Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 224

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Dhulak asked quietly.

"Good no," Vendrick agreed, "But necessary."

"Then why?" Belphian muttered.

"They must understand the seriousness of their role, the solemn dignity of the Censors and above all the urgent need for such a force."

"And you think a trophy room will impress them?!"

"They seem enamoured of the dead; this will speak to them as nothing else will."

Belphian snorted, "You'd better be right."

"Just try not to start trouble for once," Vendrick hissed.

He left his squad in his wake as he moved into the Hall of Retribution. It was a large space, located deep within the Renegades' Woe. A high vaulted roof was crowned by leering stone gargoyles and figures of men plummeting to their deaths. Sinister alcoves dotted the walls, leading to ante-chambers filled with darkness. Sounds were muted as if in a Cathedral, to impress the solemnity and the morbid beauty of what was displayed within. It was as close to Hallowed ground as the Censors owned, a record of their kills and the wider Ordo Astartes before them.

Under dark arches relics were locked in stasis-cabinets, items taken from defeated champions and renegade warlords. In stark rows were broken weapons and sundered helms, wrecked breastplates and shredded bits of banners. A mausoleum, the many kills of their order over the millennia. Many assumed the Inquisition sought to bury all evidence of treachery, to hide the sins of the Imperium from sight. Such was true where the common man was concerned, but here in their most secret hallow did the Inquisitors allow themselves to remember.

Among the relics the Smoke Jaguars wandered. They had received their first round of upgrades and were back in their customary armour. Diceramite suits were being fashioned but such labour would take years to complete, till then the newcomers used their traditional plate. They seemed oddly at home amongst the dead, comfortable even, as if the shades of Mortis were their true home and the vale of the living were foreign lands. Yet not all was well, they shivered occasionally, some shook their heads or squinted as if having trouble focusing. Side effects of the upgrades, their humours would be unbalanced for a time, prone to flashes of anger and despair. It would settle eventually, that is until the next upgrade.

Tachna was examining a cracked helm in a casement, "A legend unknown, yet echoes in eternity?"

Vendrick answered him, "Shakaar, disgraced warlord of the Silver Glaives. Inquisitor Hycephius tracked him for eleven years through the Regulus Sector. In the end Hycephius killed him by sneaking into his sanctum and planting a plasma bomb within his dark shrine. When Shakaar communed with his infernal patrons he was blown to bits, along with most of his warband."

Tachna leaned in to inspect the helm but across from him Vitcos called, "What legend follows this breastplate?"

Vendrick glanced over and saw a slab of Ceramite, twisted almost beyond recognition, "Rakham, of the Steel Praetors. His Heretek breed broke faith with the prohibitions on Abominable Intelligence. They were overtaken by a Silica Animus, their bodies infused with unholy machines and animated as puppets. They invaded Forge World Zhakko, but Inquisitor Indrad managed to infect their Teleportarium with a Scrapcode virus. When they tried to teleport into the Archmagos' final fortress they arrived inside out."

"And this?" one called Sechura called from a marble globe of a world, white as alabaster.

Vendrick sighed, "A tombstone for Crosis and his White Serpents. They rampaged across the Heliopolis Arc, unstoppable by any fleet or army. Nothing could stand against them, not men, Marines, or fortress. Finally Inquisitor Caeboros fed them intel of an Exterminatus-grade weapons cache hidden on Redhaven."

"A lie?" Vitcos guessed.

"No, but when Crosis came for the Virus bombs Caeboros detonated them. An agri-world lost to the life-eater, fifty million mortal lives snuffed out, to save fifty billion more across the sector."

"Fight as legends these shadowy agents do not," Sechura snorted.

Yet Vendrick explained, "They are but mortal men, set against Space Marines. Such battles only end one way. Cunning and guile have been the Ordo's chief weapons, until now. The Censors seek to change such dire imbalances, to fight the renegades on even terms."

Vendrick put his back to them and walked to the end of the hall. Here a grand mural rose flanked by four gun-servitors, as if anyone would think to mar its perfection. Atop a Land Raider stood a Space Marine in yellow, his power fist raised to a blood-stained sky, as dark towers rose behind him. He was shouting some forgotten battlecry, his face furious and defiant.

Vendrick looked upon it with awe, "Maximus Thane, Lord Commander of the Imperium and Hero of the War of the Beast. By the will of the Emperor he led the armies of mankind for 100 years following that savage war. Brave and bold was he, but haunted by treachery. One of his own Chapter, a cur called Zerberyn, made peace with the damnable Iron Warriors, to unite against the Xenos. He dared to show the filth mercy! Treachery so vile the Fists Exemplar were purged. The Inquisition was reorganising at the time and Thane pushed hard for the creation of an Ordo to stand vigil against such treachery resurfacing among Astartes."

A fine tale and yet Vitcos gestured to a smaller statue off to one side, a Space Marine with hard eyes and gritted teeth, "And this was the serpent Zerberyn?"

"Don't insult us!" Vendrick snapped, "As if we'd put up a statue to him."

"Then whom do you applaud in the Stair Abyssal?"

"That is Damiel!" Vendrick proclaimed, "First Censor, founder of our Brotherhood and author of the Oath Relentless. An Angel of Vengeance by Chapter, he led the fight against The Honoured and the Ember Lords and defeated those craven warbands. He defined us, he is the example we follow. Show respect!"

A fierce tension arose among the Censors at the implied insult to their finest warrior. Many had tried and failed to become Censors, but Damiel was the first to succeed. None present had ever met him, he'd lived and died some six centuries earlier, when the Ordo Astartes first sought to exploit Lazar's genius. Others had come and gone in the centuries since, in ones or twos, but Damiel was still held as the example all must follow. Vendrick commanded the largest gathering of Censors yet to survive the process, but the idea that any would speak ill of Damiel was an outrage.

Sadly Sechura sniggered, "Tor Gath, Vhree Do Kan, Daman."

"What was that?!" Vendrick snapped.

"Nothing that is worth your knowing," Sechura grinned.

An urge to grasp his maul bit hard and Vendrick growled, "Tell me what he said, or there will be a reckoning!"

Tachna spoke up, "He admires your First among Censors."

"Lie not," Vitcos snorted, "Sechura calls him a blunt-snouted tick eater, a tailless arcuqine, a toothless old mastiff!"

"You dare..."

Vendrick's tirade was cut short as Belphian barrelled past. The Censor was enraged, his anger burning too hot. He launched himself at Sechura, grappling for the throat. Fists flew and headbutts were exchanged in a flurry of blows as the pair toppled over. Surely Belphian must hold the advantage but Sechura was vicious and struck for the face with a furious blow. A flurry of hits rang back and Vendrick realised his squadmate was about to engage his Apothex, which meant there would be a dead Marine in a few seconds.

"Cease this at once!" Vendrick barked as he waded in.

"Sindha, his eyes red!" Sechura cried.

"Frak you!" Belphian snarled.

"Stop it!" Vendrick cried as he grabbed at Belphian's pauldron, "I order you to stop!"

They wouldn't, hands locked about each other's throats, rolling on the floor. Their humours were uncontrollable, sent into fits by the eldritch devices buried in their bodies. He'd known the Smoke Jaguars would be unbalanced but he thought Belphian would have mastered the anger by now, he was wrong. Suddenly another waded in, bigger and stronger. Tachna, the Terminator, stamping into the fray with a stern glower. His black hands grabbed both Marines and heaved them apart, hoisting Belphian aloft with one hand and dragging Sechura back with the other. Strength was meaningless when set against mass, and Tachna's dour weight held them at bay.

The pair glared daggers at each other, Sechura's face stained by blood from a shallow gash over his eye, Belphian bruised and battered. Vendrick's ire was staggering, the loss of discipline was unforgivable. He was about to open his mouth to issue reprimands but then to his surprise Tachna drove his fist into Sechura's cheek, snapping his head back. Jaws dropped but the Smoke Jaguar turned towards Belphian, hands raised in a clawing gesture.

"What are you doing?!" Vendrick shouted as he got between them.

Tachna hissed, "Blood has been spilled, it must be repaid in kind."

"Stop this at once!"

"The scales of justice must balance," Tachna growled, "A tooth for a tooth."

"What kind of madness is that?!"

"Ours," Vitcos chimed in from the sideline, "The laws of Sedaxus say blood can only be paid for with blood."

"You want to cut Belphian to repay the wound?!"

"So it is written in the Testimony."

"That's ridiculous, what would you do if someone died?!"

Vitcos grinned evilly, "Where dost thou think the Headsmen earned their title?"

Vendrick couldn't believe his ears, he'd known these wastrels were weak and ill-disciplined but he'd thought Tachna at least was stable. It turned out he was just as insane as the rest; he was going to cut Belphian as a penance for the bloodshed this day. Vendrick knew that would be a disaster, the Son of Medusa was unstable enough as it was, to be attacked again would send him over the edge. Either he killed someone or his Apothex burned out and he died. That Vendrick would not allow.

"Stand down!" Vendrick barked, "I am in command here and I will brook no further bloodshed. These two have broken ranks and will be castigated, but only as I proscribe. The Censors are not feral brutes!"

"Stand aside Mull-ic," Tachna growled, "My geas cannot be stayed."

"Do not try me," Vendrick snapped, "I will have discipline, I will have order!"

"Blood for blood, an eye for an eye!"

That was entirely the wrong thing to say and the Censors tensed as they saw Tachna would not back down. Dhulak's hand went to a combat knife at his belt, as did the rest of the squad. The Smoke Jaguars replied in kind, about to draw blades. The Censors were stronger and faster but the Smoke Jaguar's better armed. Vendrick had seen those Transonic weapons in action, and knew they could cut through his plate with ease. This was many stripes of not good.

Unexpectedly the servitors suddenly powered up, targeting lenses swivelling in sockets as Heavy Bolters rose and armed Everyone froze, wondering what had happened, then Vendrick felt data-djinns oozing through his plate and knew Lazar was interceding. The Magos was absent but his mind could go anywhere through the Realm Binaric, and he chose to intervene before blood could be shed.

"Stand down!" Lazar's voice razzed from the various servitors.

"You heard him!" Vendrick snapped, "Lower your arms!"

"The mountain eruption cannot be stayed!" Tachna growled.

"You'll stand down or find out if Terminator armour can withstand multiple Heavy Bolters at point-blank range!"

Surprisingly it was Vitcos who interjected, "Turgo ke, mes bessar."

"Gat nem ra Arkqas!" Tachna spat back.

"Arkqas toa rem. Aapo yel dakana."

"Sedaxus esttse Sedaxus!"

"Meshop do Copan, teg exar Teotihuacan ded?"

To his shock Tachna stood down, the Headsman stepping back with an aggrieved air. Vitcos was grinning slyly as if winning some point over a rival. Vendrick suspected there was no love lost between the pair, but the First had spoken in favour of reason. Vendrick was most surprised, he had not expected such sagacity from one he despised. And yet a glint that black eye spoke of mischief yet to come, this was a reprieve only, Vendrick was sure.

Lazar's voice issued forth again, "All Censors are to report to the Strategium at once!"

"Magos, this matter..." Vendrick argued.

"I care not for your belligerent chest pounding. You have eroded combat efficiency at a critical moment. I cannot waste another second addressing your failures."

"But we..."

"No time! Events are afoot, our window is narrower than we knew! Report to the Strategium, immediately!"

Lazar's voice cut off and the two groups were left with acrimony and suspicion between them. Vendrick's effort to instil dignity and pride into the newcomers had failed utterly, and he was aghast at how deviant their creeds were. Vitcos made to leave first, leading his comrades out with a faint grin of amusement tugging at his lip. Vendrick let them go as he turned to berate a downcast Belphian for this lapse in judgment. Vendrick wasn't sure what Lazar was about to tell them but he was going to make sure his squad obeyed his orders to the letter from now on. No more mistakes would be tolerated, not from the squad, not from the Smoke Jaguars.