Innocence Lost, Part Two

Hello again. Just a quick message to apologise again for my tardiness, and my hopes that you enjoy this.

Volodanti out.

“Venris, this isn’t a fairy tale.” Lucas replied. “Fight me or don’t, but by the Warp, shut up.”

Stepping past the knot of bodyguards, forced down the nearest Astarte’s bolter, before he motioned them to board the waiting dropship, which even now powered its engines to a whining crescendo, urgently calling for its passengers to board.

“There’s not enough room for all of us anyway. I’ll deal with the hero, and meet you aboard the Hunter. Make ready to leave as soon as I board.” The renegades seemed reluctant to abandon their commander but did as ordered, quickly ascending the ramp and buckling in. As the last sat down the ship took flight, spinning about to find a new heading even before the ramp was fully closed, trusting the life-sustaining armour of the passengers to keep them safe and conscious.

As the dust settled on the landing pad, amidst the dulled sounds of combat from below, Lucas and Venris faced one another, weapons at the ready. Lucas held the volgue that he’d once used as a Company Master, though he seemed to have abandoned the storm shield he’d favoured. That gave Venris some chance, though truth be told he’d have preferred that the shield stayed than the polearm. Lucas moved to a familiar stance, left hand to the front so that the bionic limb could be used as an impromptu buckler, whilst his right controlled the weapon. Venris, meanwhile, settled into a knife-fighter’s stance, blade extended, knees bent, whilst he held his pistol close to his back leg. They took stock of one another, eyes poring over every detail for a long moment, before they launched into action.

As Lucas took his first step, Venris snapped around, lining up the shot and firing before Lucas foot even touched the ground. Lucas responded with equal speed, stopping his thrust and raising the weapon’s head to deflect the incoming bolt of plasma so that it exploded before his face, rather than against it. It still blinded him for a moment, giving Venris the chance to strike.

He turned his movement into a charge, launching forwards to shoulder-barge his foe. Lucas, though blind, expected such a manoeuvre and stepped back, swinging his weapon in a wide arc to allow himself a moment. Venris pulled up just shy of the deadly arc, dropping under his foe’s guard to trust his knife into the softer armour covering the stomach. The knife bit deep, but failed to do much damage before Lucas instinctively lashed out, kneeing Venris in the face and sending him reeling backwards, rolling as he landed to avoid a hasty chop of the polearm.

As Venris recovered his feet it became apparent that Lucas was once more in possession of all his senses, and stood ready to repel any attack. Venris gritted his teeth – not only was his foe’s weapon significantly longer, Venris knife lacked the sheath of armour-sundering energy that surrounded it.

Still, Venris had one advantage. Focussing a moment, he activated to short-ranged teleporter in his power pack, willing it to move him to a spot a yard behind his opponent, before launching himself backwards, turning into a thrust. As he began to move the teleporter activated, shunting him through the Immaterium to the chosen spot, his momentum unchanged. Lucas was quick to turn, but even an Astartes’ reflexes could do little to counter a charge from that distance. Venris crashed in, knife scratching across his breastplate before it found his armpit and left a deep gouge, even as he tackled his foes, near knocking the pair sprawling. They just about managed to maintain their balance and began to grapple, hoping to gain some advantage in either strength or stance.

After a moment, it became apparent that Lucas was the stronger of the two, and began to dominate the contest. Venris responded in the only way he could, slamming his head forwards, so that their foreheads met with a resounding crunch, before repeating the manoeuvre, repeatedly hammering his helm against his foe’s face until one broke. Sadly though, what gave fist was Venris balance as Lucas stamped down on his foe’s shin, knocking his foot from underneath him, and allowing his attempted headbutt into a faceplant. Venris managed to roll so that he landed on his shoulder, jolting him but doing no real damage, before he once more saw afterimages of the Warp and reappeared on the far side of the roof.

Apparently, his displacer field had carried him to safety as Lucas attempted to finish the fight with a quick thrust of his weapon. Recognising a chance to do the same on more favourable terms, Venris drew and fired his pistol once more, targeting the exposed power pack. Unfortunately, the weapon failed spectacularly, overheating such that it exploded in a brilliant ball of super-heated plasma. Venris gasped in pain as the misfire melted the armour, and skin, of his forearm, leaving it near useless. The pain-suppressors in his suit quickly got to work, leaving the raw wound as little more than a dull throb as Lucas turned to him, weapon at the ready as he surveyed his opponent.

He marched slowly over to Venris, aware that even injured an Astartes was a significant threat to the unwary. His weapon flashed out, Venris intercepted the strike with his knife, and was left with three fingers and most of a handle, the missing limb and blade falling to the floor even as the blade plunged into his collarbone, cauterising the wound even as it severed an artery. The injury wasn’t immediately lethal to Venris, and would likely even heal fully with some minor care, but it left his arm hanging limply by his side. Lucas stepped in, batting aside Venris feeble attempts to counter it, and gripped him by the throat. He studied him for but a moment before hurling him bodily across the roof, so that he crashed into the wall, cracking the stones and near bulldozing his way straight through it. Lucas was by his side almost before he’d landed, one boot resting upon his burnt wrist, the blade of his weapon pressed against Venris throat. Venris stiffened, anticipating the thrust and the slow death that followed, but none came. Instead, Lucas spoke.

“You’re better, but you’ll never match me. If I were still your teacher, I might be impressed. But I’m not, and I’m just irritated. Don’t follow me. I’m going to kill the Beast that ravaged our home, and when I return I expect a Warp-damned parade. I’m not sparing you out of sentimentality, but because if I do Banekai will launch a hunt, or Faescestus will make it his sworn duty, or perhaps Volodanti will actually do something for once.” Lucas glanced behind him as a dropship painted in the livery of the Fists of Decay approached the rooftop, the ramp open invitingly. “And try to go limp.” He added, kicking Venris through the wall, and off the hundred-foot drop. His fight concluded, he turned around, and marched towards the waiting ship, and his continued quest.

Raincheck?

Right, so, first off, Happy Easter. Or, if you don't celebrate, Happy Fourth Sunday after the Spring New Moon, or however on Earth the church decides when to eat chocolate eggs. Apparently, the Pope is considering making it a set day each year, like Christmas. Which would be a hell of a lot easier for Calendar makers and School Holiday planning... I'm off topic, aren't I? Point is, I am full of chocolate, and drinking Baileys.

With that out of the way, bit of bad news - not everything went to plan today. Or rather, yesterday, as it rained, which meant that I couldn't spray my Deathwatch. I got it done today, but that meant I had to spend the morning at my parents - which, actually, was really nice, I don't visit half as often as I should... - but that meant I couldn't spend this morning writing today's blog. And, being a sensible grown-up, I spent my time after work making chili for me to eat tomorrow, so I didn't get a chance to write it tonight either...
... So, I'm going to tomorrow. It should be up by midday, so if you're having a late lunch, you'll have something to read whilst you eat. Sorry again that it's late, but to be honest, you oughta be used to that by now.

By Morrow, I am a terrible at this.

Volodanti out.

Innocence Lost

Hello there, and welcome back.
So, right, sorry this is a week late - I got my dates mixed up and didn't realise til Friday that I'd missed a post. Don't worry though, you'll still be getting a post next week - specifically, part two of today's fluff. Speaking of which, here continues the saga of Epsilus' demise, and me moving plot forward. So, without further ado.

Hope you enjoy this, and thanks for reading.

Volodanti out.

Venris marched alongside his command, finally approaching the Traitor’s base. Why, precisely, they had congregated on this dead world was a mystery; but not one which he overly cared to answer. The alliance of sorts had caused great harm to the Imperium over millennia, many of its members having once fought alongside the Arch-Traitor Horus, and it was today that they would finally face justice for their crimes.

Already, some fled – as Venris crested an outcrop, he saw the enemy laid out before him, some two miles away. They surrounded an ancient ruin; possibly it had once been a temple to some forgotten gods, but now it appeared more as a single finger of brownish stone, pointing defiantly to the heavens. Traitors of various Warbands milled about near it, collecting equipment, keeping lookout, or else escorting their champions. They were hurriedly boarding dropships, hoping to escape the noose inexorably tightening about them as his own allies approached; Ultramarines, Aquillon Guard, Blood Ravens and Thunder Wyverns. Venris sent a quick message over the vox to request interceptors even as he ordered his men to deploy into formation.

Within minutes of gaining line of sight, the first casualties were lost to traitor weapons – Brother Girrodostun taking a shell from an autocannon to the softer armour of his stomach. He collapsed, grunting in pain as his internal organs turned to pulp. Perhaps he might survive, if help came, but that was beyond Venris’ capabilities. As more fell to the enemy’s heavy weapons, Venris men spread out, moving between pieces of cover, but always advancing towards the Traitors.

Within ten minutes, Venris had made his first kill – a bolt of superheated plasma bursting upon the breast of a Night Lord, quickly vaporising his torso. A quartet  of smoking limbs fell to the ground, but Venris had already moved on, selecting a new target. His men moved with him, gunning down the traitors and their cultists as they charged; their advance no less implacable than a glacier’s.

On the third shot, Venris pistol overheated, venting superheated gas from its core as an Khornate Champion barrelled towards him, teeth bared as screamed his warcry. His armour protected him from the worst of the damage – likely, even a mortal would not suffer overly , so the Black Blade didn’t even register pain. Venris ground his teeth in frustration, cursing his ill-luck – his blade still lay lodged in the secondary heart of the Night Lord Estragor. Since their encounter, he’d not had the chance to replace it and so settled instead on drawing forth his combat knife; a sidearm which had not seen use in several decades. Still, Venris kept it well maintained and to hand at all times, and was thankful for the blade at this time. He caught the creaming teeth of the chain axe with his knife even as he shifted his weight, turning the Berserker’s charge into a throw, slamming him bodily into the ground. As the champion rolled over he was met by the sight of Venris’ boot descending, crushing his skull underfoot. An ironic end, Venris thought, considering their warcry.

As the battle progressed, the clear lines blended into a series of small skirmishes – rarely more than five warriors engaged in any single fight. Venris continued through the camp, moving ever towards the tower, and the enemy command, noting that the foes became ever more challenging, and that each yard  became hard fought over. By the time he reached the plaza before the doors he’d all but emptied his plasma pistol’s charge, and had suffered numerous wounds. He made a break for the entrance, sidestepping a veteran renegade with a power maul and leaving him with a severed  hamstring, and a squad of his own veterans to contend with.

Inside, the temple was a cavernous building; vaulted ceilings gave way to buttressed walls, built upon a stone floor. Clearly, there was once an architectural masterwork, but time had worn all the surfaces smooth, removing any touch of artistry. Venris sprinted through the oddly empty building, past a chamber where unholy runes had been drawn on the floor, in circles around the corpse of a Night Lord. A sacrifice perhaps? Venris doubted he’d ever know the answer, and found that he did not much care. Once less Traitor was not something worth investigating.

Venris quickly found the stairs and careened up them; the stone steps cracking under his heavy footfalls as he launched himself up them, five or six at a time. By the time he reached the top of the spiral, he found himself breathing heavier than usual – though more likely from injury than exertion. He passed through the door without stopping, the plasteel door flying from its hinges to clatter noisily  as Venris emerged onto the roof. Opposite him were a few Renegades, garbed in grey and bone armour, surrounding a figure in an ebony robe. A few turned to look as he emerged, weapons drawn, armour scarred almost beyond repair, cloak little more than a shredded mess. He raised his right arm, knife pointed accusatorily at their leader and called out.

“Company Master Tutella, for desertion, dereliction of duty, and bringing the name of our Chapter into disrepute, I am to execute you. Throw down your weapon, and I shall grant you a quick death.

The figure turned, revealing a familiar face warped beyond all redemption by the heresies he had committed.

“Venris, this isn’t a fairy tale.” Lucas replied. “Fight me or don’t, but by the Warp, shut up.”