Amael pulled the power sword free and wiped its bloody blade on the tattered remains of his robes. His helm had been almost cut in two in the fight so he left it where it lay and walked on. He passed through the doors on the far side and into a walkway, one side made up purely of transparisteel windows. The dark sky was brightening, the first rays of the morning sun apparent in the distance. He realised that this was the summit of the giant structure and that his quarry must be close by. Sword gripped firmly in two hands he advanced down the corridor towards the centre of the structure, knowing somehow that that was where he would find the Fallen. He passed through a set of glass doors and into a heavily carpeted room, suddenly aware that he was reciting the Dark Angel's battle hymn under his breath, its steady rhythm matching his heavy footfalls. He reached another set of doors, wondered for a moment whether he should pause to consider his strategy, and passed into the room beyond. A Fallen Dark Angel, leaning lazily against a frescoed wall looked up, eyes widening in disbelief as Amael entered. The traitor scrambled for his bolter and reached it as Amael decapitated him with a single stroke and kicked the corpse away. Two more black armoured marines appeared from behind a screen. Amael stooped, retrieving the ancient bolter and sprayed them with fire. The first collapsed, his stomach blown apart from the inside. The second took the brunt of the barrage and was thrown backwards through the screen in a burst gore. Amael quickened his pace, leaping over an overturned table and into the area of the room beyond. Fallen Dark Angels appeared on all sides, summoned by the sounds of battle. Moving on instinct, Amael reached the first traitor, bringing his blade up through the marine's bolter and emptying the remains of his magazine into his foe's helm. He shoved the dying figure forwards into another of the Fallen and hacked off the prone figure's leg at the knee. The marine collapsed to the ground in a widening pool of blood, cursing as he dropped. Somewhere close, a bolter barked and Amael felt an explosive round bury itself in his right shoulder pad, before exploding in a blast of shrapnel. White-hot pain flared in his arm, his armour labouring to pump the necessary stimulants into his body as he caught sight of his assailant. Gritting his teeth against the growing pain, he flung his power sword across the room, the spinning blade burying itself in a marine's chest. There was a moment of stillness as he snatched up two of the slain's bolters, before three more Fallen Dark Angels appeared at a door on the far side of the room. Amael opened up with both weapons, moving as he fired. Through the flare of the bolters' muzzles he saw two of the traitor's torn apart, their insides splashing the armour of their remaining companion with bloody flesh. Then Amael was upon him, swinging the butt of a bolter into the traitor's unprotected head and lashing out with his right fist. The Fallen's head snapped back, and drooped limply over one shoulder pad as the light faded from his eyes. Silence fell and remained. Amael bent and retrieved his power sword, wincing as he felt the raw flesh of his shoulder grate against splintered metal. Gone, but not lost; the Lion's words echoed in his mind. Lexus was here somewhere. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Lexus grimaced and stifled a gasp as Vicconius broke the skin on his stomach. The finely etched-blades pushed deeper, slicing through flesh and then muscle. Lexus felt his whole body spasm as a wave of agony threatened to consume him. "Repent brother-chaplain," Vicconius goaded. "Admit Jonson's guilt and I'll end your torment." Lexus moved his eyes to the ceiling above him and continued his recital of the Catechism of Hate, its words lending him resolve. Vicconius waited a moment, before wrenching the blades out with a violent twist that stung the breath from the chaplain's body. "Enough of this Vicconius," Antonius growled from his position at the back of the room. "Let's be done with him. The sons of Jonson are as blind as they are pathetic." The Fallen Dark Angel drew his holstered bolt pistol and advanced on Lexus. "Is that not true brother-chaplain?" he stated, placing the barrel of his weapon to Lexus' forehead. "Enough!" Vicconius barked. "You forget yourself Antonius. It is I who am in command. Our Interrogator has not paid for his misplaced loyalties and it is my duty to see that he does!" Antonius glared back, but said nothing, gradually returning his pistol to its holster. The loaded silence suddenly shattered as the unmistakable chatter of a bolter burst into life somewhere outside. "What," Vicconius began, just as the cell door tore itself apart and the shredded body of Malloc crashed through, skidding to a stop where it lay in a bloody heap at Lexus' feet. Antonius' pistol flashed through the smoke thrown up from the destroyed door, targeted on some unseen assailant. His clip emptied in seconds and he fumbled for a replacement, but his efforts were cut short as two lines of bolter fire lanced into his breastplate, mass-reactive bolts detonating as they lodged inside. Antonius stumbled and fell back, clutching at the gaping hole opened up in his chest. His face contorted in shock and anguish, his lips mouthing silent words as his life spilt through his numb fingers. Vicconius, muttering silent commands to his armour, stood and watched as a figure emerged through the door. Amael stepped through the shattered remains of the doorway, clasping his power sword in one hand, the other wrapped around the grip of a bolt gun. His robes were torn and, in parts, stained a muddy red. One shoulder plate was blackened and cracked, the rest of the ash-white power armour pock-marked from shrapnel impacts. He turned to the black terminator-armoured Vicconius, levelling his bolter. "Let the blood of the unclean act as an offering to the Lion's shade!" Vicconius smiled, a mere unvoiced thought completing his commands and setting them in motion. "Not this time son of Jonson." The air shimmered and crackled as Vicconius teleported, Amael's shells momentarily passing through the translucent after-image of his displaced form and impacting on the wall beyond. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Brother Amael of the Deathwing cleared the hive and emerged into hazy sunlight. He paused, repositioning his grip on Lexus' left arm. The chaplain leaned heavily upon him, his wounds preventing him from taking his own weight. Amael uttered a silent payer of thanks to the Lion as the sun warmed his battered skin. Lexus coughed, spitting to clear his mouth, and fixed his gaze on his saviour. Vicconius had eluded them again, but of Amael? Maybe Ezekiel was right. THE END |
E TENEBRAE LUX By Jacob Stow |
FABLES OF THE UNFORGIVEN |
