinct, swallowing unwillingly and the piece of corrupted flesh slid into his gullet.
Pain, pain as he had not felt in weeks lit in his belly. The Dark Tusks holding him let go and Von Tor fell to the floor, clasping at his enormous gut. Something was inside him, shifting, moving, rearranging organs to make space. He felt his innards seething like a basket of snakes, contorting around themselves and causing him to weep smoking tears as his body was remoulded by another's will. Something inhuman was inside him and he wept to know what was about to occur.
"It hurts," Von Tor gasped.
"A passing phase," Empex sniffed, "Soon you will experience the glory of a transcendent being."
"Chz…" Von Tor gulped, "Chzugral…no…"
"It is done," Empex sneered, "The Daemon needs a host, I had planned to offer Vorshaan, but you are a worthy substitute."
"No… God-Emperor please…" Von Tor cried as he writhed in torment.
"Too late to resort to your faith, you have a new god now and his name is Nurgle. Chzugral will show you this truth, a few hours for the seeds to sprout then its full majesty will bloom within you. A fine Arroyo Gate you will be, and know you will be conscious throughout. The Grandfather wants you to witness everything as he claims Nova Terra and makes a Daemonworld atop the bones of all you hold dear."
Von Tor wanted to spit defiance, he wanted to beg and plead for his life but no words could come out. His guts were no longer his, his voice stolen by an immaterial blight. His body belonged to Chzugral now and his will was reduced to mere spectator as the Daemon poured its essence into him. He could still feel and see all though, oblivion would be too kind, Von Tor was a mere sack of meat to be used and discarded all his dreams and hopes shown to be mere bait on the hook to ensnare his soul. There would be no salvation in death, no God-Emperor on a golden throne to welcome him, only the sharp fangs of hungry Daemons to devour his essence. Still he yearned for it, longing for the comfort of death to take him and wipe him from existence. If only he could die, it would be better than what was about to unfold.