# A Light in the Darkness



## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

The begins of a tale that has been inspired by a character I ran as an npc in my Dark Heresy game. Suggestions/input are quite welcome!

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Pinpricks of light. Tiny specks of hope, hung like jewels on the mantle of the galaxy, glimmering in defiance against the hungry void. Thousands of worlds spinning through the eternal night, following the steps of a dance begun aeons before. 

Yet, even through the vast and uncaring night, one light outshines the multitudes. A radiant beacon, burning bright in the endless sea of death and destruction.

A Light in the Darkness.


The traitor guard units of the Savian Dragoons had fortified themselves into the corpse of what was once a proud Imperial city. Now, streets where Emperor loving citizens had walked were strewn with rubble and corpses. 

It made his bile rise to see such things. 

These guardsmen had been sent to answer a call of aid from Huron V, now they were ranked amongst the vilest of traitors. How dare they turn on those they were sworn to protect, they had given up the right to be considered human. The Emperor demanded such atrocities be met with only the most vicious of responses.

They were that response. They arrived on wings of fire out of the darkness, silent death descending from the heavens. The world itself seemed to sense their presence. Dark clouds swiftly gathering over the capital city of Davion like a shroud, blotting out the meager starlight and reflecting the color of blood in the flames of the ravaged metropolis.

The city was built in dark stone and iron, gargoyle encrusted spires clawing at the stars as if they hungered to seize the very skies. Like many sprawls of humanity, the city had built itself on the ashes of its previous lives, ever reaching upwards. This terrain suited them, this mount of humanity, where their specialized training and low numbers worked to their favor. 

Two squads, Assault Squad Deytex and Tactical Squad Ta`an, along with Shadow Master Vespar’s handful of young Scouts disappeared into the echoing streets of the hive. With them came the men and women of the Brigion 175th, brave souls keen to amend the vile deeds of their former brethren.

The very air of Davion seemed to tremble as the Raven Guard, sons of the mighty Corax, stalked its streets in wrathful silence.

-----------------------------------

Duncan pressed his back into the grey stone of the alleyway he had darted into as a hail of fire screamed less than half a meter from the green trim of his right shoulder guard. Brother Hektor was with him, his black armour caked in the dust and grime of the dying city. In spite of the filth, the white Aquila on his chest gleamed as if freshly painted. 

_As it should be_, thought Duncan. 

Brothers Arges and Fenn were visible, approximately fifteen meters away through the wall of tracer fire, in a passage across from their position. Fenn’s voice cut through the squad’s vox channel,

‘At this rate they will run out of ammo in short notice,’ his smile was evident even under his Mark VII plate, ‘then we can just waltz right up and ask them nicely to…’

‘Improbable,’ Arges’ deep growl cut Fenn off before he could get too engrossed in his fantasy. Duncan allowed himself a small smirk at the pair. Who would have guessed that the solemn Arges, who hardly ever spoke more than a handful of words at a time, would have taken the young hot-blood under his wing? The battle brothers couldn’t be more like night and day if they tried, yet Arges’ mentoring of the young and gregarious Fenn had sped his acceptance into the squad. In turn, Fenn’s jovial nature had brought some life back into the dark eyes of the veteran. 

‘I’m in agreement with Arges on this one,’ Brother Hektor gestured with his prized melta, the muzzle of the weapon wrought in a pattern of rampant gold flames, ‘the traitors have fortified this point well, even without the aid of the four heavies. It is highly unlikely that they are short on ammo.’ 

Duncan nodded curtly in agreement and addressed the squad’s channel, his voice clear and low, ‘Right wing in place, awaiting go.’ 

Sergeant Ta`an had taken Brothers Erik and Vycus to circle around the area and take the traitors by surprise from the flank, while Duncan and the rest of the squad played bait to distract the guns. The Raven Guard despised playing bait, but he would lead the men as the sergeant wished.

Duncan had noted the bark of Astartes bolters in the direction the sergeant headed moments before his wing had slipped into place, but all was lost now to the roar of the heavy stubbers. This troubled him; it was unlike Ta`an to announce his presence unless absolutely necessary. After a brief pause, his com clicked to a private channel and Ta`an’s deep voice issued from the inside of his helmet along with a wash of static.

‘We have encountered more resistance than was indicated by the Scouts,’ the sergeant’s voice was barely audible over the interference, yet his irritation was still clear. Duncan winced to think of the words Ta`an would have with Vespar, the sergeant wasn’t known for letting his displeasure go unspoken even to the Shadow Master. 

‘You will have to clear that point without us. We will joi…’ the vox screamed in his ear as Ta`an’s voice was lost in a howl of static. Duncan winced even as the protections of his suit’s systems dampened the squeal. There was a metallic taste in the back of his throat; he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Ta`an had singled him out months ago to groom for squad leadership someday, as it was rumoured that the sergeant was under consideration for exalted first company Terminator status. Duncan had been honoured, but a bit surprised that he had been chosen over Arges. The veteran’s seniority in the squad accounted him the position of leadership over Duncan, and the relatively young Astartes was hesitant that the quiet elder would harbor resentment at the sergeant’s choice. His worries proved to be unfounded, however, as the squad veteran pulled him aside one evening after a bout in the training cages.

_‘I bear you no ill, Brother,’ He had said, flashing the sign of the Aquila and favoring Duncan with a rare smile, ‘as I approve of Ta`an’s intentions,’ the Raven Guard’s voice was a deep growl, but under the coarse tone was a note of respect. Duncan felt his twin heart beats increase slightly at the thought of such an experienced veteran’s acknowledgement.

‘I am a warrior, not a leader.’ Arges had continued, ‘Ta`an knows this.’

He placed powerful hands on Duncan’s shoulders. Even at just shy of two and a half meters tall, Duncan felt dwarfed by the massive stature of Arges. The Astartes’ features were scared, his hair holding more steel-grey than black. It was as if his soul was stripped bare under the onyx eyes that searched his face. Finally, Arges nodded ever so slightly to himself.

’There is greatness in you,’ Arges said, his voice barely above a whisper, releasing his grip and stepping back to offer his arm to Duncan.

Duncan reached out and grasp his brother in a warrior’s grip, forearm to forearm.

‘Vinctorus aut Mortis,’ the older Raven’s eyes shone in the glow of the illuminators.

‘Vinctorus aut Mortis,’ Duncan replied, voice echoing in the shadows._

‘Ta`an?’ Duncan closed his dark eyes, shutting out as much outside stimuli as he could and listened intently, ‘Brother-Sergeant, do you copy?’ The vox hissed and spat like a warp spawn. He felt the vibrations as Hektor’s armoured form moved beside him an instant before the gauntleted hand gripped his shoulder. Opening his eyes to see what his battle brother could need, Duncan realized that Hektor wasn’t looking at him. The Raven’s head was tilted skyward, towards the cloud cover, a ghostly green glow reflecting in the red lens of his helmet. Duncan’s own eyes followed his brother’s gaze as if drawn by a force outside his own.

Overhead the clouds rolled and boiled, fingers of sickly green lightning creeping across their surfaces. The air was alarmingly still and silent, as if the city feared to take a breath. 

The baneful energies radiating out from a center point, a whirlpool of utter darkness rimmed in angry violet. It made his very essence ache to view the rotating eye of the storm. At a thought his helmet projected objective runes directly into his retina, but he already knew the landmark. The maelstrom was centered over one glowing icon, the planetary governor’s palace; a massive spire of dark metal piercing the skyline and the heart of corruption infesting the corpse of Huron V. The same direction Ta`an and his brothers had circled to flank the emplacement that the squad was setting up to destroy. 

Everything flashed through his sharp mind in less time that it took him to draw a breath; possibilities, odds, and scenarios all calculated and weighted in risk versus outcome. They were deep behind the main perimeter of fighting, almost to the pinnacle of the twisted mound that was Davion. The mission objectives had been to wreck as much havoc in the supply lines and take out key emplacements in the enemies’ defense structure that would cripple the traitors, making them easy prey for the cleansing sweep of Guard. This set of entrenched guns, nestled in an intersection of streets, represented a secondary route to the main spire; thus a critical point that needed to be eliminated. Ta`an’s orders were to take it, so he would.

Duncan turned his eyes from the strange events unfolding above and quickly switched through the vox channels making up the command net, becoming increasingly ill at ease as the snarl of static greeted him at each pass. He looked to Hektor in frustration. The marine was standing, melta hanging limp at his side, staring into the maelstrom. 

‘Hek,’ the Raven was unmoved, ‘By the Emperor, brother respond!’

Duncan reached out, caught his Brother’s armour by the collar and pulled. The servos in his battle gear hummed softly with the force required to shift the massive marine’s bulk, but the act forced Hektor to stabilize himself or overbalance. Hektor came to with a slight grunt, shaking his head as he waved Duncan off.

‘Warpcraft,’ muttered Hektor as he made the sign of the Aquila, his melta resting above his primary heart as he crossed his hands over his chest.

‘All frequencies are being jammed down to squad level at least,’ said Duncan. He felt his eyes wandering back towards the skies and growled under his breath. Mouthing a short Litany of Focus, he felt the fog that had settled over him recede with an almost audible snap. The familiar words chasing the unnatural desire away as his mind cleared. ‘Be ready to move on my mark,’ Duncan continued, ‘Ta`an encountered more resistance that was noted, we must act quickly so that we may aid our brothers. There are ill happenings, and I want the squad reunited after this point is clear in case we need to fight our way out.’

Hektor gave a nod in agreement as he checked his melta’s canister then ran a hand over the bolt pistol affixed to its magclamp on his left thigh. The Astartes had a notorious habit of showing his discomfort in an almost obsessive attention to his weapons.

Content that Hektor’s concentration was back where it needed to be, Duncan peered across the smoke and bullet filled corridor to meet the silent gaze of Brother Arges. Fenn was on a knee beside the veteran, Arges’ steady hand on his shoulder. The young marine’s head kept tilting skyward as if expecting the clouds to retch out foes at any moment. Duncan didn’t blame him for his wariness, as his own senses screamed that something vile was about to happen.

‘Cover,’ Duncan said to Hektor as he slapped his bolter to the clamp on his thigh; across from the intricate silver-bladed combat knife Ta`an had gifted him to symbolize his status as secondary leader. The battle sign of the Raven Guard was capable of slightly more complex messages than some of the other chapters, since the sons of Corax specialized in situations where vox or normal speech wasn’t always an option. It wasn’t required, but it helped to have both hands free when possible.

*Communications jammed. Brothers encountering heavy resistance. Prepare to engage without additional support. Primary target heavy weapons, secondary munitions,* he saw Arges gesture in acknowledgement and continued, motioning to Fenn, *Grenades. Flash and Frag. Personal choice on fuse count. Await mark.*

Fenn’s instinct and accuracy were uncanny when it came to thrown projectiles, and Duncan wasn’t about to squander that advantage in this situation. The guns were hidden well, shattered sections of rockcrete and burnt out ground vehicles stacked high around them; but he had faith in his battle brother’s skills. Fenn nodded and pulled the grenades from their holster at his waist, pausing to glance skyward before signaling Arges to step back and give him room. Duncan unclamped his bolter and checked the clip with a practiced hand as Fenn crept low to the edge of the avenue, Arges hovering behind him ready to give cover fire. Fenn raised his left gauntlet to gesture he was set when the fire streaking from the stubbers suddenly ceased and utter silence descended.

Duncan signaled for hold, the back of his neck suddenly crawling. He cautiously leaned out from the cover of the chewed up wall, the lenses in his helmet automatically cutting through the haze of smoke and grit. Nothing moved behind the reinforced roadblocks and barrels of rubble the traitors had piled up to fortify this position. Across the way he saw Fenn shrug, his armour working to reproduce the peculiar human gesture.

Duncan started to sign cautious advance when the storm broke.

The vox shrieked in his ear, deafeningly loud even as his advanced physiology desperately sought to shield him. He commanded it to mute, but the deafening wail didn’t cease. A voice no human throat could produce poured from inside his head. Words, in a language harsh and archaic, burned like dark fire along his nerves. His vision fogged and the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth; it was all he could do to remain standing even braced against the stone of the wall. Hektor sank to his knees in agony and he saw Fenn drop like a puppet with its strings cut. Arges clamped his gauntleted hands to his helmet in hopeless effort to impede the sound. 

It was over in less than four heartbeats, but to Duncan it felt like an eternity. The howling stopped as suddenly as it had begun and his vox went back to the low growl of static. Sound slowly returned, echoing strangely as if he stood at the end of an empty corridor. Hektor moaned softly as he slowly climbed to his feet. Duncan could see Hektor’s heartbeat stabilizing under the rune projected into his right lens that signified his battle brother. Arges’ rune was stabilizing as well, but Fenn’s was still erratic.

‘Arges, look to Fenn!’ Duncan called out to his brother, thoughts of battle sign pushed aside in prospect of the young Raven’s distress. The older Astartes quickly helped the struggling Fenn with the clamps at his neck and removed his helm, dodging to the side as Fenn promptly coughed a mass of foaming blood into the rubble before him. The battle brother then took a stuttering gasp of air.

Duncan cautiously leaned out from cover, autosenses scrolling through the spectrums to find the best suited to the unnatural dusk that had abruptly fallen. His dark eyes flitting about the street; scanning for any sign of life or movement. All nearby was silent as a tomb, but in the distance he heard a faint noise akin to a mournful howl. The sound echoed strangely at the edge of his hearing before dying away. 

He eased into the street, bolter held at the ready. The silence that descended on the area making the crunch of debris under his boot and the soft hum of his battle gear seem as loud as a Titan’s tread. Hektor crept out behind him, covering his brother’s flank, his tense movements betraying his heightened battle state. Duncan felt his own body tingle as adrenaline surged through his veins.

When no enemy targets presented themselves, the pair made their way quickly across the bullet chewed street to where Fenn was slowly being helped to his feet by Arges. Duncan gripped his brother’s chestplate with a stabilizing hand as Hektor stood guard.

Fenn’s charcoal grey eyes were blood shot and dilated. His irises had yet to darken completely to the impassive ebony that was signature of the sons of the Primarch Corax, although his skin was pale as new parchment. Wisps of black hair clung to his forehead in sweat-damp strands where they had escaped the tight scalp lock he wore. A line of deep crimson blood, mixed with saliva, ran in a dark stain down his sharp chin. Duncan unclasped his own helm and stood before his gasping battle brother, his features statuesque and noble. The small gold stud above his brow glinted in the eldritch lightning that rolled silently overhead.

Brother Hektor relished taunting him that he should have been born on the moons of Baal, saying his features were more befitting to a haughty Blood Angel than that of a low-born son of Deliverance. Hektor’s own face was as brutally harsh as the surface of Raven Guard’s homeworld itself.

‘Fenn,’ Duncan spoke softly, his voice rich and resonant, ‘Brother, are you fit to continue?’ The calm tones encouraging Fenn’s mind to trigger his indoctrinated training and slow the marine’s racing hearts. The young Astartes wiped a gauntlet across his face, only serving to smear the blood further across his features, and nodded slowly. With the winking line under his rune slowly returning to the normal state, Duncan favored his brother with a heartfelt smile and pressed Fenn’s helmet back into his hands. While Fenn was occupied with refitting his helm, Duncan’s onyx eyes cut to Arges.

The old Raven stood to the side, as impassive in his battle gear as a shadow. He nodded ever so slightly in response to Duncan’s unspoken order to watch their young brother closely. 

The chapter Librarians had kept a close eye on Fenn during his time as a scout, but had come to the conclusion that the young marine was only to be a latent. Duncan knew solely what was required about the abnormal ways of psykers, as they were a necessary tool in the Astartes’ armoury. A trained Librarian could be the manifested will of the Emperor himself on the field of battle, but they were also dangerous on a level beyond measure. Fenn’s potential was apparently buried so deeply in his mind that it wasn’t gauged to be a threat under normal conditions, but the knowledge of its existence gnawed at Duncan. Librarian Caleb was continually checking up on Fenn, but at the present Caleb was with Assault Squad Deytex on the far side of the hive. As matters stood he might as well have been on the other side of the Imperium.

Weapons leapt up as the vox coughed, but only the faint hiss of static emerged. Duncan took a deep breath and recited another Litany of Calming to slow his heartbeat and focus his mind. He had to get the squad moving before they started shooting at shadows. Fixing his helmet in place, he addressed them,

‘Let’s clear this point, and then go find our Brothers,’ his tone spoke of command and composure that he didn’t necessarily feel, but his brothers needed to hear. He paused a moment to ensure his own gear was in place before turning back to the street. Hektor was still standing guard at the exit and addressed Duncan quietly as Arges and Fenn took up positions ready to defend the flanks.

‘Nothing,’ grumbled Hektor as he touched the bolt pistol on his thigh for a third time, ‘I don’t like it Duncan. There are at least a hundred men at this position and it is silent as a crypt. We should just circle around and meet up with Ta`an.’

‘We clear this point,’ Duncan repeated with weight. Hektor was still for a long moment. 

‘Yes, Brother Tav’ke,’ he finally growled, using Duncan’s surname as an indication of his displeasure. 

Duncan knew it caught in his battle brother’s craw to take orders from him. They had entered the chapter as recruits within the same season, yet Duncan had quickly passed the slightly older Hektor in honours. Duncan seemed to be always one step ahead of his battle brother, and it had slowly driven a wedge between them. It had been left to fester for too long, and Duncan silently vowed to find a way to finally heal the old wound once they were finished on this forsaken world.

The four Astartes crept out of the shadows and into the smoke and rubble choked street, weapons at the ready. The lighting flickering overhead caused apparitions that twitched and undulated as if reaching for the Ravens. A strange fog gathered in the open, carrying the smell of blood. Barely audible over the tread of the Raven Guard’s boots was the faint sound of dripping. It was soon clear where the sound was coming from.

They stepped over the barricades and into a scene of butchery. Every last traitor guard lay where they had fallen, dead by their own hands, some corpses still gripping the knives used to slash their own throats. Blood ran in steaming red ribbons from the bodies to collect in glistening pools.

Hektor knelt by a body draped over one of the guns that had been spitting fire at them not moments before, the barrel tingging softly as it cooled. The white of bone was visible in the gaping ruin that was the man’s neck. Hektor lifted the man’s hand for the others to see. The fingers were curled into claws and stained red with blood, fragments of flesh clinging to dirty nails. The back of the dead guard’s hand was branded with a strange mark that resembled a canine of some sort. 

‘He clawed his own throat out,’ Fenn’s voice was flat and held none of the humour the young Raven was known for. His brother’s detached voice chilled Duncan more than the mutilated corpses ever could. 

He motioned and the squad spread out, quickly checking the area for any threat. The only sound in the flickering darkness was the wet slap of Astartes boots in congealing pools of blood. Arges stayed within view of Fenn as the he drifted about the area like a sleepwalker. 

Duncan knelt over a body clothed in the remains of an officer’s uniform. The uniform had been slashed and desecrated, its glory tarnished. The body itself showed signs of mutations; strange yellow-green eyes stared blankly at the Raven Guard, pupils fixed wide in death. The man’s jaw was slightly elongated, giving it a muzzle-like appearance. Sharp points of blood stained canine teeth emerged from behind the curled lips. A jagged wound gapped beneath the mutant’s jaw line. He rolled the body aside, disgusted.

After a long minute, the squad gathered at the far side of the emplacement, tension evident in every movement. Duncan tried the vox again,

‘Ta`an, Brother-Sergeant can you hear this?’ he felt the weight of the others eyes on him as he stood, head cocked slightly to one side, listening to the low growl of static.

‘Let’s just…’ started Hektor as the vox coughed to life and Duncan waved him silent.

The voice was not Ta`an’s, but it was human. A woman’s voice, heavy with distortion and static interference yet still commanding, issued in a broken string from the vox link,

‘Th-s is Inq------- -on----ce, all Imp----l ves--ls l-ck on -- ----s signal a-- fir- full la--e bat----es im------ely! A-th-riza--on c-de Epsi-on G--ma 47-958 Om-ga. Fi-- at ---l, r-----, F--e a- wi-l! By -he w--l of --e Empe—r de---oy t-e s--re!

‘It is being broadcast on all frequencies,’ noted Hektor as the same distorted message issued from the combeads and voxlinks of the dead guardsmen, ‘That takes a fair amount of power.’

Duncan nodded and tried to make out the words over the howl of static, even with his enhanced hearing backed by his suits internal systems it was nearly impossible to make sense of the words. The message repeated once more then cut out suddenly, leaving a feeling of foreboding in its wake.

‘Close formation,’ Duncan ordered, ‘let’s get the hell out of here and find Ta`an and our brothers.’ None argued with the sentiment and they had gone less than a few strides when an inhuman howl sliced through the twilight, followed by the bark of bolter fire and a scream that could have only come from the throat of an Astartes.

The squad broke into a dead run, thundering down the avenue with the force of a Land Raider. The streets were winding and devoid of life, the detritus of battle littering their path like morbid confetti. The towering buildings echoed the report of fire oddly; but Duncan’s training allowed him to filter out the false returns and zero in on the source. The rune in his lens for Sergeant Ta’an flashed from the status icon of unknown to alarming vermilion as they got closer to the source. Erik and Vycus’ runes remained a telling black. 

More screams split the darkness. Duncan picked up his pace, his armour dutifully alerting him that he was dangerously close to the maximum the servos could take. Slewing around a corner, he leapt an overturned ground vehicle blocking the street without even breaking stride; his brothers hot on his heels. The Astartes stumbled to a halt as if gripped by an unseen hand. The scene before him lay like a vision torn from his worst nightmares.

Fires burned in upturned fuel drums, casting the area in a baneful orange glow. Body parts were strewn about the thoroughfare, some still discernable as human; others were merely lumps of glistening red meat studded with bone. There was blood and viscera everywhere, a coppery tang hung in the air like rank incense.

In the very center of the arena of dead, standing in a pool of congealing blood and gripping the thrashing form of Sergeant Ta`an by the breastplate, was a fiend torn from the darkest corner of the warp.

It stood at least six meters tall, muscles rippling under glossy black fur. The daemon’s head was that of a sharp-eared canine, narrow muzzle gapping in a parody of a grin to expose gleaming white fangs that dripped with bloody saliva. Two sets of arms emerged from its muscle-bound torso, ending in wickedly black-clawed hands. Its powerful legs were braced wide, terminating in feral talons that flexed in the sticky pool of blood. A wrap of iridescent violet cloth hung down between its loins, stained black where blood had sprayed down its length. Its eyes burned the same repulsive green of the lighting arcing overhead.

The lower set of arms, clad in golden forearm guards, gripped the struggling Ta`an meters above the ground. The sergeant was horribly wounded. Blood dripped from the stumps of his legs, both missing from the thigh down. The plates of his mangled right arm glistened wetly as it swung limply at his side. Despite this, he fought on with a combat blade gripped tightly in his left gauntlet. Brothers Erik and Vycas were unmoving collections of armour and torn flesh at the daemon’s feet.

Gripped by the sheer presence of the daemon, Duncan took in the scene in mute horror. His brothers, equally aghast, stood like statues behind him. The brief moment of calm was all that the daemon needed. Almost faster than Duncan could follow, one of the daemon’s free hands clamped onto Ta`an’s wrist, forcing the blade away. The other shot in, seizing hold of the sergeant’s helm and giving a savage twist. The sound of ripping metal and cracking ceramite echoed in the empty streets as Ta`an’s helm came loose in the daemon’s clutch. The sergeant’s face was lined with pain and anger; blood stained his teeth as he growled his defiance into the daemon’s gaping maw. 

The tactical Astartes part of Duncan’s mind knew what was coming and fought against the daemon’s presence like a mewed raptor, ripping at the inaction with talons of logic. Inaction was death! Death for Ta`an, death for his brothers, death to his duty and honour! His bolter shot up even as his fist clenched around the trigger. Explosive shells roared towards the daemon. Someone was screaming; part of his mind recognized his own voice as it struggled to shrug off the foul aura that gripped his body. The creature’s jaws snapped down even as the shots pierced its flesh, Ta`an’s screams of hatred were cut short as his skull came away in a wet snap of teeth and bone. The daemon threw its head back and swallowed as the rest of the squad shook off the enveloping presence with cries of fury and grief.

Duncan’s bolter roared as it spat fire into the beast. Explosive shells stitched their way up the daemon’s chest, but the powerful rounds didn’t seem to disturb the vile creature. Black fluid oozed from the holes torn in its flesh to defy gravity and drip skywards into the rolling clouds. The daemon laughed to the lighting etched skies, the sound was like thousands of brass bells ringing out of tune. 

There was a flash of superheated air as Hektor shook off the presence and found his melta; the daemon seemed to somehow perceive the destructive power of the weapon and twisted away from the blast. It wasn’t quite fast enough, however, and its upper right arm, still gripping Ta`an’s helm, was vaporized in the searing discharge. Its laughter turned to howls of black rage as it hurled the headless body of the sergeant at Hektor with inhuman strength. Hektor scrambled to get out of the way, but the daemon’s speed was staggering and the body impacted with the sound of shattering ceramite. Smashing into Hektor with such force that the Astartes was knocked clear through the facade of a nearby building, disappearing in a rain of rubble as the front of the structure collapsed in on itself.

‘Break!’ shouted Duncan and the remains of the squad scattered, firing from the hip as they separated to present moving targets. Duncan worked his way left, boots crunching body parts as he poured fire into the daemon’s flank. He reached a fuel drum, belching smoke and flame, and hooked the lip with his left gauntlet while firing the last of his clip one handed. In one smooth motion he hurled the flaming barrel at the beast, right hand ejecting the spent clip. He slammed a new one home before the barrel had flown halfway to its target. The drum impacted into the creature’s side, spilling fire down its flank. The flames burned violet where they licked at the daemon’s flesh, yet they didn’t seem to consume it and quickly died down. The daemon’s jaws worked,

‘Foolish mortals!’ its voice was a powerful snarl, ‘Do you truly think that you can stand before a Chosen of the Watcher at the Gate? I shall demonstrate to you what true agony is before I lay your pathetic souls before his glory!’ With a ringing howl, it launched itself at Duncan. The Raven Guard answered the charge with one of his own, a war cry ringing from his throat.

They met like titans clashing, daemonic claws scoring lines deep in Duncan’s power armour. All Raven Guard were masters of close combat, and Duncan stood toe to toe with the beast; fending off grasping talons with incredible dexterity while firing into the muscle bound torso at point blank range. The daemon seemed to be soaking up astonishing amounts of damage, until he noticed the first wounds it had taken were sealed over with glossy black patches of furless hide.

Duncan slapped his empty bolter to his thigh and seized the stump of the limb Hektor had blown off. With a roar he swung himself up and around to the beast’s back, planting an armoured boot on its thigh as a vaulting point. The silver blade of his combat knife flashed in the light of the flames before he buried it to the grip in the thick muscles at the base of the daemon’s neck. The daemon shrieked in anger as it clawed at Duncan. He held on and twisted the blade deeper in the wound, foul black blood raining skyward around his helm. One of the daemon’s grasping hands found his left arm below his shoulder pad and clamped down. 

Ceramite and bone shattered under the force of the grip and agony lanced through him before pain suppressors could be pumped into his body from his armour. The daemon ripped Duncan from its shoulders with a snarl, smashing the Raven into the ground with enough force to shatter the Aquila on his chestplate and cause his vision to grey out. Somehow he had kept a grip on his blade, carving a gaping hole in the daemon’s neck and chest as it flung him down. The fiend howled and lifted a mighty leg to crush him as he pushed to his knees and tried to sake his vision clear. Duncan saw death written in the beast’s furious eyes as the claw descended.

Two black forms smashed into the daemon’s side, Fenn and Arges rode the thrashing beast to the ground under their combined weight with an impact that shook the street. Duncan staggered to his feet, spitting curses as the bones of his ruined left arm scraped against one another. He stumbled to join his brothers, but paused when he laid eyes on Fenn. The young Raven’s form was wreathed in ghostly white flames and Duncan could hear Fenn’s voice chanting in high gothic. Where the flames touched, daemon flesh bubbled and charred. The daemon’s howls took on a new note of pain.

‘Fenn, brother whatever you are doing keep it up!’ Duncan felt the daemon’s panic wash over him like a euphoric drug that numbed his pain more than the most potent rush of morpiate. He paced forward to lend his weight to restraining the writhing warpspawn when suddenly everything was thrown in hard edged contrast as blinding light filled the sky. Duncan threw his good arm up to shield his eyes as a beam of pure golden light speared through the clouds, smashing into the palace spire.

‘Lance strike!’ he screamed, dropping to a knee and digging his rear foot into the surface of the street, ‘Brace for the shockwave!’ His mind reeled. They were too close to the kill zone of the lance to take cover before the wave of destruction was on them.

He didn’t even have time to look to his brothers before the shockwave hit, rolling over the city like the fiery breath of a legendary dragon to engulf them in a burning cloud of debris and powdered rockcrete. Visibility became instantly zero. The impact of the blast smashed the breath from his lungs and drove him back, leaving great furrows in the surface of the road where it failed under his boots. He leaned into the screaming winds as pieces of the city pattered and bounced off his armour, trusting his war gear to protect him. The impact of a larger piece staggered him, pain lancing up his leg as the object punched through the armour and into his right thigh. Another bounced off his helm, the lenses going grainy with static as systems were damaged.

The city bucked beneath him, its superstructure screaming as it began to tear apart under forces it was never designed to withstand. Great fissures opened up and spires crumbled. The surface under him vanished in an earsplitting shriek. Duncan dove for the lip of the rift as the street disintegrated beneath him, his combat blade sinking deep into stone that crumbled as the city heaved again. The material around his blade suddenly gave way and gravity sunk vicious claws into him.

From over the rim, out of the cloud of dust, a battered black clad arm shot down and latched on to his wrist, halting his fall. Hektor’s torn face peered at him out of the swirling powder. His brother was missing his helmet, a great gash crossing his shaven head and clotting blood smeared across his harsh features. His black eyes burned bright with effort.

‘Leaving so soon?’ he growled as he fought against the drag of Duncan’s armoured weight.

‘I never thought I would be so happy to see your handsome face, my brother,’ Duncan laughed as he tried to bring his ruined arm up, but it had gone cold and numb with pain suppressors and resisted his endeavor to lift it. Hektor gave a fleeting but genuine smile and snorted, his mouth quickly twisting into a snarl of exertion as he heaved his battle brother upwards. 

‘Like lifting a Rhino…’ grunted Hektor as additional sections of the street crumbled beneath him.

The clouds of dust behind Hektor darkened, and Duncan cried out in warning as an ominous shadow loomed over his brother’s back. Hektor turned his head right as a massive black-talloned hand emerged from the gloom to close over it. His brother’s grip faltered and the last thing Duncan saw before plummeting into the gaping bowels of the city was Hektor’s struggling form being hauled off his feet by the laughing daemon. His brother’s echoing screams following him down into darkness.

^^^^​
More to come...


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## Phrazer (Oct 14, 2008)

Awsome, i really enjoyed that, great descriptive writing with a flash of homour that helps identify with the characters even more. Nice one!


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## Shogun_Nate (Aug 2, 2008)

Damned good story Euphrati. One of the best I've seen in a while. Well-written, involving, with a depth that keeps a person reading. I'm glad you decided to post it. My only comments are minor ones. You need to go back and proof-read a few bits and pieces (and I mean very few) to clear up a few things. Mostly verb tenses from what I can tell. Still..awesome story. I hope we'll be seeing more in the future! :biggrin:

On a side note, Heresy is having a short story competition. It's 1600 words max. I think you should enter it. Your style of writing is very good as evidenced in the above. Also, you may want to look into the Black Library short story competition. You'd have a chance at getting your work printed in the upcoming short story novel _Fear the Alien_. I think you'd have a pretty good chance at it. And if you don't get chosen, meh..at least you gave it a shot :biggrin:!

Good luck and good gaming,

Nate


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## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

Thank you for your words Phrazer and Nate.:grin:

I'll take a look at the short story competition, a background tie-in to the storyline wouldn't be a bad thing (perhaps I can keep it under 1600...).


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## Kreach (Mar 25, 2009)

Damned Inquisitorial authority- very good, very enjoyable, more plzkthxbai :mrgreen:


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## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

*Hunted*

Thousands of kilometers of labyrinthine corridors snaked bellow the crust of the city. Most had been forgotten by those that dwelt above for generations, their twisted passages slowly decaying until they resembled the burrows of some bizarre xenos world rather than hallways built by the hands of men. 

Those rust and grime slick tunnels, far beneath the city of Davion, echoed with the sound of her boots on the corroded metal grating. 

Slime encrusted walls reflected wetly in the faint glow of long forgotten lumen globes. It was remarkable that any of the fixtures still operated, they were so caked in filth that the pale light they provided was stained a muddy yellow and only barely perceivable. Yet, some still shone despite the decay, just enough for unaugmented human eyes. Just enough to allow Inquisitor Constance to move at a lopping run through the gloom.

A deep wound in her collar bled freely, staining a shoulder clad in the dirty cream colored robes of an imperial guard psyker black where the blood saturated the coarse cloth. The vital fluid ran down her right arm in a warm trickle, coating the hilt of the intricate sword gripped tightly in her hand. 

She stumbled to a halt, panting heavily Constance reached out to grip a rust coated pipe for support. The archaic conduit creaked and groaned as she braced her back on it, fingers probing the blade wound. It was one of many, but by far the most deadly due to what was buried deep within; grating against the bone of her shoulder with each breath. Her hand crept to the gold chain around her neck, the byzantine links slick with blood and sweat. With a gentle tug, it slid out from under her robes. The golden aquila medallion gleamed even in spite of the guttering light. She clutched it to her chest, mouthing the familiar words etched deep into its reverse.

An eerie howl snaked through the wet darkness, as if in defiance of her silent prayer. She snarled at the sound and pushed off the pipe, flakes of rust pattered to the ground in her wake. Calling up strength fueled by hatred; she pushed passed cables hanging vine-like from the ruptured overhead tubing. Constance knew she would have to make a stand soon; the hunters were quickly closing the gap. She was surprised they had taken this long to catch up; Brev must have held them far longer than she had believed possible. The thought of the mercenary seized her gut with loss, and she savagely fought down the emotion.

She would never forget the look the mercenary had given her before he slammed the door, the metallic clang of the corroded locks sealing his fate. The look of a man whose loyalty was so absolute that, even when faced with the certainty of death, his very life was placed indisputably second to duty. His sacrifice pushed her onwards, lending her strength to force open a half decayed iron gate.

The sound of rushing water greeted her, along with the sour stench of waste. The door she had manhandled led to a chamber of huge cisterns and pipes. The smallest of the collecting pools was easily five meters high and twenty meters square, its side slick with algae and budging with conduits. Foul, silt filled waterfalls roared from the gaping mouths of pipes and into rockcrete pools, only to be pumped into larger pipelines that disappeared into darkness at the far end of the room. A handful of lumen globes hung from long cables that emerging from tangle of overhead pipes. Their pale glow flickered like dying stars. The floor was a patchwork of corroded steel plates and grating; puddles of slick green slime collected where water flowed in thin rivulets from dilapidated machinery. 

She scrabbled to the side of the closest cistern, placing its massive bulk to her back and taking a moment to clear her mind of the pain and exhaustion. The warp was near; she could feel the ember deep inside her psky flare as if fanned by an invisible wind. Carefully, she reached for that ember with her mind; cupping it gently with fingers of will. A pale cerulean glow crept its way down the gentle curve of the damascus blade in her hand; twinkling off tiny faceted gems scattered along its length and throwing the immediate area in soft radiance. The air around her seemed to stir with tiny motes of light, like blue-hot sparks of a provoked fire. 

Holding the ember tightly in a mental grasp, she focused inwards and molded the flame into something else. Her wounds began to heal at an accelerated rate; all but the one in her shoulder, the gash resisted the sapphire flames of the psy-enhanced regeneration. The wound glowed an angry green to her mind’s eye; until the corrupted shard was removed it wouldn’t heal by any means. She had to survive long enough for that to even matter.

The first of the hunters burst forth from the hallway with a hiss. It was the general size and shape of an old terran wolf hound and was skinned in a glossy hide of black scales. The scales shone in the pale light and threw off iridescent reflections of green and violet like oil on water. The beast shied away from the door as a larger form emerged from the darkness; the hunting pack leader gave a hissing growl as it stepped into the open room. 

It was at least double the size of the smaller hound, withers even with her brow. Glossy black fur started at the base of its skull, flowing mane-like down a long and muscular neck. A pectoral of seamless gold lay gleaming against its chest. The neck flexed, holding the massive, narrow muzzled head high as the creature’s nostril slits flared. Sharp ears pressed back on its skull as it spotted its prey, glowing green eyes holding nothing but hatred and inhuman hunger. It slid forward, into the room, taloned feet tapping lightly on the metal flooring. The corded muscles along its length bunched and quivered as it advanced. Four more of the smaller hounds followed in the pack leader’s wake, snapping at each other in excitement. The six daemon bred hounds faced her with malice in their green eyes.

The beasts fanned out slowly, taking their time now that their quarry had turned at bay. Their movements were a disturbing combination of hound and serpent. The leader snared menacingly, baring diamond sharp fangs. The sound carried undertones of a hiss as the pack leisurely tightened the ragged semi-circle around her. They were less than fifteen paces away when all heads but the pack leader’s snapped upwards to peer into the darkness far overhead.

Constance felt the rumble through the metal under the soles of her boots before the sound reached her ears. An impossibly deep note rolled through the tortured city, like the voice of an awakening giant, the sound of an orbital lance strike. A feral grin leapt to her features and the strength of vindication caused the ember in her mind to flare like a miniature sun.

‘Your master has failed again,’ she spoke softly, the words swallowed in the growing din, but she knew the leader heard her. She could feel its cold anger pressing on her mind.

The leader’s eyes narrowed as it leapt forward like a striking viper. Her blade flashed up to meet the charge, scales parted and black ichor flowed towards the ceiling as the pack leader snapped its jaws closed on empty air. The keen edge of her sword bit deep into the beast’s neck and she focused her will into the delicate circuitry of the blade. Sapphire flames exploded outwards, knocking the beast backwards ten meters and engulfing it in hungry flames as it writhed on the ground. An unearthly keening ripped from its maw and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air; overwhelming even the stench of refuse pouring from the shaking pipes.

The pack echoed its leader’s howl and dashed forwards in anger as the city shook. With a sound that rivaled a Baneblade’s main cannon, the cistern to the right shattered. Shards of rockcrete peppered the two beasts that were unlucky enough to be in the path of destruction. One was shredded where it stood; the second was knocked from its feet by the tide of sewage that roared from the splintered pool. The three remaining hounds leapt forward, scaled lips pulled back in snarls of rage.

She parried the beasts snapping fangs as the plating beneath her boots bucked wildly. Constance was thrown from her feet as the metal tore with an earsplitting scream, barely rolling away from razor fangs and flashing talons. One scored a glancing blow to her side, opening a long but shallow wound that started to heal almost instantly. She vaulted to her feet with a quick snap of her legs as another pipe burst, sending a spray of filth into the air. The beast that had been flung off its feet by the erupting cistern clawed its way upright mere paces from her. Black blood leaked upwards from deep rents in its gore slick hide; the wounds did not seem to slow it in the slightest. 

Its muscles flexed as it launched itself at her, hissing wildly. She had come up wrong footed and the impact took her in the left side, knocking her to the wet floor under the weight of the daemon hound. Constance felt a sharp, hot pain as ribs fractured under the blow. She twisted under the beast as the momentum carried them across the muck slick metal; struggling to bring her legs up. The ground heaved and the weight lifted off of her just enough for her to plant a booted foot on the hound’s chest. With a yell she forced the snapping jaws away; she could feel the foul heat of the daemon’s breath against her face as it snarled its fury at being denied her blood.

The world narrowed to those daemonic slavering jaws, and she felt the flame of humanity scream in her very soul. Constance gathered up all her anger, pain, and the deep hatred of the abomination that was the Daemon into a white-hot ball in her mind; blinding it with the sapphire flames that leapt inside her. The months of training deep in the heart of Titan, Saturn’s largest moon, stood like cool silver lines etched in her psky. Calm swept over her, as it always did when she called forth the purifying flames. She met the loathing green eyes of the daemon without trepidation as the words formed in her mind,

‘I am the Flame on the Sword of His will! I am the Light that casts forth the Darkness!’ she intoned as the hound eyes suddenly filled with something other than hatred. For the first time in its long existence, the daemon knew fear. 

‘Domine, libra nos! Fiat Lux!’ Constance thrust the flames of her will into the dark heart of the hound. The daemon’s back arched in a silent shriek before it exploded in a searing blue wave of flame. The wall of fire roared outwards, vaporizing the other hounds in the blink of an eye. 

The very air burned with the might unleashed. She struggled to her knees, head thrown back and eyes closed as she fought to control the blaze. Once unleashed, the flames threatened to overwhelm her in her exhausted state. Her wounds stopped healing as her control slipped, strength running out of her like water from a ruptured vessel. She felt the heat now, prevailing and hungry. Her normally adamantium control eroded by weeks of ill rest, little substance, and hours of combat. 

Everything was fire and ash, everything but the cool chain about her neck. She grasp at the sensation even as her hand closed around the cold metal of the medallion. Her determination flared as control returned and the flames ceased as if snuffed out by an invisible hand; forced back into the glowing ember in her mind under the lock and key of her will.

She staggered to her feet, ashes swirled about her filthy robes. The city had ceased its convulsions, though faint vibrations still shivered through the floor as structures settled. She took a handful of stumbling steps, and collapsed back to her knees as exhaustion clawed at her senses. The sound of claws scraping on metal brought her head up. A pair of furious green eyes glowed in the darkness. The pack leader stepped from the shadows, hide pitted and charred. Black blood pattered upwards from the wound in its throat that closed even as she watched. Violet light played over the leader’s form.

The daemon’s fire scarred lips curled back in a snarl as it towered over her. She felt anger well up inside her even as she read something amiss in those ruthless eyes. Its jaws parted and a horrific voice issued forth,

‘Perhaps you have closed the Gate this time, Servant of the Corpse-God,’ the presence that accompanied the voice was nauseating, ‘but, there will be a time when your faith will falter and fail. The Gate will swing wide and I will be there to watch you fall into darkness,’ the Daemon paused to lower its head within a handbreadth of her face, ‘I am always watching.’

‘You are mistaken, Daemon,’ she forced her body to respond, pushing the words past the queasiness and fatigue with a defiance borne of hate, ’the flame of the Imperium will never falter. _We. Will. Never. Fail._’

The hound raised its muzzle to the snaking pipes overhead and she heard its laughter echoing across the void even as the presence of the Daemon slowly receded. The head came back down, animal hungry again burning in its eyes. The beast hissed with arrogance as its gapping jaws descended.

---=][=---​


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Great Work!


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## Euphrati (May 24, 2009)

The darkness swallowed him as Duncan fell into the wound ripped in the flesh of the city. 

Hektor’s screams were quickly replaced by the howl of metal and the gunfire report of fracturing stone. He tumbled fifteen meters straight down. He twisted as he fell and managed to jam his combat blade back into its sheath on his hip to free up his remaining good hand. Thirty meters flew passed him before he crashed into a pile of rubble that only served to redirect his momentum. His power armour took the brunt of the impact, but the fight with the daemon had taken its toll on the wargear and his static laced lenses were filled with red warning runes.

He scrambled for a hand or foot hold in the river of rubble, the shrapnel lodged in his thigh sent dull lances of pain up his side as it jostled against debris. His left arm ached with a muted pain. Shards of stone and metal flowed through the rents in the city’s structure, carrying him along in their wake. Pipes burst and added foul liquids to the mix; effluent, fuel, oil, and less identifiable substances turned the fragments into a roaring tide of seeping wreckage. Duncan struggled to keep himself upright as the flow swept him ever downwards, deeper into the forgotten guts of Davion.

The city convulsed and metal shrieked as he was sucked into a growing rent in a pipe large enough for a dreadnought to move unhindered. Duncan grasped at the sides of the conduit, but they were caked with slick grime and his gauntleted fingers could find no purchase. Suction pulled him under the surface and down, his lenses filled with darkness as he was blinded by the silted water. His direction sense spun as he battled against the crushing flow, banging off debris carried along with him. 

He surfaced again briefly, only just in time to dodge churning turbine blades designed to force the flow of liquids faster. Their edges were razor sharp and mangled by the trash that now choked the pipelines, the first set of the blades managed to slice a chunk out of his left shoulder pad before he twisted wildly away. The second set was faster. One of the blades caught him full in the chest, driving him under and wedging him against the cold metal of the pipe wall. It was only the grace of the Emperor that saved him from being shorn in two, for the blade that struck him had been blunted by the flotsam. 

He struggled against the crushing force, feeling his bone shield of ribs compress and fracture under the might of the turbine. He could feel his blood flowing from his wounds into the choked water around him. If he could only rest then his advanced clotting could possibly seal the torn vessels, but rest seemed like a distant dream pinned beneath the tide of waste. His vision started to blur as the turbine driving the blades squealed with effort to rotate the slab of metal through his chest. He felt the cold darkness that waited at the edges of his consciousness for him, whispering to give in to its embrace. He snarled and grasped the blade with his good hand. He was a Raven Guard, even when deep behind enemy lines with nothing but his wits as a weapon; a Raven Guard didn’t give up, didn’t give in. When the odds were stacked against him, a Raven Guard was at his best. 

With a primal roar, he tore the entire blade from its seating; freeing himself back to clutches of the flow that swept him ever onwards.

He panted from the exertion of fighting the roaring river. The strength of an Astartes was immense, but it was nothing compared to the colossal force of thousands of metric litres of water and debris. The pipe split into smaller channels, he was forced down the left most duct for well over a hundred meters before suddenly freefalling; having been spat out ten meters above a swirling pool. He landed with a great splash, and was sucked down by the undertow of the falling water. His boots finally touched solid rockcrete and he kicked off, breaking the surface and quickly dragging himself to the lip of the pool where he clung while blood pounded in his ears. 

His left arm throbbed dully to his senses, his body shutting him off from the pain of the twisted and shattered bone. His leg burned where the rank fluids he was immersed in seeped around the rent in his armour and into the meat of his thigh. Even over the filth he could smell the sharp metallic tang of his own congealing blood. His injuries were many and severe, battle adrenaline was all that was keeping him from passing out. 

The injuries were nothing compare to the pain in his soul from the loss of his battle brothers and his sergeant. He had failed them. He had known something was wrong from the start and failed to act. Hektor had been right; he was not fit for squad leadership. They should have gone to Ta`an’s aid before wasting valuable time at the gun emplacement. 

The thought of Hektor caused his chest to tighten, highlighting the pain of hairline fractures in the bone shield of his fused ribs. His vision started to grey out as darkness stalked the edges of his mind.

A keening howl sliced through the fog and his senses snapped back to battle readiness in an instant. Rivulets of filth ran down the cracked ceramite plates of his armour as Duncan hauled himself up onto the lip of the cistern, forcing beyond the pain in his body. What lay before him was the last thing he expected to see deep under the crust of the city.

As soon as he cleared the edge a pale azure light flashed across his red lenses. Daemonic creatures of black scales, vaguely the shape of hounds, harried a human figure in murky cream robes; a youth or perhaps a woman by size. The figure spun away from bared teeth and soft blue light fell on a face bearing feminine features, streaked in grime and pain. Her hair was pulled back tightly at the nape of her neck and blood stained her right shoulder from a deep wound.

The sword in the woman’s hand flashed and spun in a striking display of swordsmanship, it was light weight and had a gentle curve to the blade. The lenght was wreathed in ghostly flames that burned the blue-white of a heavy flamer’s pilot light. He knew the signs of a force weapon when faced with one; he had seen Librarian Caleb’s forcestaff swathed in pale amber lighting often enough to gage the similarities. Motes of light danced around the psyker as she evaded the serpent hounds snapping jaws. 

The woman twisted away from a lighting quick swipe of claws and returned the gesture with a swift reverse of her curved blade, leaving a smoking wound in the daemon’s hide. 

She was an exceptional swordsman, her movements and footwork tugged at the back of his mind as familiar; but she was obviously injured and it was only time before she fell to the hounds’ onslaught without aid. 

The city bucked again, throwing him from the lip of the pool to the metal plating of the floor as one of the nearby cisterns shattered with a thundering report. Rockcrete became lethal shrapnel, shredding one of the creatures in a black spray of gore and throwing another from its clawed feet in a tidal wave of sludge. The woman rolled away as the three daemons she faced were pitched to the grating. A nearby pipe burst, disgorging a spray of fluid over the area. 

The psyker deftly kicked to her feet; but she was a fraction too slow to defend against the rush of the daemonic hound that had been swept nearby in the surge from the voiding pool. It slammed into her side and they tumbled to the ground. The psyker managed to get a foot up just fast enough to keep the snapping jaws from her neck.

Duncan heaved himself to his feet just as the woman screamed in high gothic and the room became a firestorm. The shockwave of flame roared outwards, clipping his side as Duncan threw himself into cover behind the rockcrete wall of the nearest cistern. The paint on his armour hissed and bubbled. New warning runes flashed in his lens as the chamber’s ambient temperature skyrocketed to a killing blaze in a matter of milliseconds. Over half of the hanging lumen globes exploded in a shower of sparks as the psykic flames lapped all around him. 

Adrenaline roared through his veins as his hearts beat furiously, and then the blaze suddenly dissipated; leaving the air smelling of ozone and filled with floating ash. After a long moment punctuated by the tinging of cooling metal, he leaned out to see the woman stagger a few feet before collapsing to her knees; ash falling from her robes as she gasped for air. Her sword was clutched limply at her side, its soft glow had ceased and the area was now lit solely by the few sputtering lumen globes that remained. She gripped a golden aquila amulet that hung on a heavy chain about her neck as blood and ichor stained her robes black.

Duncan stared dumbly at the woman, part of his mind aghast that a mortal could wield such power. He felt rooted behind the charred wall, when a sickeningly familiar presence swept through the room. It washed over him, but his mind was steeled against the aura having shrugged off its grip before.

The hound was twice the size of its brethren, a partially melted collar of gold embedded in the thick muscles of its neck. Violet lightning crawled across its scorched hide as it loomed over the kneeling psyker. Its jaws parted and words spilled out, he tasted bile rising at the back of his throat as the fiend taunted the woman. An anger he had never felt before sharpened his senses and pushed his exhaustion away. 

The woman spat the Daemon’s words back in its face; her defiance pulled at his spirit. Here was a mere mortal facing down a daemon without flinching; how could he stand by and allow such a courageous servant of the Throne to be struck down? His bolter was empty on his hip; there was no time to reload it with only one good hand. He pulled his silver blade and charged even as the gleaming fangs flashed downwards.

---=][=---​
She knew she would die someday. 

She knew that it would most likely be a brutal death at the hands of servants to the Ruinous Powers on a world that may not even exist in the vast libraries of Imperial records.

She had faced that death before and bested it. 

Here, deep within the bowels of a fallen city, she faced it again with anything but acceptance. 

The pack leader’s head shot downwards, she could feel the malice in its eyes like a weight upon her soul. She forced her sword up in spite of her bodies’ exhaustion. She could feel the daemon’s hot breath on her skin. 

The jaws never closed.

A giant barreled out of the darkness and crashed into the pack leader with an echoing roar. They rolled away in a tangle of limbs and clattering ceramite plates. The daemon shrieked with fury and surprise at being so close to tasting flesh yet being denied.

The figure grappled the hound, lifting it clear off its clawed feet and slamming it into the corrugated wall of the chamber with a crash. A gleaming silver blade flashed in the warrior’s gauntleted hand before burying deep into the daemon’s scaled flank. Her heart leapt even as her mind tried to make sense of the truth that her eyes showed her; the armoured form of an Adeptus Astartes, a Space Marine.

---=][=---​
Duncan crashed into the daemon hound, his charge carried the beast across floor and into the nearest wall in a tangle of limbs as he sunk his combat blade deep into its side. They slammed into the metal with the wet sound of snapping bone and the enraged howls of the beast. 

He had size in his favor, but the beast had speed and Duncan’s injured arm severely curtailed his ability to grasp the beast firmly. It twisted wildly despite the broken ribs he had just gifted it; its black scaled hide impossibly slick even under the pinning weight of his shoulder. With an insane hiss it broke from his grasp; claws scraped as it scrambled over his shoulder guard and vaulted away. His blade was torn from his grip and remained stuck in the beast’s side as it whirled around to face him. 

All vestiges of intelligence were gone from the beast’s glowing eyes, the touch of its Daemon master and the denial of its prey had driven all thoughts from its brain beyond animalistic frenzy. The hound threw itself at him, jaws foaming. Duncan ducked and rolled away as the daemon crashed into the wall, the metal buckled under its impact as if struck by a powerfist. The hound’s teeth tore a ragged bite from the wall with a shriek of ripping metal. 

The daemon spat the chunk of iron on the floor, the metal slick with frothing saliva, and hurled itself at him again. This time he met the charge with one of his own, dropping his shoulder at the last second to take the hound full in the chest. For a long moment they stood locked, Duncan’s right gauntlet gripped the hound’s golden collar and its teeth snapped close enough to leave specks of frothing spit on his helm. His right leg throbbed under the driving weight of the daemon, finally buckling under its lunging assaults. Duncan felt his leg give way and twisted sideways, using the hound’s own driving momentum to bring the daemon to the floor under his bulk. 

He forced the writhing creature to the plating as he sought the blade lodged in its side. It twisted and clawed wildly beneath him, its neck stretched around and its jaws latched onto his injured left arm. The already broken bones splintered into his flesh under the chewing jaws and blood pumped from newly severed veins in dark red spurts.

Pain shot up the ruined arm, overwhelming even the potent pain suppressors that pumped through his system. His hand closed around the leather wrapped hilt of his blade as the hound shook its head violently. Duncan’s vision tunneled and he spat a curse as he shoved the blade deeper, feeling the tip scrap against bone. He wrenched the blade with all his might and the daemon hound’s spine parted. It thrashed as it died, its skull slammed against the face of his helm. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to his back; the autosenses in his battered helm finally failed and everything went black.

He lay staring into blackness, breath coming in hissing pants as hot blood pumped from his wounds. Even with his enhanced clotting, his body was barely able to keep up with the flow from the mangled limb. He felt numb and distant now, he knew it was the signs of shock but was too tired to move. His eyes rolled back and unconsciousness sunk its steely talons deep; baring him off into the embrace of warm darkness.


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