'If it is Him, then he shall not see me and I will contact you.' Replied Atrius matter-of-factly. He then turned away and started in the direction of the hangar. As he walked away from the Deathwing, he reached under his cloak. Altering a small dial on his slim backpack he changed the electrical current flowing to the holo-field emitter that was connected to his cloak. The device had been captured from a Fra'al raiding party that had had the misfortune to cross paths with Atrius and his squad a few years ago. The bone white colour washed out from the centre of his back, replaced by a black and grey mottling. He drew his hood further over his face, and pulled a sliver of the cloak over his mouth, leaving only the cold, dangerous eyes exposed, before darting quietly towards an access ladder some twenty metres right of the main opening. In his ear he heard the voices of the Deathwing over the comm. 'May you share in the bravery of the Lion, brother.' Atrius climbed onto the roof, and silently followed the path of deep shadows to an opening. He stared up for a moment at the cavernous ceiling that covered this section of the underhive. He found himself wanting for starlight glinting against the blackness, or the pale glow of a local moon. But in doing so he found exactly what he needed to see. This was not a battle for a planet, a system, or the galaxy. This was a personal battle. In this fight there could be only the Dark Angels, and the Traitor. Nothing else mattered. Not even the Emperor. Swallowing hard, Atrius moved his gaze down into the hangar through a small opening that had once been used to let in a now non-existent sunlight. There he saw that which no Dark angel would ever want to see. Not on a mission like this. Atrius clamped his mouth shut and caught his fist before it slammed into a nearby surface. He stared at his hand for a moment, and then returned his gaze to what he saw, hoping it would not be there. But the man remained hunched over a mark in the dust that neatly covered the hangar floor, the golden amulet of the Inquisition hanging loosely over the top of his clothes. His party stood around him, looking at similar marks. Atrius already knew what they were. They were the footprints that could only be made by Power-armoured feet. Atrius studied the Inquisitor's face; he was relatively young, and by the way he addressed his party, it seemed to Atrius as though the man wore arrogance like a second skin. Very likely he was until recently an interrogator under the command of an inquisitor. But maybe he wouldn't be experienced enough to realise that those footprints had been made by pre-heresy armour. Even if he did, Atrius told himself, there was no guarantee that it wasn't a loyal Chapter's suit, cared for and maintained for the past ten millennia. Would it be too much to hope for? Atrius turned his attention to the flowing garments of the Inquisitor. A large red cape flayed out behind him on the ground, leaving a fan shape in the dust when the Inquisitor stood. It was then that Atrius saw the mark of the Ordos Xenos on the man's tunic. At least the Inquisitor had not been dispatched to deal specifically with the Fallen. But now this man knew that there were Space Marines in the area. Atrius had only the one option; to show him Space Marines, and hopefully distract him from reading too much into the footprints. He ran back to the ladder, climbed half way down, then dropped the remaining fifteen feet landing quietly on his feet. He gave a single wave to the five Terminators that stood someway down the road. Atrius waited until he rounded the corner of the opening and entered the Inquisitor's field of view before restoring the colour of the Deathwing to his cloak. Every single action he took had to be planned with the intention of intimidation. The Inquisitor looked up from the second footprint in time to see a ghostly figure seemingly appear out of the blackness of the wall. A wave of bone white washed over the figure, highlighting only the rough outline of a man. He started backward, stumbling slightly, and in doing so reinforced Atrius' impression of an inexperienced Inquisitor. His guard also reacted in shock, bringing their weapons to bear on Atrius. But Atrius kept walking, completely unshakeable in his path. He timed his movements perfectly, so that in the moment just before the shots were fired he entered a shaft of light from above, flinging back his cloak and hood, revealing the light scout armour, and the unshaven, war scarred face. He looked down on the Inquisitor. 'Surely you would not dare to kill one of the Emperor's Adeptus Astartes?' Atrius asked in sardonic tones. He watched the Inquisitor blatantly stare at the winged sword on his left shoulder pad, at the break in the blade, and he watched the man's eyes glaze over through fear or honour, or both. Atrius was impressed with the speed at which the Inquisitor regained his composure. No doubt he had also been taught the rule of never showing fear. Evidently, thought Atrius, the Inquisitor did not stick to it as rigidly as the Deathwing. His group of three misfits however, were still backing away so that their leader could defend them should anything happen. 'What are you doing here?' Demanded the Inquisitor in what Atrius knew to be a false tone of defiance, he heard the slight wavering in the Inquisitor's voice. A good effort though, he granted. 'That is not your concern.' 'As an Inquisitor I demand you tell me your reasons for being here.' Atrius waited for a moment, until he knew the Deathwing were approaching at exactly the right time. He took a step towards the Inquisitor, who, despite holding his ground, looked ready to retreat. In a low voice aimed only for the Inquisitor, Atrius uttered, 'As a Dark Angel, I don't care.' He saw the shock on the Inquisitor's face; saw the order to shoot forming in his mind. And he saw that order vanish in an instant as the five Deathwing terminators strode into the hangar, weapons in attack position. The Inquisitor glared past Atrius, completely dumbfounded by the presence of these behemoths before him. Now that the Inquisitor was distracted from the evidence of the Fallen, Atrius could throw him off the trail. 'Do not be concerned honoured inquisitor.' The tone was filled with as much disdain and contempt as Atrius could muster. 'We are here after the same xenos creature you are.' Atrius didn't even know for sure that the Inquisitor was looking for an alien, but he was willing to take his chances. The almost indiscernible sigh from the Inquisitor's lips nearly caused one of the same to escape from Atrius' mouth, but he managed, somehow, to keep it in check. 'What do you know of the blasphemous creature that has plagued this part of the Emperor's domain?' asked the Inquisitor, trying to be as formal as he could. 'Probably the same as you already know.' Atrius said with a dismissive tone, 'Now leave us be, we have ourbrother to find.' The word seemed to burn his mouth, leaving an after taste so foul he wanted to spit, but dared not risk it showing. He gave a cursory wave of his hand at the tracks running through the hangar. Over the comm he heard at least two of the Deathwing draw deep breaths through gritted teeth at him bringing the attention of the Inquisitor back to the footprints of the Fallen. But Atrius knew it was the best way to get out of this. He turned his back on the Inquisitor and pulled his hood back up - that simple action alone told the Inquisitor just what Atrius thought of him - and began walking in the direction the footprints led. The Deathwing fell in around him into a precise fan formation. Atrius dared to turn his head enough to watch the Inquisitor out of the corner of his eye. For a few moments it looked as though the man was going to try and follow them, perhaps to ask about the strange module attached to the robe Atrius wore. As a member of the Ordos Xenos, the Inquisitor would almost certainly recognise it to be of alien origin. But common sense prevailed and the Inquisitor decided against it, instead turning sharply on the spot so that his flowing red cape could create a vain impression of power. It probably worked on the three law enforcers of his retinue, but Atrius was not impressed. Once the Inquisitor had left the hangar, the Dark Angels began quietly speaking over the comm. Finally, Brother Atrius spat the foul taste from his mouth onto the dusty floor. But it did little to remove the lingering bitterness. 'Damn!' he hissed. 'Unfortunate yes,' said Markus, 'but nothing more. He seemed convinced we were hunting for whatever it is he's looking for. All it means is that we must continue with our quest in all haste.' He paused for a moment before continuing, 'And we must consider the fact that another, more inopportune meeting, could well mean we need to silence him.''I don't like that idea Brother, but you speak truth. Should it come to that, let me handle it. You saw the force sword I presume?' There was a pause, but Atrius knew that a fact such as that would not escape any one of them. If it did, they didn't belong in the Deathwing. 'I did. We must hope his skills as a psyker are as poor as his skills of communication.' Atrius allowed half a smile, 'I doubt they could possibly be that bad, brother, otherwise he wouldn't even be fit for sacrifice to the Emperor.' The smile faded, and as it did so Atrius moved his hand from his handgun to the pendant around his neck. He pulled out the gleaming adamantium emblem of the Dark Angels and toyed with it a moment. Studying the ornate wings of the sword, he muttered a prayer to Lion 'El Jonson, then kissed the pendant before replacing it inside his tunic. Refilled with determination he stood straight, studying his surroundings, taking in every last detail with his enhanced eyes before they moved on. They had travelled some way from the hanger now, and they were deeper into the ruins of the under hive. Now they were in an area where there weren't even enough rats for the hardiest human to survive. The place was lit by an eerie glow coming from several areas of the ceiling. Atrius couldn't tell if the light was real or artificial. |
THE HUNTER By Peter Falkingham |
FABLES OF THE UNFORGIVEN |
