Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 234
Briskly they were marched from the palace, taken at gunpoint to the arena. It seemed Trusitaan did not believe in waiting and was carried behind the procession on a bier, held aloft on the shoulders of eight automatons. Not a moment was wasted so to the contest they were driven, and one could imagine the ancient Eldar would have employed whips to hurry their prisoners along. There was no need for that now, not with an array of Shuriken rifles pointed at their backs.
Vendrick had been silently fuming throughout, listening as the Smoke Jaguars and Eldar conversed with the dead. He could not hear a word of it, but they reacted as if the automaton did speak. For the first time he considered that maybe there was something occurring beyond his perception. He was no psyker after all, blind to the ways of the Librarians, Eldar prowess in such matters was well-documented, but the implications for the Smoke Jaguars were troubling. But that was a secondary matter compared to the walking blasphemy of Damiel's corpse.
Two steps ahead it strode, a horrifying fusion of human purity and Xenos defilement. Vendrick did not doubt for a moment that Damiel was dead, no man would be walking with a spear of Wraithbone driven into his skull. The static was worse in his Censoria than around other Automatons, a sign of greater ephemeral interference he supposed, but it did nothing to hide the affront wrought in flesh. The cadaver was clearly being puppeteered by some remote force, as the Automatons were. Vendrick's gore rose at the sight. Damiel had been the first successful Censor, the model they all aspired to be like. To see his body defiled by Xenos witchery was an offence to all that was good and noble.
"How can this be?" Dhulak muttered.
"Sorcery," Vendrick grunted.
"You have accepted this world is haunted?"
"Ghosts... hardly. The warp is madness incarnate and it suffuses this planet. I do not deny the raw potency of the Immaterium, but I refuse to believe that invisible spirits are all around us."
Belphian cut in, "I don't know, that looks convincing to me."
"Do not be gullible, not knowing how the trick is done does not make it magic."
"We do fight Daemons," Belphian pointed out.
Vendrick shrugged that off, "Just because something is supernatural is no cause to go around believing in spirituality."
It was then Damiel's head turned, swinging the lone antler around, "Your words grate on my ears Mon-Keigh."
"You can speak?!" Dhulak gasped.
In an echoing tone he said, "I am Hythraal. I hear your bleating in these tin-ears, I see your true form with these glass eyes."
Vitcos gulped, "Our nature you ken?"
"I see all, though my kind are lost to their dreams. I know what you are."
"Then why are we alive?" Belphian pressed.
"The ritual forms must be observed; you have until we reach the arena. Then you die."
Vendrick eyed the walking corpse and asked, "Damiel, how did he die, and where?"
Hythraal sneered, "You think to claim what he sought, your intent is plain. Trusitaan does not see, he can't, he is as doomed as the rest of the dead of Calan Gaeav. Demented, senile long before the Fall, stuck in an eternal loop of suffering, but I see. I alone know we are damned to relive the same day into infinity. Unable to flee, unable to die fully. No new faces, no new ideas, nothing outside the limits of what we already know. What torture it was."
"Until Damiel came," Vendrick accused.
Hythraal's voice dropped into an angry rasp, "He came among us, this upstart primate, bringing his war to our towers. The city rang with the screams of his conflict. I saw the flames and bellows of war and knew something had changed. I chased him, through the high places and the low, a three-way battle unlike any you can imagine. He ended it with a stasis-bomb of all things, how primitive, but I remained to be beaten. Our clash of arms was magnificent, he fought well, I do not deny him that, but I am Hythraal, and at the end it was I who sang the song of victory over his corpse."
"And then stole his bones!" Vendrick snarled.
Hythraal paused, "Our battle had taken us outside of time and space, and in doing so shattered the mirror. I could see the coils of the Cosmic Serpent wrapped around Calan Gaeav, remember all the times I relived the same day. I did not want to go back, but my physical shell was destroyed and my spirit was being pulled inexorably back. I sought a vessel to carry me forth, I failed, but by merging my soulfire with this form I gained a new perspective. Not only am I stronger but I can see the scales of Dromlach. Think how much stronger I will be when I take your bodies for my own."
"Disgusting," Athra sneered.
"You are not Mon-keigh," Hythraal pondered, "But that will not save you."
"Nor will it save you," Athra hissed.
"You sound vexed," Vendrick observed.
"This filthy degenerate has debased the superior nature of our race. Cavorting with primitives and inhabiting a lesser being. It is an insult, to lower oneself to the level of a Mon-Keigh!"
"Finally a sin too great even for you," Belphian snorted.
"Don't insult me, I will tear this wretch apart before allowing this travesty to continue!"
Hythraal didn't seem perturbed as he sniffed, "Fight if you must, it will make no difference. All who face Hythraal in the arena die, the strong and the weak, the fast and the slow, the brave and the coward."
Athra glared in disdain at the debased form of Hythraal and Vendrick noted the condescending mask he affected had slipped. Since the moment they had met Athra had been playing at cool mockery, pretending to be a smug but harmless nuisance. Now his true face was showing, filled with hatred a Black Templar would struggle to match. Something had got under his skin at last, and exposed a potential weakness. Vendrick filed that away for later use.
Their march had brought them to a large building, rising among the towers of Calan Gaeav like a sea urchin. Spiked it was and whorled like a shell, two kilometres wide at least, organic-seeming like the rest of the constructions on this world. They were led into a hole in the side and then stopped dead. Vendrick had imagined an arena like those on Hive worlds he had seen, tiered seats for spectators and a sandy floor below, reality proved entirely different. There was a clear space around the wall and then a tangled mess of knotted tendrils, looping around each other in a crazed confusion of circling paths. Each was more than large enough to walk through, even though they were high above the ground and they all drew together at the centre into a single trunk. It was like a tree's branches, one over two kilometres in diameter, pictured in a single instant during a thrashing storm. Its normal serenity erased in the violence of its motion.
Around the base were a collection of Jetbikes and Vypers, floating an inch off the ground and towards these the party was steered. Vendrick glanced upwards and guessed they would be expected to ride among the branches, compelled to hurtle at breakneck speeds through the tangled warren. For a mortal man it would be impossible, reflexes too slow, disorientation too easy. An Eldar might be able to manage it, but a Space Marine was a question mark. They'd all trained on Land Speeders, so the principle would be no stranger, but this was pushing the limit on what they could manage.
"What manner of challenge is this?" Vitcos asked.
"You ride and you die," Hythraal declared.
"Isn't that ride or die?" Belphian snorted.
Vendrick growled, "He meant what he said."
"Not if I kill you first," Athra hissed.
"How shall the winner be known?" Vitcos pressed.
"To live," Hythraal answered, "Not that you shall."
"At least one of you has wits, I shall kill you first," Hythraal uttered as he strode to a jetbike and drew his Diresword.
Vendrick pulled the Space Marines into a circle and said, "We haven't a chance against him on jetbikes. Use the Vypers, they're bulkier but can take a hit and have Heavy weapons. Pair off, don't try to outrace him, we want a clear shot, not to run into a wall. He'll try to lure you into dead ends, tunnels too narrow to fit through, don't let him lead you. Keep your eyes on a pivot and your Apothex's running. Athra, with me."
Athra blinked, "You wish to ride with me?"
"I don't put it past you to try to slip away in the confusion," Vendrick hissed, "You stick with me."
"Then at least give me a weapon."
"There's no way I'm letting you near a gun. You can drive; your reflexes should be better suited for it anyway."
"You trust me to steer you?" Athra asked mockingly.
"I trust that you don't intend to die by slamming headfirst into a wall."
The Space Marines broke into pairs and headed for the machines. Vendrick worried for a moment that the fit would be too tight for power armour, but they squeezed in. Belphian and Dhulak paired up, as did Vitcos and Tachna, the Vyper bowing low as the Terminator stepped onto the back. Vendrick hopped onto the rear of one machine and found a scatter laser fitted to a stand. Simple enough to use, if the grip was a tad small for his hand. He spread his boots wide and clamped them against the sides of the vehicle, no mag-lock would work on Wraithbone, he'd have to cling on for dear life. Athra slid smoothly into the driver's position and the Vyper awakened at his touch, its anti-gravs purring.
Trusitaan lifted his arms, then some words must have issued forth for Hythraal flashed his blade before his stolen eyes and called out, "By your command Wind King, for the Cosmic Serpent!"
"Flee degenerate," Vendrick snarled, "Death comes for you."
"Death does not look upon Calan Gaeav. You had better pray your last day held a mote of joy, for it must last you an eternity."
Hythraal engaged his grav-motor and the jetbike shot away, curving upwards as he drove among the twisted branches in a perfect display of skill. The Vypers rose slower, struggling with the weight of armoured Space Marines, but they soon gained some momentum. Vendrick gripped the scatter laser tight as they spilt up and moved into the tangled web of pathways. He activated his Apothex and readied for the conflict to come, knowing a single second's hesitation meant the difference between salvation and damnation.