Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 216
Furthest Harbour
14th B'ak'tun, year 360, Season of Teotihuacan
A heathen's blood-scent was on the air and Vitcos hungered to taste it. Through winding turns he tracked the spoor through the maze of the Venatic. Ancient stones were weathered by thousands of years of sun and wind, made smooth by rain and time but they fit perfectly, not a gap large enough to accommodate a razor blade left betwixt stones. Vitcos moved cautiously, the blazing sun of Copan XII burning his naked shoulders. His hearts beat steadily, his muscles were slick with sweat and the tattooed band across his eyes gave him a menacing aspect. He was alert, focused and committed to the hunt-kill, the Venary rite demanded no less.
Vitcos carefully stalked along a passageway, moving slowly and with great care. His neuroglottis sampled blood on the air and he knew the heathen had fallen foul of one of the many traps. It would be tempting to rush ahead and finish the Venary in one fell swoop, but he must tread carefully. The forgotten artificers who wrought the Venatic were cunning indeed, layering their maze with deadly traps such as to bring low even a Smoke Jaguar. Vitcos' challenge was not only to claim the life of the heathen, but to survive doing so.
The First of Blazing Shadow stalked along a long passageway, ignoring the Servo-skulls floating above the maze, recording his footsteps so other Firsts and those set above them could judge his skill. He was silent and smooth, but his hearts were troubled. Longer than a mortal lifespan has he been First of Blazing Shadow, his tally of hunts was incredible and his feats legendary. He had proven himself time and time again, through daring and boldness and a willingness to look beyond the Testimony. Yet still he was suspected, still whispers rang of his unsoundness. He should be a Shadow-Chieftain by now, standing at the right hand of the Shade-Lord. Instead he was subjected to trials and tests, surely the Venary would be his ascension, but he knew they were just waiting for him to fail.
His bitter reverie cost him focus and he paid dearly. A faint whoosh of gargling air gave him a split second's notice and he threw himself to the hard stones. Gushing flamers erupted along the length of the passageway, scorching the air overhead. Thankfully the gusts blew upwards but droplets of burning Promethium fell upon his shoulders and his pale skin was scoured raw. Pain flooded his nerve endings but he gritted his teeth and held firm, waiting for the blast to end.
It proved a short burst only and Vitcos rose to his feet. He shook off his agony and took a step forward, only to find he had been tricked, the flamers were only a fop to lull him into false confidence, the true trap was the floor, which gave way to a pit of spikes. Vitcos' legs moved faster than his conscious mind, springing him across the gap before he even knew how far it was. His feet proved wiser than his head and he managed to get one toe on the far side, causing him to stumble forward and roll onto the ground. Fresh agonises as his burned back flared, but he overrode them, forcing himself to roll on, leaving the trap behind.
Vitcos got his naked knees under him and forced himself upright. The Venatic was no place for self-indulgent pity, he needed to be more alert. Ahead lay a junction, the path forking. Vitcos saw one path was wide with plenty of space to evade traps, the other narrow and confining. An obvious choice, a clever hunter would be suspicious of the easy route and choose the ominous path, only that was too simple, the Venary was testing his sagacity. Surely the more ominous path was a hidden trap and he should choose the easy route, only perhaps that was the trap, to make him overthink and blunder. He dared not underestimate the cunning of the forgotten artificer so he knelt down and put his eye to the level of the floor. Transhuman sight detected hair-thin needles lining the ominous path, just waiting to puncture the bare feet of a blundering Smoke Jaguar, too busy patting himself on the back for his cleverness. Poison no doubt, though he dared not touch to discover which, of a type to incapacitate even a Space Marine. Cunning, very cunning indeed.
Vitcos rose to his feet and took the easy route and was rewarded for it. Halfway along another route joined in and he spied bloody marks upon the wall. Heartened Vitcos allowed himself more speed, the scent of his prey growing stronger second by second. The sound of a trembling heart echoed louder and he began to run, anticipation of the hunt-kill brimming. A sharp turn brought him to his prey, a fallen woman in a coarse shrift, leaning against a wall, bleeding profusely from a leg wound. Blood puddled around her prone form, her face was pale, she was going into hypovolaemic shock. Too kind a death, for so vile a heathen.
"Help me…" the woman pleaded as she tried to stem the bleeding with a weak hand.
"Mercy have not I for the serpent-tongued," Vitcos growled as he loomed over her.
"Please, I don't deserve this," she begged.
"Shimmering scales surround thee, the lies of a snake where honesty should dwell."
"Why are you so cruel?!" she wept, "Just shoot me."
"The measure of mercy you wielded in life is repaid in death."
"I don't understand you!"
"Helena Desrhan," Vitcos declared as he switched languages, "Tyrant, deceiver, greed-ridden despot and betrayer. You have turned your face from the Sun-Emperor, plunged your planet into foulness so despicable the stench reached the Throne of Gold. Your murder-fields covered a continent of Gorash IV, filled to bursting with souls loyal and true. Billions more you condemned to lives of suffering and penury and you dare beg for mercy?!"
Helena's eye gained a spark of defiance, "It was my world, to do with as I see fit! The squalid mobs in their factories and workhouses, so pathetic and lazy. Begging for relief from lives of toil. Lazy, feckless degenerates, squandering any chance to improve their lot with drugs and booze and lust. Any one of them could have elevated their station if they worked hard enough but they chose lives of poverty! I was bringing my planet to glory, by winnowing the chaff to leave only the hard-working behind!"
Vitcos' disgust grew, "You dare speak of merit, you who earned nothing in life! Your families' wealth purchased your status and position, men of riches and cunning greased your path to Governorship. You were given a life few can even dream of, without meriting it, and still that wasn't enough. You craved more, always more. No fortune could ever be enough to sate your lusts. You thought yourself superior, but in the sight of the Smoke Jaguars you are not special, not worthy. By the laws of Sedaxus you are condemned. You betrayed your people; your fate shall be the same as theirs!"
Vitcos grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her aloft, she struggled but her strength was fading fast. He relished the fear in her eyes as he placed a palm on her head and wrapped fingers around her temple, pressing inwards. She squirmed but the pressure increased second by second, beyond mortal tolerances, crushing her head in a vice. Vitcos felt her pulse quicken under his fingertips but carried on, whispering, "I am the justice of the Ravenlord, I am vengeance of the Dark One, I am fate delivered. I walk in the temple of your soul yet you see me not. Look into the darkest place of your heart and you will see me there, staring back at you from the darkness. A monster you are, but one small in stature. I am monstrous beyond the bounds of your understanding and I demand my due!"
His strength proved too much for her head to withstand and her skull imploded. Brains and bone painted his hand as her ragged corpse dropped from his grip. He lifted his palm and examined the remains. He did not taste them, he had no wish to ingest her memories, but he smeared her gore across his cheeks, anointing himself with her vital fluids. The Venary was complete, Vitcos had triumphed once again.
A buzzing echo told of a Grav-skimmer coming to collect him. He looked up and saw a thin disc hovering overhead, a downgraded and workman-like version of a Land Speeder. A rope ladder was cast by Serviles bearing the brand of the Techwrights and he grabbed the hemp rungs, hauling himself out of the Venatic. From above it resembled a carpet of tanglevine, twisting and tangled, filled with traps, but ringed by high platforms. Vitcos mounted the skimmer's deck as he surveyed the landscape, the soaring mountains that formed a caldera, the various Ziggurats and Forge-fanes that comprised the Fortress-Monastery and the Reflex Shields above, rendering the Smoke Jaguar's base invisible to outsiders. Though the Prowls dwelled in dens scattered across the continent this was their spiritual and logistical heart, here their soul lay.
Vitcos crossed his arms as he was taken back to the waiting crowd. Upon high balconies a dozen Firsts watched, observing the Venary via pict-screens. Vitcos ignored them, head held high as he was carried on. Blazing Shadow Prowl stood on one balcony, his Kinsmen Sechura, Ilquitio and other faces new and old smiling faintly at his success. These too he ignored, eyes fixed on his destination. Three awaited him, shorn of plate, each Vitcos esteemed and despised in equal measure. The first was the grim face of Huacho, First of Hound Sinister, Shadow-Chieftain and commonly known as one-day successor to the Shade-Lord's title. Across from him was Tachna, the Gaze Catcher, Headsman and most ardent defamer of Vitcos. Yet in the middle stood Teotihuacan, Shade-Lord and First of Firsts, inheritor of Sedaxus and He Who Must Be Obeyed. A stern hunter, his skin pierced by bones of heathens in many places and his fingernails replaced by Adamantium claws.
Vitcos alighted the skimmer and stood on hot stones as he proclaimed, "In triumph I return, to a house of silence."
"Watch your wicked tongue, praises unbecoming are ill-fitting!" Tachna snapped.
"A Venary completed brings acclaim, thus is our way," Vitcos argued.
Huacho spake, "Not for glory do we perform the rite, but to see justice done!"
"Who are you to bear the mantle of justice?!"
"I am he," Teotihuacan announced, "And you forgo my obeisance due!"
Vitcos bared his neck in submission and said, "To the Shade-lord I bow, a humble supplicant awaiting your verdict."
Teotihuacan drew himself up, revealing his many scars and declared, "The Venary is completed and it is fitting! Let all know Vitcos has our approval and acclaim. He has proven himself the Sun-Emperor's righteous fist of vengeance. Our envoy he shall be, to the stars and beyond. To walk among the great and mighty of Imperium. A geas of great import doth I lay upon him!"
Vitcos blinked, uncertain of what he had just heard. After all this time he thought he would at last have merited the title of a Shadow-Chieftain. A commendation given for deeds mighty and glories earned, not handed down as a rank inherited. He'd thought the Venary was his rite of investiture, yet it seemed he was to be denied once again. A hunt was an insulting reward, but to have it publicly laid upon him by the Shade-Lord himself hinted at great significance. Something was off here, something secret and mighty.
Vitcos had no time to ponder as a pair of Serviles brought forth a sacred relic. Upon a velvet cushion rested a crystal ingot, encasing a shard of black metal. All recognised it, for it was the Smoke Jaguar's greatest treasure. A quillon of Corax, torn from his jump pack on the sands of Istvaan V, gifted to the Chapter from their noble progenitors the Raven Guard. This touchstone, and nine others like it, were their link to the Primarch, one of the pair anyway. Vitcos knew what few others did, that the Smoke Jaguars had two gene-sires, but that had no bearing on today. The feathers of Corax were marks of the Ravenlord's approval for their good works, physical proof the Smoke Jaguars were worthy of his legacy.
Tachna took the relic in his bare hands and declared, "Though we walk in dark places, our faces are ever turned to the light!"
Vitcos placed his hand on the crystal, marring its perfection with bloody traces, "The Ravenlord is my guide, only the Sun-Emperor is higher in my esteem."
Tachna proclaimed, "May all know the Smoke Jaguars are ever his instruments of justice! His dark judges and executioners by deed, thought and word!"
Vitcos completed the ritual words, "I am the voice in the night, the whisper on the wind. Wherever the heathen, the Xenos and the Deamon linger, I am there. They shall know no peace, no respite, so long as I draw breath. Unto the end of days I troth to hunt, my blade sharp and my eye keen. Thus is it written, thus shall it be!"