Apart from this one small collection of buildings - maybe once a small settlement, or maybe just another factory, but now too ruinous to be sure - there was nowhere else to go. Anything of even dubious value had been salvaged centuries earlier, and no one had entered this place in all that time. At least not until recently - the marks on the walls were fresh. Every surface was defaced in some way; the stone and plasteel were covered by words scrawled in blood. The words were written in some ancient language almost completely forgotten, but Atrius didn't have to read them to know what they said. The desecrated winged swords beneath them told him all he needed to know. Brother Uriel was whispering curses more vehemently than Atrius had ever heard the man speak. 'What is it, Brother?' he asked. Uriel continued to curse for a few moments before finally giving way to coherent speech. 'The words if you can call them that they speak of betrayal, they speak of being robbed of glory. Them! How dare they use such words?' Atrius wanted to order his Brother Marine to calm down, but couldn't, for he too was overcome by the very purest of hatred for the one who would do such a thing. He scanned the buildings in his sight, searching for any sign that might tell them where the traitor was, but the tears in his eyes obscured his vision. He pulled his silenced bolt pistol from its holster at his waist and armed it. The two small clicks were unnaturally loud and final in his ears. They signified the end of his quest, whatever the outcome. From some unknown place, Atrius was blessed with the strength to resist charging forward to confront the Fallen. Instead, he stood back and considered his options. That's what he wants us to do. To charge in, in a blinding fury. That way he'll be more likely to hurt us, and more importantly we'll be more likely to hurt him then he won't have to face The Interrogator Chaplains. And despite what he has done, we must give him the chance to save his soul. 'I want full sensor sweeps of the whole area before we move another step. Find out if this really is the only way in and out.' He wanted to bark the order, to at least feel like something was happening, that they were finally in the middle of the action. Instead his voice was completely flat. An utter calmness he could never have imitated, underlain by an invisible hint of death. Now Brother Atrius was a literal Dark Angel, come for the life, and the very soul, of this man he hunted. Nothing else was of consequence. Nothing else was of importance. The Chapter was all that mattered. He stared at the buildings. No tears obscured his vision anymore. Where was the Traitor? Would he try and fight to the death, or would he try to escape? No, this man, no matter what he had become, had once been a Space Marine, a Dark Angel. He would not try to flee, by running or by death at his own hand. He had led the Deathwing to this place. He was ready for them. And he would fight as fiercely as they would, believing as much in his corrupted lies as the Deathwing did in their Holy Primarch. 'I cannot find him, Brother.' It was Markus who spoke, with a sense of failure threatening to enter his voice, but the Terminator suit's comm. holding it at bay. Atrius felt the same response from the others. Felt them shaking their heads. But he was by no means a Psyker, and they all stood behind him. It was the close bond with his Brother Dark Angels, strengthened in this most precarious of times, that let him know the exact thoughts of each of them. 'Don't worry he's here.' Atrius continued staring at the buildings. Theoretically this man should have been trained in similar ways to them, but who knew for certain how those Marines of the first founding really trained? And by the Emperor! How much experience of combat could a man have gained from ten millennia of life? Was he watching them at that very moment? Is so, was it with his own eyes, or with some hidden camera somewhere. There was only one way to find out now. 'Brothers, our time has come to do our chapter the greatest of honours and bring us one step closer to redemption. Brother Uriel, Brother Akhad, remain here on overwatch, keep scanning and be prepared in case he tries to escape. The rest of you, I want you to fan out and search the buildings. Keep the comm system open. Advance! in the name of the Lion, in the name of our salvation!' At his commands, the five Terminators began to move into position, Uriel and Akhad gave unsatisfied grunts that they were not personally going to capture the Fallen, but they did not question Atrius' orders. Atrius sprinted away to circle around the edge of the buildings. He reached a low wall, and crouched there for a moment. Out of sight he reached under his cloak once more and turned the dial. The holo-field emitter infused the robe which passed from the bone white of the Deathwing, through a pale blue, and into the greys and reds of the surrounding buildings. He moved quickly and silently through the rubble that skirted the more intact buildings, forever looking across for any sign of movement. All he saw though, were the offensive symbols put there to anger him. The Fallen sat in a dark corner of a room within those buildings. He wore the Power Armour used by those first marines who had walked with the Primarch and with the Emperor. He was one of those Marines who had walked amongst living gods. He had no helmet, and sat cross-legged, his head bowed deep in concentration. He could see his hunters in his mind. He saw them in his mind, and he held back their sensors; the chaos gods had cursed him with that 'gift' long ago. He found it almost flattering that a whole squad of the infamous Deathwing had been sent for him, though he was concerned that they had no leader, no member of the inner circle with them. He concentrated on the five minds out there; the two near the entrance, and the three spreading out through the centre of the ruins. He wondered if they really did expect him to try and make a break for it. He had been running for ten millennia. It was time to end the running. He straightened, and reached for the ancient Bolter by his side. The many chemicals flowing through his stressed system pumped up Brother Vicconious' already enhanced reactions. He heard, identified, and located the sound of the shot in the time it took the bolt to reach him. The bullet was perfectly aimed, he thought. He watched it in slow motion, viewing it perfectly from its tip. A perfect golden circle heading directly for his eye. Time kept on slowing, until finally it was almost stopped a permanent instant in time. With all of his effort, Vicconious willed his body to move only a millimetre or so to the left, turning his whole body encased in the great Terminator armour through less than a degree. Those few millimetres, those few degrees, they were his whole world, his whole life. The bullet hit the plasglass of his right eyepiece smashing through it, but its course was indiscernibly deflected as it scraped the side of the adamantium helmet that ringed the eye. The bullet entered his helmet, he saw the visual display disappear on the right of his vision as external light penetrated his armour. He felt the searing pain as the bullet tore through the outer edge of his eye socket, felt it open his skull on the right. He was filled with pain and couldn't gauge the angle of the bullet as it ripped through the side of his cranium. Had it been enough? Unconsciousness descended over his eyes like a lead blanket, his final hope was that his momentum would land him face down so that he was not exposed to another shot before his brothers reached his position. Not that it would matter if he were wrong about the angle of the bullet. At the sound of the gunshot Atrius threw out all caution and stood up to look out over the ruins. As he did, he saw Markus and Julo also turn, all three of them looking in exactly the same direction. Their object of attention was one of the taller buildings towards the centre of the ruins. Still the echoes of the gunshot flew around them, reminding them that death was only an unknown instant away. But then they were drowned out by Julo's voice over the comm system as he cried out for his fallen Brother. Atrius recalled that Julo and Vicconious had been close, rising all the way from Scout Company to Deathwing at each other's side. That thought prevented him from realising what was about to happen until it was too late. As the Fallen Dark Angel relocated from his position in the building, he knew that the three were moving exactly as he wanted them to. He was distressed by how low the Dark Angels skills were. Five terminators against a single marine? If these men were the cream of the Imperial crop, then the dark gods had little to fear. He reached out with his mind. As he knew they would, the two near the entrance remained there as they had been ordered. The one he had just shot, his essence was still there, but it was almost indiscernible from the lifeless rubble around him. Brother Julo moved as fast as his armour would let him. He had to call on all of his training to prevent anger and panic taking over. It was because of that training that he saw the mound of rubble in his path. One stone was placed weathered side down. Already too close to stop, he jumped to try and clear the mound. But the Terminator armour was not made for jumping, and as he passed over the rubble, his toe caught one of the blocks. The mine beneath was triggered. The blast propelled Julo further, and hurled shrapnel and debris into him, crippling the legs of his armour. He rolled several metres, loosing his Storm Bolter as he did so. He tried to get up but the suit was too damaged to let him do anything other than roll. Markus threw himself behind a low ruined wall as the explosion blasted past him. 'Damn you, you coward!' He shouted over the speakers of his suit, his voice almost as loud the explosion, but carrying ten times the death. 'Come out and fight like a man!' He peered around the corner to see Julo rocking back and forth in his armour. Evidently he was still all right, but until his suit's repair systems kicked in he was a sitting duck. Markus brought himself back in against the wall and turned his head to look around for another way forward. The sight in front of him didn't faze him for a second. There stood the Traitor before him, gun barrel still releasing steam from his shot at Vicconious. His Power armour was corroded and chipped on the outside, but looked as strong as ever. Markus cared little for the Fallen's armour, and brought his Storm bolter to bear with lightning speed. But the Fallen waited calmly until the Storm Bolter was pointed squarely at him before releasing another single shot from his Boltgun, sending a shell straight into the barrel of Markus' Storm Bolter. The ammunition within exploded violently and ripped apart the gun and much of Markus' right arm. But Markus did not cry out. |
THE HUNTER By Peter Falkingham |
FABLES OF THE UNFORGIVEN |
