Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 183
Ilquitio's protest rang in the abandoned house, "The Testimony's worth is proven when the pages are opened!"
"The stars do not align," Vitcos refuted.
"The legacy of ages is not a club to be beaten over the Orruk skull!"
"The lone fool on the beach commandeth the tide not to turn!" Vitcos rebutted.
"The spirit of Sedaxus is not with us!"
"Listen not to the roaring of the surf but the shaking of the cliff face as it crumbles!"
Ilquitio sank back, frustrated but unable to argue the point. Vitcos understood his ire, for he shared it. The Smoke Jaguars detested defensive warfare, they went to extreme lengths to avoid battles of attrition, but circumstances had forced their hand. Orruk had penetrated the city and were spilling free, they must be confronted else the defence would fail. The Smoke Jaguars had to make a stand, set their feet and throw back the attackers. It struck at the core philosophies of the Testimony but events had outpaced them, they could no more deny the reality of the situation than a cliff could ignore the sea tearing at its foundations.
Vitcos turned from his Kinsman and took in Blazing Shadow. The Prowl had taken up residence in an abandoned manor house, a few streets from Triumphal Way. Once the idle rich had whiled away their days here, luxuriating upon soft furnishings, drinking, rutting and gambling as their Serviles tended for their every care. The ground floor reeked of unmerited esteem, power inherited and not earned. The chandeliers were gaudy, the paintings self-congratulatory and the windows broad and unarmoured. Vitcos wondered for a second where the owners had fled, and if they now enjoyed the same squalor they had imposed on others, then dismissed it as irrelevant.
Blazing Shadow were kicking away furniture, clearing room near the windows. Doans were busy setting up Heavy bolter positions on floors above, their sniper rifles would make no difference this day, weight of firepower alone would tip the scales. Outside the window a broad boulevard stretched running parallel to Triumphal Way. Fine houses occupied both sides, with stark gothic columns and spiked railings surrounding small gardens. The Smoke Jaguars had Prowls in every third house, creating a firebreak against the Orruks.
"Beware harsh words for they lead to the Headsman's axe," a harsh voice growled. Vitcos gritted his teeth as he turned to find Tachna entering the room. The Headsman barely fitted through the high doorway, his Terminator plate filling the aperture entirely. His presence was a lodestone of dread, his manner dismissive and his words scornful. Vitcos loathed that Gaze Catcher had chosen to stand with Blazing Shadow, but had no right to argue. Headsmen went where they willed, no Smoke Jaguar may stay their course.
"Blazing Shadow needs not Il-Tzak to approve our ardour," Vitcos rejoined.
"You lie poorly," Tachna hissed, "I scent the need for my presence by the sweat upon your brow."
"My hearts are steady, my aim is keen!"
"So proclaims the Last among Firsts!"
"When the Orruk come, then the soundness of my Prowlmates' choice will be plain!"
Tachna didn't bother to answer that as he addressed the Prowl, "Orruk spill far and wide, spreading as the floodwaters breaking the dam! The Heralds of Storms draws them onto his guns, but other avenues must be barred. Hanged Man Lane and Bridgeway are the dominions of the Guard Imperial, their tanks and artillery will reap a most worthy tally. The lands betwixt are the Smoke Jaguar's to preserve. Here we meet the heart-foe; here we match strength to strength!"
"As Damolos' spirit demands?" Sechura chimed in.
"You are wise to heed the wisdom of Aapo," Tachna allowed, "Laugh as you kill, sing glad songs of slaughter, this is a day for the ages!"
"Slaughter alone will not deny the Orruk," Ilquitio grumbled.
"You deny the call of the hunt?!" Tachna accused, "The troth of Blazing Shadow is thin!"
"We walk the path of the trickster," Vitcos rejoined, "The Smoke Jaguars fight with cunning and guile, even when marching in straight lines we heed the axioms of Corax."
But Tachna spat, "The Ravenlord must give way to the Dark One this day, for the sands of time run dry!"
An alert in their helms from the tripwires they had set up told that the far buildings had been penetrated. The Smoke Jaguars instantly moved to the windows, searching for the first hint of the Greenskins. To the right Hanged Man Lane boomed with artillery, to the left Bridgeway rumbled with the sounds of thousands of engines. The Imperial Guard would deny those passages to the Orruk, forcing them to move up the more accessible Triumphal Way, which the Storm Heralds were turning into a slaughterhouse. The grounds between those two avenues were assigned to the Smoke Jaguars, a flanking attack on the mortals must be prevented at all costs.
Suggestions of shadows in the windows of the opposite buildings hinted at Greenskin intruders, then suddenly they exploded outwards. Jumping through panes of glassic, pouring out of doorways and rising from basement hatches they came, running headlong into the street. The Smoke Jaguars responded instantly, opening fire in a hail of mass reactives. The upper floors rained down heavy weapon fire as the lower windows exploded with tongues of bolter fire. The opening wave was torn apart, only to find more pressing forward, then the mines buried in the far gardens erupted, scything hulking figures with Frag shards. The Orruk were given pause and the incoming fire redoubled.
Vitcos had his bolt pistol in hand and fired three-round bursts, cutting down any enemy he saw. An Orruk with crossed bandoliers was punched off his feet, another fell missing half a shoulder and a third stumbled, its legs blown out. Vitcos' aim was keen, his hand steady and he blew away foe after foe, culling the enemy with swift disdain. Ten foes he killed in quick succession, emptying his clip and then he paused to swap magazines. In the brief instant he heard the street exploding with the noise of weapon fire, Prowls far and wide scything the enemy apart with lethally accurate shots. Hundreds of Orruk fell in the first thirty seconds, paving the road with corpses and leaving dead bodies hanging from spiked railings. A worthy display, but the foe cared nothing for losses.
Screaming with savage fury the Orruks pressed on, racing into the teeth of the fire. They fell in droves but stomped over their dead and dying, crushing the fallen with iron-tipped boots. Vitcos bit down on his instinct to order a tactical withdrawal, as the Testimony would have them do, and instead set his feet as he fired through the window. Two foes he picked off, three, five, seven, nine, ten, as his Prowlmate's bolters disgorged waves of vicious fire. Withdraw, a lifetime of training demanded, regroup and flank them, it could not be countenanced. This street had to be held, there was no other option.
A second clip ran dry and Vitcos had no time to reload. He slammed his pistol to his hip and drew his Chakrams as he yelled, "Bare your fangs, let your claws be slicked with blood!" Heavy weapons continued to fire from the floors above but Blazing Shadow took up their Obsidian Blades to greet the foe. A blunt-headed Greenskin bounded up to the window, trying to jump through. Vitcos slashed a Chakram through the head, demolishing the skull and leaving the Orruk to fall short. Another came at him with gnashing fangs, the First claimed that for his own, removing the jaw in a single sweep, allowing blood to cascade from the ruin of a mouth. A third and a fourth he killed with swift blows, his Transonic weapons slicing deep, his gauntlet's red paint redundant as his arms were slick to the elbow with heart-blood.
At every window the battle was fought, the Smoke Jaguars reaping lives with gusto. Ilquitio's Daga blades were fast as lightning, plunging into eye sockets and throats, using the tines to slice open throats and tear off hands. Sechura was more blunt, stabbing and hacking mechanically but when a Greenskin threw a Stikkbomb at him his free hand snatched it from the air and threw it back into the crowd. The detonation blew apart a dozen Orruk, yet still they kept coming. The fighting was close and bloody and the vox was alive with cries. Haucho was crying vitriol at the foe as he reaped lives; Aapo was wading into the fray, wreaking havoc with his Chord Claw. Vitcos had no chance to heed their feats as a massive Black Orruk jumped through his window.
The First sliced twin furrows into the deviant's chest before boots touched carpet, but it seemed to make no impression. In return a crude mace smote his helm, sending shards of agony into his neck, were he mortal his skull wound have imploded. Instead he sliced low, trying to take out a leg only to get a knee to the faceplate that snapped his head back. Ride the blow, instinct demanded, give ground and re-orientate, but he could not. He had to hold this position, he had to choke off the advance, as was the way of the Fists Imperial, how he loathed it.
The Black Orruk lifted its mace high to break his skull but then Tachna unveiled his true heart. The Headsman's Shadow-path erupted, filling the room with blazing glory. No hidden shade of the night was he but the lodestone of attention, the most singular being in the fight, radiating majesty and presence. Gene-seed threw up strange mutations sometimes and Il-Tzak was well named, Gaze Catcher, the inversion of the Axioms of stealth. All Orruk eyes were drawn to him as every head turned, they could not help it, instinct demanded it. Nothing was more important than Tachna, all else was smoke and shadow, the fact of the Headsman simply was.
Vitcos felt his eyes seeking to flick sideways and it took conscious effort to hold his gaze steady. The Orruk could not match this feat, eyes drifting away, pulled unwillingly towards Tachna. Vitcos' Chakrams flew in the moment of distraction, slicing off its head entirely. The corpse fell backwards but Tachna was in trouble. Teeming hordes of Orruk veered off, racing to greet him, every bullet and blade seeking to end his life. The Headsman responded by stepping forward, bulldozing through the lintel of the window to plough into the mob outside, peppering them with bricks and mortar. The onslaught was furious, hundreds of hands trying to stab deep, but Tachna's Terminator plate was proof against such blandishments, and his Rosarius flared as the conversion field swathed him in protection.
Tachna's weapons harvested lives with every gesture. His powerfist swung broadly, cleaving bodies and exploding foes utterly. His axe owned the dread majesty of the executioner, rising and falling ceaselessly, making his murdering brisk. Tachna waded into the swarming mobs as death's son, bringing ruin to all who dared stand against him. Still he was outnumbered a hundred to one, odds even a Terminator could not overcome, save that his cyclone missile launcher had yet to make its weight felt.
From his shoulders streaked a dozen Krak warheads, sailing over the Greenskin's heads to punch into the house directly beyond. They burrowed into the stone, then exploded in rippling waves of destruction. The whole frontage of the house came away, stone and brick falling free, dragging down more of the building with them. Masonry tumbled to the ground as an avalanche, bringing girders, furniture and floorboards with it. The landslide fell upon the nearest Orruks, sweeping them away and carrying broken bodies along in a river of crushing scree. Wide the devastation swept, knocking Orruk off their feet to bury them in rubble and washing up to Tachna's hips as the Terminator strode on. A cloud of grit swept along the road, choking and blinding Greenskins for half its length, leaving them gasping as brick dust lacerated their lungs, even Orruk would feel that.
"The gloaming quickens!" Vitcos cried, "Sechura, let them hear our roaring!"
"May the stomping of boots be our echoes of victory," the Prowlmate growled as he pulled a small device from his belt.
"Let them see us, let fear taint their hearts with dread!" Ilquitio proclaimed.
"When they quiver, then we charge forth as the Grox enraged!" Vitcos commanded.
Suddenly the houses to either side of Blazing Prowl erupted with noise and motion, the thunderous stomping of Ceramite boots, as shadows moved at windows and voices rang with harsh detestation. The Smoke Jaguar's numbers seemed to swell, doubling, tripling in rapid succession. The remaining Orruk paused, seeing enemies loom at every window. Pistols twitched, mobs swirled in confusion, then something most peculiar happened. Vitcos had been counting on them being thrown into confusion, not knowing which way to face but instead they began to fall back. Greenskins retreated across the street, chased by bolter shots as they fled into the gaping holes of windows and disappeared from sight. Black Orruk moved with them, imposing order upon bedlam and turning what was a mad rout into a well-coordinated tactical withdrawal.
Vitcos gaped out his window, "My eyes behold the stars overturned!"
Sechura agreed, "The eye of heaven blinks, for legends and truth exchange their allotted roles!"
"Orruk retreat from a fight," Ilquitio gulped, "The ghosts of the Stair Abyssal will denounce our tales as hollow of truth!"
From the rubble-strewn street Tachna returned, wading through broken masonry as his Shadow-path dwindled, "Whosoever set this snare?!"
Vitcos answered smugly, "Magpyr skulls are good for more than running! I sought to confuse our heart-foe with reinforcements beyond counting, but never did I dream they would flee in cowardice."
"No normal Greenskins are these," Tachna growled, "I would troth they are misbegotten wastrels, save they fight as fiends possessed."
Sechura sounded confused as he queried, "Is this not as the Herald of Storms wished?"
"To draw the foe to him was his troth," Ilquitio agreed.
But Vitcos fixed his eyes on the horizon as he whispered, "It is written in the Testimony: he whose plan goes perfectly shall soon learn he stumbles into a trap."
The Smoke Jaguars had thrown back the flanking attack at minimal cost and the sounds of battle from the Imperial Guard were faint and few. It seemed the invaders had not been serious about extending their offensive into the city's guts, concentrating everything they had on rushing Triumphal Way. It was exactly as Chapter Master Lujan had planned, and yet the enemy's willingness to oblige was troubling. Vitcos felt a shiver run down his spine as he wondered if the Serviles of the Golden Throne were forcing the Greenskins to follow their plan, or if the Orruk were making the Imperials follow theirs.