Summary:
A dreadful opponent stalks them through the mist, the party fears its inevitable approach. They managed to survive the first encounter, but they need to reverse the game if they wish to survive. Now we see Marcus's plans unfold to bring either victory or defeat to the "Merry Band".
While all that happens, the mysterious Culsan waits in the shadow, unnoticed by all as the Legionaire takes his time. What does he do now that things just got more complicated?
Shadows of the Dark City 17
From atop his lounge, Acharon observed the match as it dragged on. For those watching the fight, spectral figures in various colors represented the combatants below. While the ground itself was not visible, these projections could only be seen from the grandstand level, providing a clear view of the unfolding battle.
The Haemonculus remained attentive to every movement made by the Imperial Captain, who advanced cautiously. Marcus and his group were being stalked by Jezza, one of Acharon's most prized specimens, and he had chosen well—a predator who could truly test the sharpness and ferocity of the human's fangs and claws. But this choice also served another purpose: to get under Elyria's skin. Even from his booth, he could sense the Succubus watching the events with a deepening frown.
He didn't need to be a Seer to understand that Elyria had not expected him to introduce such an opponent into her fight. While the arenas had no explicit prohibitions against certain challengers aside from Farseers and those touched by the Warp, most Cults avoided anyone or anything even remotely associated with Sai'lanthresh. Beyond their natural fear of its gaze and presence, such beings were simply too unpredictable for a proper spectacle.
In the end, even if the Hekatarii's craft was essentially about providing cheap thrills and suffering for the masses, they took great pride in making it a true performance—an experience that kept viewers coming back not just for the bloodshed but for the theatrics. A challenger who could turn on the spectators the moment he entered the arena, disrupting everything carefully arranged for that cycle, was something no Wych wanted in her record.
Casualties among the audience were neither uncommon nor frowned upon, but if too many were slaughtered by the living embodiment of their deepest dread, it would undoubtedly damage the arena's reputation.
That being said, Acharon fully understood the look on Elyria's face and why she was shifting uncomfortably in her seat. One wrong move from Jezza toward anyone outside the fight would have to be dealt with swiftly.
In truth, however, he cared little for such concerns. She had asked for someone who could match the other challenger, and while his primary goal was to push Marcus to his limits, the Haemonculus also sought to test someone who could handle a highly trained Alpha Legionnaire.
Yet at this moment, he had seen no sign of the aforementioned warrior, which struck him as odd. His eyes were keen, capable of detecting even the most elusive creatures—but not this one. That fact alone made him question whether Elyria had been truthful or merely manipulating him into granting her an asset valuable enough to guarantee a good fight.
His musings were cut short as he noticed the maneuver Marcus and his group were attempting. He had to admit, it was foolish—but bold. If it worked, Acharon would be even more impressed with the human officer.
"Come now Mon-Keigh, let me see how you roar in defiance of your fate! Turn the predator into prey and prove me right..."
The Haemonculus squinted, watching patiently as the next stage of the battle unfolded.
Elyria absolutely hated Acharon right now for what he had just done. She finally understood why the Haemonculus had been so secretive about who exactly he had selected to be part of her spectacle.
Of all the possibilities, he had chosen a servant of She Who Thirsts to fight in her arena. Under normal circumstances, she would not have outright rejected such a prospect, but she would never have accepted it when a Farseer was involved.
She and her father were already pushing their luck with the Suppression Field project, as their instructions were to keep it fully active at all times, even during the fights. While both she and Kaltharis wanted to see what Thalindra was capable of, their permission was extended only to allow her to fight in a severely weakened state.
This was meant to be a scientific project, but the two had been using it as an opportunity to gather intelligence and increase their profits. Their good fortune thus far had been that the Seer had not lost control of her powers—a fact that was expected of someone of Thalindra's renown.
But now, with someone like Jezza in the mix, the situation had become a ticking time bomb. The potential for chaos was immense, and it could easily turn fatal given their current circumstances. A Farseer of Ulthwé, an already volatile element, alongside what could be considered a daemon of the Warp in a two-meter muscly human form was not just dangerous—it was outright reckless on multiple levels.
And the worst part? She had allowed it, which only fueled her anger toward both the Haemonculus and herself.
"You slimy bastard... I hope She Who Thirsts drags your sorry ass to her pool of suffering and lets you dwell in it for eternity..."
She whispered to no one in particular, letting her frustration spill out in those hushed words as she kept her eyes fixed on the ongoing fight. She had to count herself lucky, though—her father was absent for this cycle, occupied with striking a deal for a new supplier of ammunition and vehicles for his Kabal.
If he were here, she would never hear the end of it. He had already pulled too many strings to allow her to use Thalindra in her performances, and any misstep could not only undo everything he had fought for but also put both of them in serious danger.
Casting a hateful glance at the Haemonculus one more time, she was surprised to find that his focus was elsewhere, entirely ignoring her irritation. Acharon stood motionless, his gaze never leaving the fight below. This made her raise an eyebrow—Vyle was too invested in this. And she didn't need to be a genius to know exactly who had captured his attention.
The human Captain.
He was likely hidden somewhere now, probably in one of the buildings, discussing some pathetic plan with his lackeys and her insufferably dull brood of cousins.
For a moment—even if it pained her to admit—curiosity got the better of her, and she turned the device that allowed her to eavesdrop on their conversation. Once again, luck favored her, as she was able to hear the exact plan being laid out by the officer.
She had to admit, the plan was clever—but also foolish by Drukhari standards. Among her kin, a good plan always involved making others take the risks while you watched from the sidelines. Then, when the moment was right, you struck, taking all the spoils and glory for yourself.
But he chose to put himself at risk for the success of the group. It was pathetic, and it infuriated her—this human's idiocy was beyond comprehension. And yet, Elyria couldn't help herself; she wanted to see how his little endeavor would play out.
"Prove your worth, stupid Mon-Keigh... or die for my amusement. Your call."
The group marched, their progress slowing as they kept their ears open for any possible movement on the gravel and muddy ground. Their weapons flicked around, aiming in different directions to cover as many angles as possible for a potential approach.
Silence permeated the square they were in. Marcus and his party could now see the shape of the church more clearly, only a block away.
A stray droplet of sweat fell from his brow into his eye, and he blinked away the discomfort. His hands shook slightly as they pressed forward. The situation was familiar to him, but this opponent was one that any sane Guardsman would dread encountering.
The truth was, he had felt less fear facing the Ork Boss than he did now, knowing that a Chaos Marine was likely stalking them at that very moment.
Just one more block, the officer thought as they moved forward, their pace quickening with anticipation. But their progress was cut short as a whooshing sound came from their right.
At the noise, they turned in unison, weapons trained in the direction of the sound. Nothing happened, yet their breaths became more ragged and urgent.
"I fucking hate you so much..." Ellias whispered angrily, just as the same sound came from behind them. Like clockwork, they shifted their aim toward the source.
The sound now circled them, as if the monstrosity was running around them, toying with its prey. Then, once again, silence. Their backs pressed together as they formed a perimeter, weapons flicking from side to side.
"He will engage—prepare. Facing Janessa now," came Thalindra's voice in their minds.
The moment she spoke, the private was the first to fire, her laspistol's glow cutting through the smog, revealing the silhouette of the heretic. But like the wind, he vanished again. Jax fired at him, but he was far quicker than she could aim.
Woosh. He ran past Marcus's right side. The officer trained his lasgun, ready to fire if needed.
"Facing Darius!" the Farseer's voice rang in their minds.
The combat medic opened fire with his lasgun. As with Marcus's shot, the brief light illuminated the enemy's form before he darted away, passing in front of Kais. With his specialized scope, the Fire Warrior fired as well.
The Marine evaded every shot with apparent ease as he closed the distance. A metallic slice was all Marcus heard before he felt a stinging sensation on his right arm. He glanced down—there was a deep gash, blood quickly soaking his sleeve.
"Shit, he cut me!" the officer shouted, struggling to raise his lasgun to aim in front of him.
But before he could dwell on the pain, he heard her voice in his mind again.
"Ellias, he is facing—"
She was cut off as the hulking monstrosity barreled toward them with absurd speed. His shoulder plate crashed into the corporal with full force. Ellias tried to fire his Storm Bolter, but it was too late.
The impact sent him flying out of formation, and on his way down knocked Kais and Janessa over, both sprawling onto their stomachs.
Marcus turned to fire at this devil-made flesh, but the abomination was faster. It caught his lasgun mid-raise, crushing the weapon in its grip as if it were nothing more than wet clay.
"Tsk... Tsk... you Guards "men" never learn, do you?"
With that, the monstrous figure grabbed the captain by the throat and lifted him, bringing their faces close.
What Marcus saw shocked him to his very core. He was no stranger to gore, but the sight of this traitor was beyond anything he had witnessed before.
His face was stitched together, his skin stretched taut over his skull. Razor-sharp wires ran through his stitches in a strange yet deliberate pattern. His mouth was frozen in a grotesque, Cheshire-like grin—twisted at an unnatural angle that defied the very structure of his skull.
His jagged, metallic teeth gleamed in the dim light, each one stained with the blood that dripped from his own mangled lips and his tongue—serpentine and forked at the end—flicked out rapidly, tasting the air like a viper.
Its irises were a very bright shade of green, but its sclera was a deep red as if its eyes were injured in some way. Yet all of this was just the beginning of the horrors Marcus was staring at…
From the back of this being, a plethora of cables and cords snaked around its body, connected to some form of apparatus attached to its spine. Each cord was linked to a valve that let out short bursts of steam, and at the center of this system was a container filled with a glowing green liquid.
However, as Marcus gagged from the pressure being applied to his throat, he noticed one last thing that did not fit at all with the rest of the heretic's grotesque visage—a long, wavy, spotless white mane of hair that cascaded down its back.
It was strange, in a way, how from everything he was witnessing, this was the hardest detail to grasp. How could such a literal monster, so distorted and mangled, possess such luscious and pristine hair?
He could not dwell on it for long as the Marine hurled him away. His back hit the ground with full force, knocking the air from his lungs for the second time. The metal of his armor scraped loudly against the gravel, sending an eerie screech into the night.
His head spun from the lack of oxygen, but he could still see the battle unfolding before him. Darius fired at the creature, but the Traitor was already retreating into the fog.
Janessa and Kais crouched low, their weapons discharging erratic bursts of energy in random directions, desperately trying to hit something Marcus could no longer see.
He struggled to regain his bearings, wanting to rejoin the fight, but the dizziness and dark spots clouding his vision made it difficult to stand.
Then, he felt strong arms slide under his shoulders, hoisting him up as he swayed on his feet.
"Come on, Marcus. If I'm getting my ass beaten, you need to be a part of it."
Ellias was dragging him back into formation. Once they were back inside the defensive circle, standing back-to-back, they abandoned all caution and fired wildly into the fog, hoping to land a hit on the menace that circled just meters away.
Marcus gripped his Laspistol firmly, laying down shot after shot. The flashes from their weapons illuminated the thick haze, casting grotesque, shifting shadows within the mist.
But then, a mocking laugh echoed around them, seeming to come from every direction at once—a chilling reminder of just how ineffective their efforts truly were.
Again, the familiar slicing sound rang out as Kais screamed in pain, collapsing to the ground while clutching the bloody stump where his right hand had been.
"Frakk you, bastard!" Janessa screamed as she continued firing shot after shot, all while helping to lift the injured Tau.
Darius had to shift his attention away from the enemy, lowering his gun to administer first aid to the suffering Fire Warrior.
Ellias doubled his efforts, frantically reloading his now-depleted Bolter. Both he and the Corporal ensured that the enemy could not reach those crouched on the ground.
As soon as his weapon was loaded, the Guardsman resumed firing, unleashing a heavy volley into the fog. But this time, unlike the previous bursts, he hit something—a spark flared in the mist where his shots landed.
"Got you, asshole!" he shouted into the darkness, laughing as he fired again. But their brief moment of victory was cut short as a presence materialized to the left of the Corporal.
"Ellias, right side!" Darius yelled, but it was too late. The sound of metal being sliced clean echoed once more as the Bolter was torn in half, just inches away from its magazine and rendered the weapon completely useless.
The Traitor shoved the Corporal with brutal force, sending him flying onto his back in a manner similar to Marcus, but unlike the officer, the Seer's cape worn by Ellias was torn from his body with a loud rip as he fell.
"You lowly Guardsmen should have learned by now that your only alternative is to accept defeat and bow before your rightful masters," the heretic's voice rang out, dripping with mockery and sadistic pleasure.
Darius reached for his plasma pistol, but the Chaos Marine delivered a casual yet devastating punch to the combat medic's face, sending teeth flying as his skull nearly caved in from the force.
Janessa was next, attempting to line up a shot, but a single kick from Marine's shoe less foot sent her head slamming into the ground, knocking her out cold.
"All these plans and schemes, all these pathetic attempts to stop me—wasted effort. Do you take me for a fool?"
Once again, Marcus felt his feet leave the ground, his weapon falling to the ground, as the Chaos Marine lifted him effortlessly, bringing him to eye level.
"I loathe your kind, mortal... Many of my brothers met their end so that your wretched ilk could feast on the spoils of what we conquered. We bled and died for worlds that would be settled by subpar humans—ignorant wretches who could barely read, let alone grasp the concept of true transcendence. Your inferior minds are too preoccupied with trivial and foolish pursuits. And you… you are just like them, aren't you?"
The Marine squeezed harder, shaking Marcus violently with each venom-laced word.
"I'm not going to simply kill you... No, no, no. I'm no butcher. I abandoned that role the moment I turned my back on your deplorable Imperium."
Marcus clawed desperately at the armored forearm crushing his windpipe, his lungs burning, his vision blurring. Just as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, the Marine abruptly released him, letting him crash to the ground in a heap.
The Traitor loomed over him, his disturbing visage made even more grotesque by the drool dripping from his maw-filled mouth.
"I'm going to utterly break you and your men. I'll make you regret ever being born, you sorry excuse for a human. I'll make your feeble, animal mind understand the true meaning of transcendence… and just how wrong you all are in your ways."
Marcus coughed as he struggled once more to regain his bearings, his dizziness returning in full force after being so close to suffocation.
"Come on now. You can do better than this, can't you? Why carry that sword on your back if you aren't going to use it?"
The Traitor stepped back, giving Marcus room to stand. The Emperor's Children warrior waited patiently as the Captain rose to his feet, drawing the chainsword from his back and revving it to life, its many teeth begging for flesh.
"That's more like it... Now face me, not as an animal, but as a man!"
Marcus screamed with all his fury as he rushed the Chaos Marine, swinging the sword in great arcs, trying to land a hit on his evasive foe. The Traitor dodged every single attempt with such ease that frustration began to build in the Guardsman.
But his frustration was short-lived. His opponent delivered a swift yet controlled punch to his gut, making him drop the sword and collapse onto his side. The pain was blinding. As he struggled to breathe, Marcus was certain one of his ribs had been broken by a single, almost casual blow from the monster looming over him.
He felt his chainsword being stabbed into the ground just beside his head as the Traitor observed him with an air of amusement.
"Come on, pile of useless meat. Get up and face me."
His words were laced with mockery and disdain, fueling Marcus's determination. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand, grabbing the sword from the ground and revving it to life once more.
He spat blood onto the ground—a sign of defiance and hate. If this monster wanted to feel the steel of his sword, he would indulge it, even if it was the last thing he did.
The Captain launched himself at the Traitor once again, each swing coming within inches of striking home. But every time he missed, the mocking laughter of his enemy echoed in his ears—a long, drawn-out sound that only deepened his rage.
"Pathetic. Not even in your last moments can you justify being called human. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting much..."
With a final sidestep, the Traitor evaded his blow before delivering a brutal kick to Marcus's stomach. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, the force knocking the air from his lungs. He curled up instinctively, dropping all the contents of his stomach on the ground, his body rejecting the agony as his sword fell limply by his side.
"...but this is completely and utterly disappointing. You should feel ashamed, mortal."
Before the Chaos Marine could continue his punishment, the sharp sound of Lasfire broke through the fog. The Traitor reacted instantly, vanishing back into the mist.
Ellias rushed forward laspistol in hand, firing toward the last place he had seen the Chaos Marine. Kais was beside him, his severed stump now covered with an improvised rag stained with what Marcus presumed was his blood. In his other hand, he clutched a plasma pistol, likely taken from the now-unconscious Darius.
The Tau had been lucky—not receiving a direct blow from the Astartes had likely saved him from his wrath. His moment of weakness, as he held his wound, had been enough to shift the Traitor's attention away from the Captain.
Marcus seized the opportunity, retrieving his sword from the ground and running after his comrades. The trio quickly formed a protective perimeter around their two unconscious allies, their determination clear—they would hold the line, no matter the cost.
Laughter broke the silence once more, followed by the chilling sound of a sharp blade being drawn from its sheath.
'Thalindra, speak to me. I need to know where he is.' He focused on this single thought, hoping the Seer would respond.
Her voice soon echoed in his mind.
'He is circling your position, waiting for an opening. Don't give him one. Hold him off a little longer—it is not time yet.'
Her reassurances steadied his racing heart. He just needed to hold the Traitor off a little longer—if they could delay him, their plan would work flawlessly.
Silence returned as they stood ready, the only sound of their own breathing. The moments stretched on, feeling like centuries. The three of them waited, knowing that their final confrontation with this monster was imminent.
'Right side of Marcus, coming to you fast!' As soon as they heard the Eldar's words in their minds, they opened fire, and the Captain wielded the sword in his hands.
What came next was a complete blur. The Traitor emerged from the fog with such speed that the mist curved around his form. In his hands, he held a long, curved power sword that crackled with sickly pinkish rays.
It collided with Marcus's chainsword, the impact so strong that he felt his fingers strain under the pressure. He gasped in pain and shock at the sheer brutality of the blow, but his reaction was short-lived as the Astartes drove the handle of his own sword into Marcus's right shoulder.
The pain was excruciating, feeling every inch of the metal piercing his Cadian armor before it lodged itself deep into his shoulder blade. Before he could react, the Astartes pulled the weapon away, causing blood to ooze quickly from the wound.
Kais tried to fire his plasma pistol, but the Marine was faster, slapping the weapon from his grip before he could pull the trigger. Ellias fared no better, receiving a lightning-fast thrust to the shoulder that threw his aim off completely.
To finish them off, the Astartes crouched and delivered a swift, brutal kick to their legs, sweeping them off their feet. They hit the ground hard, their backs slamming against the rubble-strewn earth. Pain surged through their bodies as they groaned from both the rough landing and the wounds inflicted by the drooling beast standing over them.
"Well, this was fun. But now, let's wrap this party up, hm? Need to kill the other wolf before I enjoy my meal..."
He stepped forward, towering over the three who could only stare in horror at the abomination before them.
'Thalindra, by the Emperor's holy name, we don't have much time!' Marcus practically screamed in his mind.
'Just a second more...'
The Astartes raised his sword and gave it a long, slow, sensuous lick. The grotesque display sent a fresh wave of unease through them.
'Thalindra!'
'One more moment!'
The Traitor lifted his weapon high, preparing to cleave Marcus's legs clean off in a single blow. His mouth hung open, drool spilling as his breath became ragged, filled with ecstasy at the prospect of slaughter.
'THALINDRA!'
'DONE!'
The moment she spoke, a loud explosion erupted from the house near them. Bricks and rubble flew toward the Chaos Marine, who gasped in surprise. Another boom followed as the building to its right detonated.
Like dominoes, the explosions triggered a chain reaction, engulfing the entire block in fire, smoke, and debris. Marcus could only sigh in relief as a protective barrier shielded them from the worst of the destruction, preventing them from being buried alive.
'Now leave the rest to us,' came Thalindra's determined voice.
Marcus could only imgaine giving a thumbs-up to the Eldar. At this moment, that was all he could manage—a silent acknowledgment—as he focused on regaining his bearings and letting Arandur and Thalindra carry out their part of the plan.
The body of the Dire Avenger was completely covered from head to toe in a mixture of mud and gray gravel, the viscous concoction making him feel filthy. His long, luscious hair clung to his back as he moved silently through the mist.
His well-crafted armor had been left behind with the Mon-Keigh, and all he wore was his form-fitting undersuit, offering no real protection. In his right hand, he held his Eldar blade—one of his most prized possessions—now coated in the same muck as his body. In his other hand, he carried a belt of krak grenades, sans five that had been given to Thalindra.
His bare feet pressed lightly against the gravel as he moved with an agile pace. Arandur knew his role in this plan well, though he still felt reluctant to follow the words of a Mon-Keigh. Even if it pained him to admit it, this one had devised a sound strategy.
The presence of the Archenemy grew closer, and the Eldar knew to lay low, waiting for it to strike at the Mon-Keigh moving through the fog and take full advantage of the distraction. Lowering himself to the ground on all fours, his slim body assumed an almost feline posture, letting the danger pass while it pursued its bait.
Woosh—the sound of the wind as something moved past him at surprising speed. Arandur rose swiftly and took off in pursuit, running along the ground level. He kept his pace fast but light, avoiding any misstep that might betray the next phase of Marcus's plan—assuming, of course, that the first step worked.
Moments passed as the Dire Avenger stalked the Chaos Marine from a safe distance, forcing himself to refocus constantly to avoid succumbing to his instincts. Every living and breathing Aeldari had an innate ability to sense those touched by Sai'lanthresh, and the moment they did, their very being screamed at them to run. It was akin to a prey animal recognizing the presence of its predator—inevitable and deeply ingrained.
Yet any Asuryani who trod the Path of the Warrior, especially those from Ulthwé, underwent rigorous training to suppress such instincts—some to the point of completely ignoring them. Arandur prided himself on his ability to control this flight-or-fight response, maintaining his graceful pursuit of the embodiment of his species' deepest dread.
Soon, the abomination halted just short of the Mon-Keigh, its posture that of a predator ready to pounce. The Eldar could hear its ragged breathing, the wet sound of its tongue licking its lips. But he could also hear the frenzied heartbeat of his allies—like a whole percussion band pounding in their chests, a clear indication of their fear.
He could almost pity them, for he did not wish anyone to face such a vile creature as the Chaos Marine hunting them. But due to his war mask and his natural distaste for the lesser races, the thought was fleeting. He remained still, waiting patiently for the daemon-spawn to make its move.
Woosh—the sound of its lunge. The fight had begun, and with it, their cue to execute the next step.
Arandur waited for the first sounds of combat before sprinting toward the nearest house. Spotting an open window on the second floor of the building in front of him, he climbed with elegance and agility. Once inside, he moved swiftly to the first floor, where he carefully positioned a single krak grenade. A single rune, scribbled in blood, marked its surface—just like the others on his belt.
Then, he slipped out of the way he had come and repeated the process. The battle raged around him as he moved, but his focus remained unwavering. His objective was clear: every house on the eastern side of this block needed to be prepared. He had to be faster than the Mon-Keigh's ability to hold the creature off.
One, two, three… house after house, he moved in complete silence, executing his task with the grace natural to his kind. The Dire Avenger could not help but feel a sense of pride in his work—his part of the plan was nearly complete.
And from the looks of it, the Chaos Marine had fallen for the bait, just as Thalindra had predicted. Not once did it seem to notice what was happening around it, giving both him and the Farseer the freedom to position their traps. Soon, the second phase of the plan would begin.
After setting the last charge in the fifth house, Arandur positioned himself at the far corner of the street—far enough to avoid the coming explosions but close enough to strike when the time came.
Then it happened. The Astartes finally overpowered the Mon-Keigh. Two of them lay completely out of the fight, while the other three struggled to stay on their feet, utterly humiliated.
The Eldar stood in silence, watching as the creature took perverse joy in their suffering. And though he tried to remain detached, another emotion crept into his heart—one uncharacteristic of him, at least toward primitives: anger.
The thick fog obscured most of his vision, but Thalindra's connection to his mind allowed him to see beyond the white veil.
Then, in a single brutal motion, the daemon spawn struck again, sending them crashing to the ground. It raised its sword in sadistic glee. Arandur did not need to be a Seer to know where this was going.
'Thalindra, he's going to kill them!' he thought with urgency.
'I know—I can feel it radiating from him. But I need just a few moments more to activate the runes', she replied, her mental voice laced with contained anxiety.
The Astartes lifted his blade higher, preparing to unleash a world of endless pain upon the Mon-Keigh. The Dire Avenger's grip tightened around his sword as he fought the urge to intervene, to face the creature himself.
'Wait! It's not time yet!' Thalindra practically screamed in his thoughts.
'DO IT NOW, OR THEY'LL DIE!' If the Farseer had almost screamed telepathically, Arandur did scream.
'DONE!' The word rang in his mind, but it was immediately drowned out by the deafening roar of explosions. Balls of flame ruptured the walls and roofs of the houses, sending debris and dust in all directions. Fragments flew dangerously close, nearly striking the Dire Avenger, who raised an arm to shield his face from the shockwave and the stray remnants of rock and brick.
The mist was no longer the only thing obscuring the battlefield—now, a cloud of ash and dust rose, swallowing the ruins in the wake of the devastation. The dog of She Who Thirsts was nowhere to be seen through the Seer's powers, only piles of rubble lay in front of Arandur as he waited patiently for the right moment to strike.
'Is he...?' the Eldar asked hesitantly as he carefully shifted into his battle stance. His heart pounded fast in his chest, as he wondered about the fate of their despicable enemy.
'No,' came Thalindra's simple reply—a single word that signified the second step of the plan would now begin. He wasn't killed in the explosions so now that meant someone would have to step in to guarantee the killing blow.
Soon, the sharp ears of the Dire Avenger picked up the sound of bricks and stones being pushed aside. Many were tossed away as the daemon spawn rose from the pile of debris surrounding him.
He let out a mighty roar as the last pebble rolled off his armor. It was clear that the Chaos Marine was beyond mere anger.
But that would do little to stop what was coming next. Arandur flexed his knees and, with his nimble legs, lunged at the Traitor Astartes in a swift, deadly movement.
Jezza was completely consumed by seething fury as the bricks and stones fell from his armor while he rose. The Astartes let out a long, drawn-out roar of unrelenting wrath, enraged at being interrupted just as the real fun was about to begin.
Like a rabid animal, he scanned his surroundings, his mouth foaming with suppressed hunger. The Emperor's Child tried to catch any sign of his targets, but all that surrounded him was the lingering scent of promethium-based accelerants—an eye-watering mix of sulfur, burnt cordite, fuel-like fumes, ash, and crumbled rock.
The stench grated on his nerves, not only because it was offensive to his enhanced senses but also because it masked the scent of the mortals and inferiors he had pinned down. He attempted to use his augmented vision to pierce through the mist and the swirling cloud of ash and masonry dust, but even with his heightened perception, he could not find a single visual cue of them. It was as if they had completely vanished.
That thought made him pause. The fight he had engaged in before the explosion—the one with the inferiors, the Xenos witch and her warrior—where were they? He had caught their scent the moment they left their last hideout, but now, as the gears of his battle-honed mind turned, he realized something he had overlooked in his frenzied onslaught.
Shifting his gaze downward, he noticed, by some twist of fate, a torn fragment of the Farseer's tunic lying amid the ruins. When he engaged the group, he aimed for her, yet all that greeted him was that pathetic blonde man. And for a brief moment, he could have sworn the mortal had been wearing her robes.
Then, another realization struck him—he had also been tracking the scent of the Dire Avenger, yet, strangely, throughout the entire battle, it had never moved once the fighting began.
Guided by memory, he turned in the direction of the last spot where he had seen the warrior. Moving swiftly, he scanned the ground, his speed allowing him to search efficiently. Then, at last, he caught the faint, familiar fragrance. Kneeling down, he began to dig through the rubble, clawing away debris until, finally, the scent returned to him in full force.
There, amidst the bricks, gravel, mud, and fragmented stones, lay a damaged Imperial standard ammo box. Its lid was half open and bent in half, likely due to the force of the explosions. The Emperor's Child extended his right arm, pulling it away from the crater it rested in.
Once he secured it, his fingers twitched with anticipation as he tore the rest of the lid open, revealing the folly of the lambs. Inside was the armor of the Dire Avenger, still neatly folded as if the impact had not disturbed it.
With another mighty roar, he hurled the box away, realizing he had been fooled by mere prey. Jezza had been so eager to catch them, to taste their flesh and defile their bodies, that he had forgotten a fundamental rule of engagement—never underestimate the enemy, no matter how inferior they seemed.
Lucius the Eternal, famous warrior of his Legion, had faced death many times at the hands of lesser beings, despite his immortality. But unlike Lucius, Jezza lacked the blessings bestowed upon his infamous brother. He, above all others, should have ensured he was not walking into a trap.
Before he could refocus and piece together his opponent's plan, the sudden sound of air displacing was all he heard before the strike landed. The Emperor's Child was fast, but the momentary distraction had left him unprepared for the attack.
His left calf had been cut almost to the bone, the blade tearing through ceramite as if it were mere cloth. The limb was not severed entirely, but only a small strand of mangled muscle and bone kept it attached, rendering his left leg useless.
The pain did not hinder him—on the contrary, it only made him more determined. Brandishing his power sword, he prepared to engage the one who dared strike him, laughing loudly as his mouth foamed with ecstasy and bloodthirsty rage.
A white blur rushed toward him, delivering another slash, this time aimed at his neck. Jezza, however, was ready. He twisted his body to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike and retaliated with a horizontal slash. But his opponent easily parried the blow before retreating into the fog.
The Emperor's Child pushed off with all his strength, dashing toward his attacker on his one good leg. His movements were fast but clumsy, his balance was compromised. Still, he knew his enemy was right before him. With a snarl, he brought his blade down in a vertical plunge.
Once again, his target evaded him, sidestepping out of the way and allowing the power sword to sink harmlessly into the gravel. Jezza recovered quickly, turning just in time to deflect a stabbing attack aimed at his back. Now, at last, he could face his opponent directly.
Furious, focused gray eyes locked onto his own—the all-too-familiar features of an Eldar warrior greeted him. The Xenos's body was completely covered in a greyish paste of muck, masking his scent from Jezza's heightened senses.
"There you are..." the Traitor Astartes almost purred before using his good leg to regain his posture. Mid-motion, he seized the opportunity to push the Eldar away.
The Dire Avenger swiftly leaped back into the mist, disappearing once more from Jezza's sight. The Space Marine stood firm, sword in hand, his hideous face contorted into a Cheshire grin.
"I'm going to wear your face, prey thing. If you think you can defeat me, let me crush such foolish hopes."
A sudden whoosh from behind warned him, but not in time. The Xenos warrior struck again, this time slashing across his back. The cut was shallow but managed to slice through part of his torso armor.
Jezza snarled, not from pain but from sheer fury. The Eldar's strike did not wound him severely, but the audacity of his opponent enraged him. If the Xenos wanted to hurt him, then he should truly commit—he should tear his flesh, make him feel the strike, and set his nerves ablaze with pain. The pain was not a deterrent to Jezza—it was release.
Before he could fully recover, it came again—this time from his left side. The Dire Avenger used his sword to try and cut his arm, but the Astartes quickly regained his footing and rotated his body so that the strike landed on his chest instead. Since it was a vertical slash, it managed to tear through the ceramite armor, but like the previous strike, it only wounded him in a superficial manner.
"My turn..." he whispered, ensuring only the Eldar could hear before launching his next series of strikes. He was quick, seizing the momentum of having his enemy directly in front of him to trade blows with their swords. A loud sound echoed from their skirmish as both maintained a hauntingly fast pace, their blades emitting sparks each time they connected. To a normal human, their fight would have been a complete blur, but to them, it was a contest of swordsmanship and speed.
Neither showed any signs of fatigue as they fought, their clash becoming even faster and louder as his power blade met the Xenos's sword. In his enemy's eyes, all he could see was stone-cold commitment. He knew the Eldar had only one goal in mind—to kill him.
Then, using all the strength of his upper body, he pushed the Dire Avenger away again. But this time, instead of wasting time regaining his bearings, he used the momentum to pursue him. His posture was clumsy, lacking balance on his left side, but his strike reached its mark. Though his opponent managed to block it, the force behind it, combined with the quick succession of attacks, made him pause.
That was the opening Jezza needed to reverse their roles. Now, he would not let him escape back into the cover of the mist. He would ensure the Eldar was out of this fight for good.
Seizing the opportunity, he followed up with a relentless sequence of attacks similar to their previous exchange. But now, the Dire Avenger struggled to keep up, his defense faltering under the sheer speed of the Astartes' assault. The Xenos was beginning to proverbially "sweat".
Then, in one final, skillful move, Jezza struck the pommel of the Eldar's sword, sending it flying into the mist. His opponent could only stare wide-eyed as his weapon disappeared from his grasp.
Jezza was upon him in the next moment, delivering a swift and brutal kick to his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground. The Eldar managed to support himself with his hands and skillfully regained his posture.
"Well, you tried your best, prey," Jezza sneered, his grin widening. "But you can't beat the wolf."
Before the Eldar could rise from the ground, the Space Marine pointed his blade at his neck.
"Even wounded, I'm still the wolf, and you—a rabbit. Know your place, Xenos filth."
The Dire Avenger stared at him in defiance, his eyes devoid of fear. Only conviction remained in his gaze.
"You know, I've killed many of your kind," Jezza continued, his tone dripping with cruelty. "Even in my days within the Imperium." As he spoke, he gestured toward the skin-stitched belt on his armor. There, discreetly displayed, lay an assortment of cracked Soulstones. The sight made the Eldar's eyes widen in horror.
"How dare—"
He was cut short as Jezza's other hand clamped over his mouth, covering it completely as he lifted the Xenos from the ground.
"Your kind doesn't scare me—never did," the Astartes growled. "All that arrogance, all that bravado... it's just a mask, a facade to hide the bitter truth."
He paused, letting his tongue flick out to wet his lips in anticipation of the despair he was about to inflict.
"The truth is that your time has long passed. That all Eldar are living on borrowed time. In the end, it doesn't matter how much you struggle or slither around—the last face you will ever see will be one like mine. The Prince will have his due, and all of you know it. Every time your hair stood on end in my presence, it was proof of that. You may be filled with conviction now..."
He could smell it—that faint, contained scent of fear. It was small, but it was there, and it was growing stronger.
"But once my words sink in, you will no longer deny me the fear that is owed."
Like an orchestra of terror, the scent of fear surged, stronger than ever. The Eldar's eyes shifted from defiance to dread, the faintest glimmer of moisture forming in them as they locked onto Jezza's bloodshot green eyes.
With slow, deliberate malice, the Astartes extended his serpentine tongue, running it sensuously along the Eldar's cheek, smearing saliva onto his captive's skin. The Dire Avenger thrashed against his grip, his fists pounding uselessly against Jezza's armored arm. The struggle only made the Marine's grin widen. He savored the disgust, the despair.
But before he could do more—before he could revel further in his torment—it came.
This time, not even a sound preceded it.
Jezza simply felt it.
His gaze dropped to his chest, where the bladed point of a staff now protruded.
"We will do this in three steps."
They all stood around Marcus as he gestured with his hands, outlining his plan. His thoughts were transmitted to all of them thanks to Thalindra, and they decided to remain as quiet as possible to avoid giving away their strategy. That was why all their communication took place telepathically.
"The first step will be called 'drawing the snake out of the bush.'"
"Why is it called that?" Ellias, ever the patient one, asked before the Captain could continue his explanation. "Sounds like a dirty joke."
Marcus shot an annoyed glance at his Corporal.
"It's called that because, in this step, we will draw him out. Until now, he has used the cover of the mist to gain the upper hand by ambushing us. While his first attack was merely to gauge our response, the next one won't be, and he has a clear advantage thanks to his senses and speed."
"Okay, that makes more sense..."
Rolling his eyes, the officer continued his explanation.
"So, we need to change the game. At the moment, he is the predator, and we are the prey. We only have two people who can realistically counter him, and he will target them first—directly or indirectly."
He then turned his gaze toward the Seer, their eyes locking for a moment as he made up his mind to share the next part.
"We will exploit that. We will use Thalindra's and Arandur's clothing to lure him into attacking us. He will be lost in his bloodlust and sadism, so much so that he won't immediately realize our deception, giving Thalindra and Arandur enough time to plant the explosives needed for step two..."
"Wait, are you suggesting that we use ourselves as bait? Have you gone mad?" Ellias could not help himself and nearly screamed that out loud instead of through their mental link.
"Yes, and I'm fully aware of what he can do to us. But there's no other way. If we keep doing what we were doing, he'll target the Eldar first to remove our advantage and then pick us off one by one, dragging us into the mist to do Emperor knows what."
"So your plan is to simply deliver ourselves on a silver platter and hope that he doesn't notice two humans wearing over sized Xenos clothes?"
"He can't see through the mist any better than we can. He's using his other senses, especially smell, to track us. He'll have to engage to realize what's happening, and by then, they will have already set the explosives around the perimeter."
Marcus emphasized his point by shaking the belt of grenades in his left hand.
"This will be enough, if placed correctly, to send the entire block up into the sky. It will also be enough to disorient him and create the opening we need. Hell, if we're lucky, maybe a stray brick will kill him—who knows..."
This time, Ellias didn't retort, choosing instead to hear his officer out, though it did nothing to quell the overwhelming dread twisting in his gut.
"But assuming we can't count on luck, the second step begins immediately after the explosion, and I have lovingly nicknamed it 'Prey turned predator.' This is where Arandur and Thalindra will shine."
The Dire Avenger merely cocked an eyebrow at his words but remained silent, allowing Marcus to continue.
"Taking advantage of his disorientation, the two of you will engage him, making surprise your main ally. Do so as you see fit. We will likely be in no condition to keep fighting at this stage—if we're even still alive. But I'm trusting Thalindra's words on the nature of this enemy..."
"Okay, but presuming he has advanced senses enhanced by some augmentations, how exactly does the Eldar taking their clothes off solve the problem? I presume their skin ought to have some odor..."
Darius interjected with a good observation, one that filled the officer's heart with pride, knowing he had a very observant member in his retinue. But he already had the answer to his inquiry.
"Both of them will cover their bodies and weapons in mud and gravel, not leaving a single spot unblemished by it. This should be enough to mask their scent from the traitor."
"Now, Mon-Keigh, wait a minute—"
Before Arandur could protest, Thalindra cut in, shutting the other Eldar down before he could object.
"We will do according to your devices."
"Good. Now, about the second step—turn the script over. Take his mobility away and use his own strategy against him. Of course, this is just a suggestion. At the end of the day, I don't even know if step one will work..."
"It will." Thalindra's reassurance was brief but filled with confidence.
That was what came to her mind after activating the runes on the grenades, sending everything flying into the sky. She used her powers to shield her downed comrades, utilizing the new cloud of ash and debris to pull them away from the battlefield.
It was quick and precise as she floated them out of harm's way, making them land safely meters away from where the fight would continue.
Marcus took large gulps of air alongside the other two who were still conscious. Their minds and souls were completely consumed by a mix of anxiety and relief at having been spared a slow and gruesome death.
"I presume step one worked?"
Marcus let out a soft whisper as his breathing began to steady.
"Yes, it did—as it always does."
Thalindra knelt on the ground for a quick check-up, her ears perking up as Arandur engaged Jezza. Her mind continuously broadcasted their enemy's position.
"It has begun."
Another short remark as she assessed whether any of them had injuries requiring immediate care. Her hands moved in elegant arcs as she gauged the extent of their wounds.
"I see... Go help Arandur. We will sort ourselves out."
The Seer hesitated, glancing in the direction of the unseen battle, torn between her duty as a healer and as a warrior.
"It's okay—step two, remember?"
She looked at the three of them as they helped each other rise from the ground, limping toward the two who remained unconscious. Thalindra cast a final glance at the captain, who met her gaze before giving a confident nod to reassure her.
That was all the assurance she needed. Gripping her staff, she sprinted toward the fight, unwilling to waste the opportunity to defeat such a disgusting foe.
The moment she reached them, Arandur was struggling to keep up with the injured Jezza. Both had managed to hold their own fairly well, but it was clear that this Astartes was unlike any they had faced before—he had a firm grasp on how to fight them.
While his skill with the sword was crude at best, his speed and battle knowledge compensated for it. He lacked the finesse of their kin, but his mind was as sharp as it could be, and when combined with his experience, it allowed him to beat the Dire Avenger. Now, Arandur had lost his grip on his weapon and stood at the mercy of the Astartes, the tip of the traitor's blade pressing against him.
In an instant, the Astartes had seized Arandur by the mouth, lifting him like a ragdoll. The moment Thalindra sensed the vile intentions of the daemon-spawn—what he intended to do not only to her warrior but to her other companions—something shifted within her. It was a part of her she reserved only for the worst scum, a face she dreaded revealing, but at this moment, the situation demanded it.
This being was undeserving of mercy, of a swift death. If he longed for the sweet release of pain, she would grant it. Thalindra took aim and hurled her staff with all her might, aiming straight for the beast's back—where one of its monstrous hearts should be.
Like clockwork, the weapon struck true, but the Seer wasted no time. In the blink of an eye, she followed, appearing as if from thin air behind Jezza, who had only just now realized the blade that had pierced his torso.
She leaned in close, her lips near his ear, whispering in a mocking tone.
"Hope you can prove your words true with me, Fiend." The last word dripped with venom. Her fear was entirely gone—only unadulterated hatred remained.
Especially after she realized, through Arandur's mind, what the traitor carried on his belt.
With a swift movement, she yanked her staff free, leaping aside just in time to evade the next attack. The Astartes was slower now, his damaged organ making every movement labored. His breathing was ragged, his eyes squinting as he struggled to refocus on her. Thalindra merely spun her weapon with grace and precision, unfazed.
The Emperor's Children warrior licked his lips at the sight of the form-fitting undersuit of the Eldar female, his twisted desires surfacing. His gaze locked onto hers, expecting to find the disgust or wounded pride that her kind usually displayed when subjected to his lecherous stare.
But what he saw shocked him.
Her aquamarine eyes were empty—devoid of emotion. Her scent carried no fear, no horror. All he could sense was the familiar, simmering heat of rage as if the very air around her had grown warmer.
That lack of reaction enraged Jezza. With renewed fury, he lunged at her, unleashing a relentless flurry of blows. His attacks were swift—but not swift enough for the Farseer's foresight and skill. Each strike was parried with effortless precision, swatted aside as if she were dealing with a child flailing a stick.
This only fueled the Astartes' anger, his attacks growing more frenzied, his will burning fiercely to overpower her. Even with his wounded leg, he pressed on, maintaining the onslaught. But the outcome remained unchanged—Thalindra deflected every strike with infuriating ease.
Then, a strange sensation crept over Jezza.
At first, it was just a subtle warmth in his left ear. Then, as they fought, he felt the same sensation in one of his fingers. Then on his chest. Then his nose.
Before he could process it, the pain hit all at once.
Thalindra had struck him so quickly that his mind hadn't even registered what had been severed—his limbs, his ear, and even a deep, gaping wound across his abdomen. His armor, battered by countless precise cuts, finally gave way with a loud clank as its clasps fell apart under the relentless strikes of the Xenos's blade.
"What…?" he muttered, dazed.
Then something pierced his back.
Like before, a blade appeared—this time, a sword, driving deep into his remaining heart.
"The wolf just became the prey," whispered the Dire Avenger behind him, his weapon lodged deep in the Astartes' flesh.
Jezza felt his life slipping away, both his hearts torn apart by his enemies' blades. But he still had one last trick up his sleeve. He wasn't sure if it would work—but he was running out of options.
His tongue moved, pressing against the inside of his cheek, revealing a small, pill-like device crafted from aluminum alloys. With all his strength, he bit down.
Thalindra immediately caught on to the Marine's plan—but what followed was unexpected.
A strange scent flooded her senses. It was sweet yet spiced, a fragrance she did not recognize. It came from the Astartes still within her grasp.
Realizing what was about to happen, she didn't hesitate. She drew her blade, ready to strike the final blow—
But her body would not move.
Her attack came to an abrupt stop, the tip of her weapon halting mere millimeters from Jezza's neck.
"What? Finish him off!"
Arandur screamed in Eldari. She tried to make her arm move to strike, but she couldn't—her body refused to obey her commands.
"Thalindra!?"
She couldn't even move her lips to plead for help; only small groans escaped her. The laughter of the Mon-Keigh in front of her drowned out any other sound.
"The wolf still has teeth, foolish prey things."
With his remaining strength, he caught her by the neck turning around as he did, using her as a living shield, halting the Dire Avenger in his tracks. The Eldar blade was still lodged in his back.
Arandur's eyes narrowed in a deep frown. It was clear he was in a precarious situation—his weapon was stuck in his opponent, and to make matters worse, Thalindra, the most powerful and important member of their group, was now a hostage.
"You can't beat the wolf, my little lambs. None of you!"
He let out a long, maniacal laugh, saliva spraying as he spoke. The apparatus on his back released a loud hiss as its contents began injecting into his bloodstream.
"Well, while you all fought the good fight, I must say—if you really think I don't have some tricks of my own, you are all very naive."
Arandur spat on the ground, assuming a fighting stance once again.
"I will not go down so easily. Prepare yourself, Xenos, because the lesson I'll teach you will be a harsh one..."
So here we are! Well, this is the second part of the fight. I was aiming to do everything by the age of 17, but I thought it would be better to separate it into one more part. I know that leaving cliff hangers may suck for some, but I ask you guys bear with it one more chapter to finish this epic fight off!
As always, I'm going to thank Billy Fish1409 for editing this story and severely improving its quality. Also, if you are aiming for similar quality read with amazing characters and setting check his work out, I promise you guys won't be disappointed. Plus, shout out for Boyo99, the guy who has been with us since the beginning, encouraging and inspiring me alongside Bill to make this one, so give him some love too. The guy deserves it.
Now, to reply to you guys:
StarWanderer's Writing - I'm Happy that you liked it. I do get some inspiration from the Spartacus series as well as the real-life counterparts of the arena fighting during Rome's peak. Since I think the Drukhari in a similar vein would make a spectacle to draw out the most suffering and pain from its contestants as possible, that is why it is so theatrical to the point of having a recreation of an Imperial city in it. Also happy you liked Jezza, Vyle could do that, but nah he wanted to be a fucker and give the reason of all the eldar fears to fight in the arena and spice things up. And we ought to see what Culsan will do in the next one, hope that whatever comes next you will like it.
expert93 - Glad to know it had the intended effect; also, they should be. Jezza is not a guy you want to mess around with. He may like to toy with his victims, but he is a heartless and skillful killer, so yeah...Hope you like the next one. Until then, TheChristianPrimarch.
Naruto nerd4 - Ohohohoh good theory, really good. I have to stop myself from giving it away, but let's wait to see if you got it right, hehehe. Until the next one, TheChristianPrimarch.
With that being said, I hope you are all good, and until our next encounter, I hope you keep being good. God bless until the,n TheChristianPrimarch.