Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 165
Damchak hit the floor and rolled hard, scattering pieces of broken masonry under his bulk. His shattered shoulder screamed in agony at the violent motion but the swift evasion allowed him to miss being eviscerated by a snarling Chainglaive by the thinnest margin. Damchak dared not stop, continuing to scramble in the dirt before Vorshaan could strike again. He failed; a Midnight boot smashed into his skull, knocking his head hard against the top of his backpack. Damchak saw the infinite gulf of space, swirling darkness everywhere and vague shapes. He expected the end to come then, taking him from the lands of the living into the embrace of infinity, but oddly he did not die. Instead he heard the sounds of fighting.
Damchak blinked his eyes but the smear of grey persisted. It took a long moment to grasp what he was seeing, not a concussion but Tikal's Shadow-path. The young Smoke Jaguar had pounced upon Vorshaan from behind and was engaged in a furious brawl. Damchak could hardly see them, so blurred were they. Tikal's mutation had grown more pronounced, he seemed everywhere and nowhere, multiple images blinking in and out of existence. Damchak could not begin to guess where his Kinsman was at any second, and even Vorshaan seemed troubled. The Dusk Prince spun and hacked at the air, his Chainglaive in constant motion. Crashes of metal and Ceramite told of blows landing but Damchak's eyes could not discern where or when.
He cast his gaze broader, taking in the ruins. Open sky above could be seen through growing gaps, still falling tiles and stones making the rents yawn yet wider. Bodies lay among the ruins, Dark Tusks and Smoke Jaguars, but without a helm Damchak could not tell how many of his Prowl yet drew breath. Plagueberarers flopped on the floor, forms dissolving as their essence was robbed. It was the Arroyo gate, trembling like a branch in a strong wind. It convulsed in torment, the living matter of it spasming out of control. Glimpses of impossible putrefaction could be glanced beyond, but no longer did it pump out filth, instead it sucked all corruption into itself, Chzugral was trying to remain extant by draining the marrow from the bones of its kindred.
Damchak knew not how long it would remain, nor if the corruption would fade or linger forever, but it hardly mattered. The fight was yet raging and Vorshaan was winning, a sudden cry of dismay telling that he had landed a telling blow on Tikal. Damchak braced himself to rise, only to find his shoulder a forest of needle-vines. His armour's pharmacopoeia was pumping pain-balms into his blood but it was hardly making a dent. Damchak needed a few minutes for his bones to knit, but time was not his ally. Teeth gritted, eyes watering in pain and left arm a dead weight, the First lurched to his knees and then stumbled into the fight.
Confusion and illusion greeted him, a swirling mass of shapes and lies. Tikal was an indistinct blur in the air, after images lingering for long seconds. Vorshaan was in motion too, swinging his wings about to scatter ghosts as he lashed wildly in all directions. Damchak had the advantage of knowing where his foe was and yet he swung his claw wide, trying to distract the Dusk Prince even for a moment. Nothing but air, he missed entirely, then a boot to the chest sent him staggering. A cry of pain a moment later and Tikal hit the floor, bleeding from a ragged wound to the chest, clotted blood that writhed with maggots. The corruption of his body almost complete.
Damchak sought to right himself but Vorshaan's fist came out of nowhere, smashing him across the cheek. Bone broke and Damchak staggered, spitting acidic blood. He vaguely waved his claw to buy space but Vorshaan easily wove around it, slamming his Chainglaive laterally to smear Damchak's nose across the face. A following knee to the groin bent him over, then a free hand wrenched him upwards only to meet Vorshaan's helm hurtling into his face. Splintered teeth spilled from Damchak's mouth, his entire body one massive pulse of pain. His body was broken, strength spent and vitality spilled from his hands like water held in the palm. He had nothing to withstand Vorshaan's assault and the Dusk Prince knew it. This was no fight; it was an execution. The Night Lord was killing Damchak slowly, taking him apart piece by piece, dismantling the First one blow at a time. Vorshaan could have killed Damchak at any moment he chose, but elected to prolong the death, revelling in his superiority.
Damchak staggered back as Vorshaan paused to gloat, "How many times must we do this before you grasp that you can't beat me?!"
"I... be..." Damchak wheezed as his lips cut on the jagged remains of his teeth, "A... slow... learner..."
"Killing you is no sport," Vorshaan sneered, "At least your mutant made it challenging."
"If I am to die... I die as a Smoke Jaguar ought... knowing the reason why... tears unspent and greeting death content."
"I'm tempted to let you live and improve somewhat with the passing decades, but you're just not worth it. Your continued existence irks me, time to shut you up for good."
Vorshaan drew back his arm ready to cleave Damchak's skull. The First braced for one last attempt to sink his claws in, but then a fresh cry of challenge arose. From the corner of the eye came a trio of Smoke Jaguars, Nizca leading the way. The survivors of Umbral Flame coming late to the fight but welcome nonetheless. Vorshaan's head turned for a second and Damchak struck, leaping out with his claws extending. The surprise proved anything but, Vorshaan lashed out and struck Damchak on the broken shoulder, sending the First flying sideways, right into the pit left by their arrival.
Damchak soared towards a gulf of darkness, his arc taking him into the night. The fall may not kill him, but he would be out of the fight. Too long to return, his Kinsmen would be slaughtered, and Vorshaan would not hesitate a second time. Damchak faced oblivion but refused to yield, he twisted in the air and stabbed downwards, his claw tips brushing the edge of the pit. Deep furrows were made in the stone, momentum battling against traction, he yearned with all his will to extend his arm knowing that grip was his only chance. The claws carved a deep track, then sank deep, fixing into the flooring on the edge of nothingness. Damchak slammed down painfully, legs and torso dangling over the pit, secured by one arm alone.
Damchak clung on for dear life, legs kicking out at nothing. He had no purchase, no footing, only the drop below. He tried to heave himself out but one arm was insufficient to move his mass. The other arm hung uselessly, unable to shift on his shattered shoulder. Even if he could lift it the broken bones could bear no weight, he was stuck. Damchak could do nothing but watch as his Prowl fought on, battling Vorshaan against the backdrop of the Arroyo gate, which was still straining to exist. Well did his Kinsmen fight, coordinated and fierce but the Dusk Prince made merry sport of them, his weapons tasting blood again and again. A flash of the Chainglaive and a Smoke Jaguar's throat was torn out, leaving the Space Marine to collapse in a shower of blood.
Damchak gritted his teeth and fought to bend his elbow, struggling to pull himself aloft. His claw was fixed but he had no leverage, no way to boost himself upwards. He was trapped and the gall of it all was bitter bile in the back of his mouth. The fight was raging and he could not intervene, this could not be borne and yet he was powerless to change the situation. And then a hand appeared, grabbing his forearm in dappled-grey Ceramite fingers. Tikal, come to aid his First's plight. His feet were set and he heaved hard, dragging Damchak from the pit in one smooth motion. They fell together, sprawled over each other as Damchak sought to get his knees under him.
"First wait!" Tikal yelped.
"I cannot abide while Kinsmen die!" Damchak spat.
"Your death serves no purpose, you have a higher calling!"
"What untruth do you spout?!"
"My doom is certain, but in damnation lies salvation. My destiny is written and yet I crave a boon."
Damchak flushed cold as understanding dawned, "What say you?"
Tikal's reply was brief yet earnest: "Remember me."
Tikal burst into motion, charging headlong into the fray. Damchak was left to flounder, his broken body unable to rise, let alone keep up. Tikal moved with full fury, accelerating hard at Vorshaan. The Dusk Prince saw him coming and made ready, smashing Nizca away as his weapon decapitated another Smoke Jaguar. Tikal let go his Shadow-path, revealed in full glory, his plate smeared with foul corruption but his purpose pure as the first snow of winter. Vorshaan greeted him with hubris unrivalled, setting his Chainglaive low, ready to deflect the incoming strike but Tikal did not oblige.
The Smoke Jaguar scorned his blade entirely, making no attempt to cut the Dusk Prince. Instead he spread his arms wide and tackled Vorshaan about the waist, lifting the cur bodily off the floor. The Night Lord had not expected this and was carried along, his wing flapping and weapon banging uselessly against his back. Frustrated snarls did he spit, only to turn to horror when the truth of Tikal's intent was revealed: the Arroyo gate, fading fast and yet open still.
"No, no!" Vorshaan bellowed as he tried to stop Tikal. It was too late, his boots had no purchase and his wings were trailing behind like a flag. A moment he needed to recover but Tikal gave him no respite. One step, head down and arms wrapped about the waist of his enemy. Two steps, nearing the border between finite and infinity. Three steps, carrying them both over the threshold, plunging the pair into the gardens of Nurgle, outside space and time.
"Tikal!" Damchak cried as the pair left reality behind. He had a brief glimpse of Vorshaan at last breaking free, landing in a fetid mire of living putrefaction. Worms with faces and vines with mouths agape swarmed to greet him, yet the Dusk Prince dealt with his living foe first. One thrust of his Chainglaive to the breast and Tikal's hearts were torn from his chest, adding torrents of polluted blood into the putrid swamps. Death took Tikal, his life given in great service, yet Vorshaan was not dead.
The Dusk Prince turned to jump back through the gate but it was too late. Chzugral had lost the battle to exist, drawn back into the warp from whence it came. The Arroyo gate folded into itself, crushed out of reality by the cruel law of the Materium. Vorshaan's fingertips were a hairsbreadth from touching the threshold when the portal collapsed, slamming shut to deny him passage. The Dusk Prince disappeared from sight, stranded in the Gardens of Nurgle with all the fetid offspring of the Grandfather closing to suck the soul from his bones.
Silence fell in the Senatorial dome as Damchak stared in disbelief. Tikal was gone, the laughing boy he had selected on the Proving Ground would know joy no more. His doom had been certain from the start and his ending proved worthy, but that brought no solace, Tikal was gone and the universe was lesser for it. Damchak mourned, for Tikal and all his Kinsmen, but even in his grief he was not alone.
A crunch of rubble underfoot betrayed Nizca approaching, battered and scored head to toe but still alive, "First, we cannot linger."
"We are the last of Umbral Flame," Damchak breathed from a prone position.
"I have Empex's head, we must be away before the armies outside realise what has happened. To rain orbital fire is the way of Imperium."
"Tikal died and I linger, broken and useless," Damchak lamented keenly.
"Tikal died so Umbral Flame could endure," Nizca argued, "So long as he is remembered his spirit endures. No man is dead whose name is yet spoken, so teaches the Testimony."
"Thus is it written, thus shall it be," Damchak whispered forlornly.
Nizca grabbed him by the good arm and hoisted the First to his feet. Together the last pair of Umbral Flame departed the battlefield, limping away before the heavens fell upon them. Still Damchak cast one last glimpse back to where Tikal had ended his saga and recited, "History was written this day and it will tell he died having never tasted defeat. Tikal passed knowing only victory, failure did not weary him nor fickle fate condemn. May the Stair Abyssal resound forevermore with the name of Tikal the Undefeated."