Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 244
Vitcos knelt in mute horror, staring at the emptied head of Tachna. Blood and cranial fluid gushed from the opened skull, brains oozing like splashed wine spilling from a goblet. He'd killed Il-Tzak, Vitcos had taken the life of a Headsman, a fellow Smoke Jaguar. The enormity of it stunned him. He did not see the battle, he did not hear the bellowing clash of arms, he could only sink to his knees in disbelief. Reality warred with denial,
"First, we need to be elsewhere!" Sechura's voice echoed in his ear.
"I killed him," Vitcos whispered in disbelief.
"Time for guilt must await the turning of the sun!"
"Tachna is dead!" Vitcos protested.
"My hearts are full of joy at the news, but the wines of victory are not uncasked."
"I killed a Headsman!"
"And had you not I would have done it myself, but unless you wish to join Il-Tzak we must depart!"
Vitcos' head snapped up and he saw bedlam unleashed. The fight had shifted, drawing to a distant local. The Damned he had unleashed sent shockwaves through the battle, drawing all eyes, but enough ghosts lingered to end Blazing Shadow. Vitcos shoved his dismay into a mental box of hypno-conditioning and grabbed his Chakrams. He rose to his feet and ran, heading for the rest of Blazing Shadow. The Prowl was moving towards the tunnel they had come in by, all thoughts gone save to flee.
Vitcos spied the Damned out of the corner of his eye, wading into the fight. The flaming giant swung his warhammer wide and a dozen constructs exploded into clouds of grit, their ghostly forms sent back to the eternal punishment of Calan Gaeav. They swamped him, but he was inexorable, wading into them as a man does a river ford. Left the flaming weapon swung and enemies fell broken utterly, right and he sundered pressing foes by the scores. Raw anger spilled from every motion, the fires wrapping him head-to-toe fury incarnate. Nothing could match him in melee, nothing.
The ghosts drew back, no mindless mob of Orks, they favoured slyness and skill. The ghosts scattered; rifles raised to inundate him with shots. From their rear came forward a floating platform, crowned with a D-cannon, power enough to unmake even this warrior, save he did not give them a chance to use it. The flamer above his head swung wide and from it spewed torrents of Hellflame. No ordinary Promethium did it spew, but the fires of perdition itself. The ghosts were bathed in infernal cauldrons and fell screaming as destruction claimed them. His rifle attachment targeted the cannon, spitting a crackling orb of judgment at it. The platform disappeared in a sphere as bright as the sun, making Vitcos wince, as the warrior tore on.
The sounds of shattering constructs and breaking automatons ringed the space, making the fleeing Smoke Jaguar shudder. Mere ghosts could not stop the Damned, no power they owned could hurt him. He tore into them as a whirlwind, obliterating all in his path. Towards an even greater giant he charged, eyes fixed on the Wraithknight form Hythraal had adopted. The Champion lifted his sword and shield to greet the oncoming hurricane, pride and superiority set against the raw power of destruction. A clash sure to shake the pillars of heaven. Hythraal did cry, "I bested you once, Daemonform of the Dark King, I can do so again!" and their duel was joined.
Vitcos was snapped from his reverie as he ran into Blazing Shadow. The Smoke Jaguars were inching towards the tunnel mouth, weapons held tight as they scanned for threats. None seemed to be appearing, the ghosts wholly consumed by the battle with the Damned, but still they did not lower their guard. Many of them bore vicious wounds, signs of how close the battle had been, and none wished to linger. One they had lost in this house of insanity; more they did not plan to lose.
"Your plan in action?!" Ilquitio called.
"His genius astounds me," Sechura scoffed.
"He's dead," Vitcos uttered forlornly.
"Whomsoever do you speak?" Ilquitio asked.
"Tachna, dead by my hand."
"The dawning of spring is welcome indeed! Long have we awaited this day!"
"You rejoice?!"
"You think you alone hated Gaze Catcher; his end of days has long been dreamt of!"
Sechura butted in, "The end of days comes for all unless we move!"
Blazing Shadow made for the exit, leaving the battle behind. A hundred steps, around and down, and yet they were largely ignored. The ghosts swarmed to engage the Damned, even as he duelled. So fierce was the fight that the Webway itself shook, its essence straining to hold together. Vitcos imagined what would happen if it breached, then regretted it. An eternity of being feasted on by Daemons was the least that would befall them. Of the Censors there was no hint, Vendrick dead or lost Vitcos did not care. He didn't bother to look for them either, eyes fixed on the clash of Titans.
The Wraithknight swung low, bringing that dolorous blade about in a sweeping action. The Damned was but a third of its size yet he lifted his warhammer vertically and caught the blow on the haft. The strike rebounded, effortlessly rebuffed, Hythraal seemed stunned, staggering back a step, arm shaking. The Damned came after him, slamming the head of the Warhammer into a knee joint. Vitcos was amazed by the force of the blow, reverberations hurting his ears even at a distance, such force, such depthless might, no wonder Lazar sought this power.
Hythraal went to one knee, chest level with the Damned's head. A roundhouse blow went for the heart but was blocked by the shield on the slim arm. Denied the Damned drew back for another blow, slamming his weapon into the barrier with a thundercrack of doom. Again, forcing the arm back, again, his power irresistible, his hatred overwhelming. Hythraal made a grasping gesture with his hand and ethereal winds buffeted the warrior. The flames on his head blew sideways, as if caught in a hurricane but he leaned into the wind and swung again. Hythraal's arm buckled, cracked halfway along. Another blow to the chest shattered the armoured shell of the Wraithknight and a third sent the champion sprawling backwards. The Damned was on him before he could rise, one boot slamming into the hip to pin him down while a two-handed blow gathered momentum, to end this fight in one blow.
Vitcos was amazed. Here was a warrior who would fight to the end of time, and beyond, grinding enemies to dust till the stars went out. Yet for all his strength the Damned was alone. A horde of ghosts poured in, throwing themselves onto the damned with abandon. His flames burned them, his bellows of frustration shook the ground and yet they came on. There was no thought or strategy to this, no skill could compensate for such majestic devastation, instead they piled bodily on him, crushing him with their weight alone.
"We should intervene," Vitcos breathed.
"Bereft of sanity are you," Sechura scoffed.
"The enemy is too many," Vitocs protested.
"First, we are neither friend nor ally to any within this space, our sole goal this day is to remain alive!"
"Mirab with sails unfurled," agreed Ilquitio.
Vitcos blinked as he realised they were right. The battle was nothing to do with them, the Damned was no more a Kinsman than the Eldar. Still he looked back, seeing the ghosts throwing themselves away to drown the Damned. A hundred came at him, two, three, and still he fought on. Raging bellows of heated ire escaped the pile, broken constructs flew away in pieces and yet they still came. Ten of them grabbed his Warhammer, hands melting but they wrestled it away regardless. Then Hythraal regained his feet, towering over the scrum to deliver the killing blow.
Vitcos turned his face away, hearts torn. The tunnel they had entered through was empty at last, the stream of ghostly warriors exhausted. Blazing Shadow stole into the golden burrow. Fleet as they had ever been they raced for the living world, hearing the echoes of destruction ringing behind. Was the battle over already, Vitcos would never know. There was only escape, leaving the dead and damned to war among themselves. Of Tachna's remains he cared not, the Stair Abyssal would be missing a corpse forevermore. This did not trouble him, but the consequences did. Nothing he could do right now, there was only the thought of flight.
Before they knew it they reached the end of the tunnel and burst back into the world. The plaza was empty, the city silent. More ghosts surely were out there, but none were in sight. Vitcos breathed deeply, not realising until then how much he missed the air of a genuine planet. Never again would he brave the Webway, not that that the opportunity seemed likely. To leave Calan Gaeav and its impossibilities would be a blessing. To return to a life of fighting unassailable foes and battles beyond counting seemed a welcome reprieve. But first they had to escape.
Ilquitio raised a hand to the horizon and declared, "Two finger widths, does the sun linger high."
"Enough time to reach the Thunderhawk?" Sechura gulped.
"It must be, else all is lost," Vitcos declared as he set out at a fast run for the distant Thunderhawk.
"If we must give battle, we will not outrace the sun," Ilquitio gulped.
"As the Testimony teaches, a battle not needed should not be fought."
Sechura dared to ask, "Should we reach our ship what then, to the Ordo Astartes we return?"
But Vitcos dismissed him, "A question for later, for now run!"