Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 220
The Xenos screeched in agony as surgical saws dug into its rubbery flesh. Boneless limbs tried to flail in distress but were bound to the med-slab by tight bands. It bucked wild, toothless maw agape, black eyes wild, but the disgusting creature could not escape. Hissing burbles escaped its throat, pleas for aid or threats of retribution, none could say for no one understood its vile Xenos language. The Hrud was theirs to do with as they will, but the Chirurgeons had little time to waste.
Vendrick stood outside the Medicae suite as he watched them split the Xenos from neck to sternum. The free-standing room was sealed behind thick glassic walls and bounded by Adamantium girders. In a vacant hold it had been erected, dark and echoing, once used to house screaming Psykers, a cage within a cage. Within a dozen adepts in white smocks laboured over the captured alien, as a cyber-cherub floated overhead, wafting incense to and fro. No pain balms were offered, no mercy was permitted. The creature's sins merited no clemency: first the inexcusable crime of existing, the second the depravity of daring to encroach on worlds the Emperor had decreed rightfully belonged to Mankind. Its death was ordained, but Vendrick yet had use for it.
Next to him Dhulak's merry demeanour was absent as he muttered, "Capturing that was a mission worthy of a funeral dirge."
"I remember it well," Vendrick muttered.
"Millions of the rabid things descending, colonists running in terror. Falling dead at our feet, pleading for salvation. We could do nothing; we could not save them."
"That planet was doomed; we could not change that."
"We could have saved some of its people, even one soul."
"That was not our mission, capturing this specimen was," Vendrick refuted.
"So it was and we succeeded, but does it not weigh upon you that we left a world full of people to die?"
Vendrick was annoyed by this line of questioning, "We had our orders, and the good of the Imperium is better served by its completion than the loss of a simple agri-colony. We are not bound to the Ordo Xenos, but Ordo Astartes. The elimination of renegades and Traitors is our mandate. Each Heretic Space Marine is the death of ten worlds, a hundred. Eradicating them is the greatest service we can offer the Golden Throne in our lifetimes, and that requires rare tools."
The Xenos' screeching reached a new pitch and something strange began to occur. The walls of the Medicae-lab became spotted, tiles greying and falling off in places. Tools grew dull, losing their edge and lamps hanging from above began to flicker. The Cyber-cherub fell to the floor with a thud, its corpse-flesh rotting. Even the Chirurgeons began to tremble, their hands shaking and backs bent. They were all heavily augmented, but seemed to be having trouble focusing, unable to hold themselves straight. Yet they pressed on, pushing tubes deeper into the open chest cavity of the Hrud, as black fluids were drawn out by creaking pumps.
Dhulak shook his head, "The Entropic field takes its toll."
"Indeed," Vendrick stated flatly.
"It does not bother you. You have less heart than Belphian, and he has the depth of a spoon!"
"Whether I am distressed or not is irrelevant, the objective is all."
"And what of the Oath Relentless?"
Vendrick scowled, "Be not obtuse, you know few must be sacrificed so many can live. We swore to never yield in defending the galaxy, that demands the hardest of choices."
"You sacrifice too easily," Dhulak scorned.
"And you grow too concerned with the loss of each life. The Imperium is the only hope for the survival of humanity as a species. Against extinction individual lives are meaningless, one life is nothing, that the Imperium endures is all."
A Chirurgeon fell to the floor, withered skin exposed between his medicae frocks. Another collapsed, her heart giving out as entropy took its toll and another fell to his knees, eyes growing cataracts as hair rained from his scalp. The Hrud was going still as its vital fluids were stolen, sucked out by flaking tubes that rotted from times' cruel embrace. Into spinning filters the vital essence went, refined, the most precious elements extracted even as the machines began to fail. The window of opportunity was closing, they had to hurry.
Dhulak glanced over, "Do you not care what your Brothers will think, when you return to your Chapter?"
"They do not care," Vendrick dismissed.
"Not care for a world sacrificed, not care for the children dying of old age before our eyes? How will you explain mothers transfigured into dusty skeletons, fathers collapsing into piles of bones?"
"What makes you think we're ever going back?" Vendrick muttered.
The operation was complete and the Hrud expired with a final gasp. The Medicae suite had been pristine mere minutes ago, gleaming white and steel, now it was a ruin. Instruments snapped as matter crumbled, the walls were a vision of antiquity, gaping holes left where tiles had fallen free. The Cyber-cherub on the floor was a black lump of gristle but yet the operation continued. Precious drops of black fluid ran down a tube, measured out by a single Adept, his hands shaking as he placed droplets into tiny glassic vials. Each was sealed with a tiny glob of wax, then encased in a bolt shell. One hundred bullets, for these a dozen Chirurgeons had given their lives, for these a world had been sacrificed.
Vendrick moved to the door as the doddering adept carried the tray with stick-thin arms. At the entrance Vendrick felt the lingering effects of the Entropic field, fading slowly but still extant. Strange devices buried in his chest pulsed, fighting the effect, generating arcane sine-waves he could not pretend to understand. Lazar said such implements might combat the worst temporal effects of the Daemon-worlds that Traitors used as bases. They had proven critical in fighting the Hrud, but certainly were too rare to waste on mere adepts. The swaying ancient presented the tray and Vendrick took it, then the Chirurgeon toppled backwards and died, dust spilling from his frocks.
Vendrick offered the tray to Dhulak, then took a single bolt round. The value of the contents were precious beyond words, but worthless if not tested. He took out his bolt pistol and fitted the round into the chamber, then turned around. Opposite the medicae suite was a cage, with open bars and a heavy lock on the door. Within a hulking beast glared at him, another foe, captured at great cost. It was vaguely humanoid, with backwards knees and long talons for fingers. Orange eyes glowed like coals, filled with diabolical hatred: a Heretic sworn to chaos, a servant of the Traitor Legions.
Vendrick said not a word as he levelled his gun and aimed for the centre mass. A firm squeeze of the trigger and the round flew, hitting squarely and shattering the tiny vial of Hrud blood. The effects were instant. Time unspooled in random pockets, accelerating and decelerating entropy without any cohesion. The Heretic came apart, wet chunks raining to the floor, cracked and withered or fresh and oozing. A scion of the Dark Gods that had taken a squad of Censors to defeat, killed in single shot. Vendrick had been expecting failure, that some unseen flaw would render the substance useless. He was secretly pleased, relief flooding through him, though he'd never admit it.
"It works," Vendrick declared as he holstered his pistol.
"I hate to say it, but yes," Dhulak admitted.
"Any Traitor Marine struck by such a round will be extinguished instantly."
"If only we could produce a hundred thousand more of them," Dhulak sighed.
"This will suffice," Vendrick said, "Just don't drop that tray."
"What happens if I do?" Dhluak asked gingerly.
"Depends if you want to experience ten thousand millennia to the face!" a rough voice called out.
Vendrick turned to look at the hold's entrance, seeing a Space Marine enter. No Censor was he, but the subject of a more esoteric and risky procedure. The signs were all over him, he bore no armour, his ravaged frame unable to bear the strain. His back was crooked like a Shepard's rod and his left foot dragged with a cripple's gait. Odd devices bored into his bare scalp, making his head a pincushion of fat needles, and pain lingered behind his eyes. Such a fate unnerved the proudest Space Marine, and yet Ehvael had volunteered, despite knowing the risks.
"Brother-Sergeant, your glorious success resounds from the bulkheads!"
"Your prophecies foretell victory?" Vendrick probed.
"The steaming pile of Xenos blood does," Ehvael chuckled.
"The first test was a success; the real trial will be actual combat."
"Crack a grin for once," Dhulak snorted, "How fares our Oracle?"
"I abide," Ehvael replied, "The pain comes and goes, as do the visions."
Vendrick didn't comment. He was blunt and unsympathetic, but for Ehvael he held back his criticism. A Storm Herald by Chapter, how Lazar had thrilled when he discovered their precognitive flaw. Intensive surgeries and misapplied sciences had magnified that trait, boosting Ehvael's gene-flaw to scarily accurate degrees. Vendrick would not care for the physical costs, the surgeries had rendered Ehvael combat-ineffective, but his gifts were mighty. Ehvael's foresight had led them to the Flame Falcons in a barren system no other would even look at, and told them of the Hrud's coming. Lazar promised even more, the ability to see renegade Chapter's Heresies before they even thought to stray from Orthodoxy. It was a dizzying prospect.
"Do you have word from Lazar as to our next mission?" Vendrick asked.
"Nothing so mundane," Ehvael replied, "We're being reinforced."
"Another wave of recruits?" Dhulak asked.
"Yes, but all from the same Chapter: Smoke Jaguars."
"Who?" Vendrick scowled.
"New blood, or more apt old blood long lost, Raven Guard successors by all accounts. My Chapter has formed an alliance with them, and persuaded them to join this merry band. They will rendezvous with us after the next warp jump."
Dhulak shifted his grip on the tray and mused, "More than one, that is unusual. A sign of great favour."
"Or suspicion," Vendrick muttered.
"You don't trust their intent?"
Vendrick mused, "We've never had any of Corax's blood in the Censors. Guilliman, the Kahn, Ferrus Manus and Dorn, but not Corax. Even the children of Sanguinius refuse to participate."
"That is why this is so momentous, a whole new bloodline of possibility."
"And danger," Vendrick muttered, "Ehvael, do you have any predictions for us?"
The Oracles' eyes grew distant, "I see you standing on a world of the dead, surrounded by lies. At your side one who cannot be trusted. Sorrow and rage shall you know when you face one who should be the greatest of all and yet is lower than any. Flames, I see a warrior wrapped in ethereal flames, the fires of damnation walking as a man."
"Flame Falcons," Vendrick growled, "I knew we weren't finished with those mutant scum!"
"I'm not sure," Ehvael blinked, "Something is hidden from my sight. Waxing and waning like tides on an ocean."
"It matters not," Vendrick dismissed, "Whatever the future holds we shall meet it head-on and break it utterly."
But Dhulak cautioned, "Tread carefully, some challenges require wits, not brute strength. If these Smoke Jaguars are Corax's blood then they will be subtle and cunning."
"I do not yield to the whims of newcomers," Vendrick growled.
"They will not bend easily," Dhulak cautioned.
Vendrick scorned such sentiments, "They will be made to understand the way of the Censors, to embrace the oath, as we have. In the slaughter of His foes, my fist, my blade, my bolt: relentless. In defence of His people, my hand, my shield, my armour: relentless. In the face of evil, my mind, my will, my faith: relentless. I am righteous, I am retribution, I am relentless!"