Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 237
Vendrick met the first blow with a block from his maul. The second he deflected with his vambrace and the third he let screech off his pauldron. The Automaton was good, he'd give it that much. Fast and skilled, even for a mindless construct it fought with a lifetime of experience. The Censor hadn't expected it to be so fast or so skilled but he was still better.
Vendrick drove the head of his maul into its midriff and the neural-shredder within flayed whatever passed for control wiring. The automaton staggered, arms quivering, and Vendrick struck again, smashing the centre mass with a blunt blow. A third time he attacked, this time going for the head. His maul met the ovoid shape of its cranium and shattered it to pieces. Shards of Wraithbone fell to the ground as its form toppled over, killing it for good this time.
Vendrick spun about and saw his comrades fully engaged. Belphian was grappling with a pair of automatons, fighting with furious energy as his Apothex burned hot. He was teetering on the edge of collapse but there was no chance for respite. Dhulak was walking backwards, letting off short bursts from his Heavy Bolter. It took numerous hits to bring down a single construct but his ammunition was limited, he was conserving rounds as best he could while trying to hold the enemy at bay, keeping them from being overrun.
A construct got past Belphian's guard and sent him stumbling with a punch to the back. Vendrick was already on the move, hand reaching for his bolt pistol. He paused the instinct, the chronoflux rounds were unstable as they were deadly. The aura effect might catch Belphian too, that was unacceptable. Instead Vendrick drew back his arm and hurled it forward, sending his maul flying. The heavy head hurtled across the distance and slammed into the offending automaton, sending it backwards to the ground in a sparking mess. The other swung to meet him but Vendrick crashed into it, driving his fist for the head. Censor enhancements had lent him density and speed and his knuckles punched through raw material, ending up deep within its skull. The construct jerked once, then went limp, falling to the floor in a lifeless heap.
"Get up!" Vendrick snapped as he ran to retrieve his maul.
"Can't breathe," Belphian gasped as he struggled to stand.
"Your Apothex is overloading," Vendrick cursed.
"Drained… no energy…"
"On your feet Space Marine!"
"Can't…"
"I knew it, Ferrus Manus was soft, emotional and weak… so too are his sons."
"Frak You!" Belphian cried as he swayed upright.
"Better," Vendrick agreed, "Dhulak?!"
"I'm down to fifty percent ammo!"
"Warp Hells… fallback now!"
The Censors set off, racing from the onslaught of enemies. Belphian swayed like a drunkard but he was moving, that had to be enough. The trio were running along a skyway, trying to keep ahead of the endless tide of automatons that kept appearing. They'd fought and demolished a dozen since their crash landing, but more kept coming. Since their flight from the arena the pressure had been non-stop, as if the whole city was turned against them. They'd been forced to retreat, how Vendrick's gore rose at the mere thought, but there was no other choice. They ran or they died, there was no third option.
Curse the Smoke Jaguars, curse Athra J'rect, and their combined treachery. They could have won in the arena if they'd worked as a team but instead the cowards had fled for their lives, leaving far greater Censor's to die. Vendrick would punish them for their craven hearts, as soon as he got back to Lazar he'd urge the Ordo Astartes to eradicate the Smoke Jaguars. They'd been offered a chance at greatness and failed utterly, they deserved to be wiped out. The Censors alone wouldn't be enough, they'd have to call in support. The Red Hunters would oblige, and he'd heard the Fire Lords had a blood-feud with the Chapter. They would excise the yellow-hearted deviants from the galaxy, but first he had to live.
Ahead the skyway curved left, passing across the towers of another abandoned palace. It was in a terrible state, the towers leaning against each other and the walls pitted with age. No random chance was that, not in this place, it must have been allowed to fall into disrepair long before the fall of the Eldar. Some political faction, fallen foul of the machinations of ruthless rivals, he supposed.
"Head for that ruin!" Vendrick called.
"Making a last stand?!" Dhulak queried.
"We can't lose them in the open, we can get lost in the interior and disengage."
"Nice plan," Dhulak agreed.
"Don't applaud cowardice, it is necessary we break contact and move on!"
The Censors hurried on, hearing the pounding of automated feet echoing behind. They were barely ahead of their pursuers and time was against them. Vendrick urged them on, the gate to the palace was open and inviting and yet it was not to be. A shadow passed overhead then a shape fell from the sky. Dropping from a jetbike came the abomination Hythraal, the medley of Astartes corpse and Wraithbone spurs unmistakable. He slammed into the skyway directly ahead, knees bending with the impact but not buckling. He straightened up and faced them, diresword in hand, blocking their escape.
"Mon-keigh filth!" Hytrhaal growled.
"Frak," Dhulak spat.
"Face me and die!" Hythraal yelled as he prepared to pounce.
"I accept the challenge!" Vendrick called.
"You what?!" Belphian gasped.
"Get to the palace, complete the mission, while I distract him," Vendrick ordered.
"You challenge me to single-combat?!" Hythraal probed.
"If you have honour enough to meet me in kind," Vendrick replied as the automatons behind slowed to a standstill.
"By Asuryan, it is done!" Hythraal decreed.
Vendrick stepped left as Dhulak and Belphian circled right, aiming for the open gates of the palace. The following Automatons had formed a wall behind, waiting to see what happened. Vendrick ignored them, focusing on his opponent. Hythraal drew back one foot and kept his blade low, giving nothing away. The disgusting nature of the foe filled Vendrick with hatred, but he dared not underestimate this foe. He'd displayed fantastic speed already and doubtless his skill was immense. His weakness was the Wraithbone spurs, the means by which this corpse was being controlled. Vendrick's Censoria picked up increased static around the joints, betraying a control signal of some form. Smash them and the Censor could break the means by which the body was being steered, easier said than done.
Hythraal's attack came out of nowhere. In an instant he was coming, swordpoint spearing for Vendrick's hearts. The Censor twisted aside as fast as he was able but still the Diresword drew a line over his breast, Diceramite parting like ripped parchment. Vendrick flung his arm wide, hoping for a hit to the back but Hythraal was past already, the maul's head missing by a wide margin. Vendrick was overextended, then felt a line of fire across his flank as the accursed fiend flew past again. For all his bulk he moved with the speed of the damnable Eldar, losing nothing of their sheer velocity. The third blow was surely already in motion.
Vendrick ducked instinctively and heard the Diresword whistle over his head. A momentary chance and he took it, kicking backwards and feeling his heel make contact with something. A shattering sound, a sense of heaviness behind and he knew his one chance had come. He activated his Apothex, even on the lowest setting the raw sensation ground on his nerves, but he needed more speed. So he endured the pain and rose to his feet. Hythraal was leaning back, his weight off-balance. Vendrick pounced, bringing his maul in an overhead swing. Even disorientated the foe was fast, his Diresword rose and deflected the killing stoke before it made contact. Vendrick didn't let up, coming at him again, with a blow to the hip. Again it was deflected but he didn't give up. A morsel more potency in the Apothex and he went for the hip, slipping past the foe's guard to land a blow. The impact shook the enemy and forced him back a step and Vendrick exulted, but his reprieve was short-lived.
"I cast the ironhand of Vaul!" Hythraal cried and his sword shimmered with static. Vendrick tried to block the strike but the force of the impact was as the collision of planets. The force of it tore his maul from his grip and sent it spinning over the threshold of the palace gates. Vendrick was unarmed and Hythraal came at him again crying, "I cast the thorned vines of Isha!" Crackling energy wreathed his sword and Vendrick could do nothing save dodge. A near-miss swung by but even so leaping bands of energy leapt from the sword and earthed in his body. Sharp agony consumed him, tearing at muscles and sinew, gnawing on his bones and bladder. It was all-encompassing and he staggered back with his hands shaking.
"Witchery," Vendrick spat, "Emperor curse you!"
"Your Emperor is a fool, damned as the rest of your primitive kind!"
"Dishonourable Eldar scum, afraid of a fair fight!"
Hythraal put his diresword into a high position for the final strike but said, "Psychic power is part of our nature, as integral to us as the stench of sweat and greasy hair is to you."
"Anything goes then?" Vendrick hissed.
"You understand that at least," Hythraal agreed.
"In that case," Vendrick snarled, "I cast fist!"
The Censor spiked his Apothex one last time and threw himself at the foe. Hythraal was caught off guard and his counter-strike sailed over a shoulder without making contact. Vendrick slammed bodily into the cur and his fists flew. He struck wildly and without care, hammering at plate and joint with furious torrents of strikes. No thought of where he hit, no time to plan, there was only savagery and hate, unleashing his ire in a whirlwind of blows. He hammered at the reeling champion, smashing fists and knees into the hardened surface of his armour. Head, chest, hip, belly, head, heart, groin, head, belly, his arms blurring as he struck over and over. He couldn't pause, a moment of respite would spell his doom, so he struck with everything he had, he'd batter his fists down to the wrists before he let up.
"Get off me you savage!" Hythraal snarled as he reeled back.
"Relentless!" Vendrick bellowed as his fists flew, "Relentless! Relentless!"
"I said, get off!"
Hythraal barged forward, an ugly move but it bashed Vendrick clear. A momentary pause but it was enough for a hand to grab his gorget. Vendrick's eyes widened then he found himself flung aside by unearthly strength. His body flew sideways, tumbling in the air, then he hit the ground and felt his vitality flee. His Apothex was spent, his energy ebbing, the aftereffect draining his muscles of vigour. He was on his back, helpless, unable to rise in time to defend himself, surely to die in the next second. Only he didn't.
A moment passed, then another and another. Vendrick frowned as he waited for the deathblow that did not come. Vendrick forced his head upright and found himself laying prone on his backpack, just beyond the threshold of the palace. Hythraal stood beyond, unmoving, glaring at him but not closing. The Automatons moved up and stood with him, forming a solid line of constructs but not one of them would step any further. It was like a void shield was between them, an invisible barricade that could not be violated, only there was no such defence in place. What mystery was this?!
Vendrick heard voices closing as Dhulak and Belphian hurried back, coming to his aid, "I told you to withdraw!"
"We did," Dhulak said, "But then we saw them freeze."
Vendrick forced his aching body to roll over and rise to one knee, "What's keeping them at bay?"
"This palace must have belonged to some rival noble house," Dhulak said, "Eldar law must forbid them access without invite."
"How the Frak do you know that?" Vendrick groaned as he rose to his feet.
"I don't, I just made it up, but whatever law denies crossing that threshold seems to be binding."
"Ancient protocols embedded in their programming, I'll go with that," Vendrick allowed, "Where's my maul?"
"Here," Belphian said as he offered the weapon, "What do we do now?"
"Regroup and come up with a new plan," Vendrick said, "We can't tarry here long."
The Censors turned their backs on the automatons and limped into the palace. Hythraal stood at the threshold with his army of automatons, not speaking or moving an inch. Still he watched keenly tracking the Mon-Keigh as they staggered away. The ghost within was bound by law against entry, he knew it was a hollow decree for the dead but he could no more break that prohibition than he could flee Calan Gaeav. Yet he knew the Mon-keigh could not escape either. The palace's exits were all known and he was directing his servants to guard them all. The Mon-Keigh must attempt a breakout, and he'd catch them when they did. The alternative was to wait until time ran out, and if they were yet within when the sun went down then their doom was sealed.