Brotherhood of the Yellow King : Cultwar - Chapter Two

II:

Sergeant Jerord McKernze, commander of 'Wrathchild' Militarum Terminus Stormtrooper squad, in service of the Emperor's most Holy Inquisition, held his right hand up in a closed fist, bringing his squad to an immediate halt. Well disciplined and drilled, his team waited with bated breath for their commander's next signal. Jerord strained his ears, he'd heard something, he could swear he had. Now all he heard was the dripping of water somewhere and the sound of operating machinery in the distance. The Stromtrooper Sergeant thought he'd heard a shuffling nearby, the telltale clack of claws on a hard surface. Their quarry, the Genestealer.

Still, he had to confess, his senses were not exactly reliable at the moment, his mind could be playing tricks on him. Sweat dripped down his face, and it wasn't because of the temperature, no, this was a cold sweat, born of dread. A quick check of the sensor built into his suits wrist revealed no sign of anything, no betrayal of any presence other than his squad. They were just as strung out as he, twitchy and exhausted. They were being hunted.

They had started with a full squad of ten but now they were down to just over half of that number. Four troopers gone in just two attacks, one ten hours ago and one three hours ago. Three dead and one missing, presumed dead. Or worse. Their quarry had been lightning fast, presenting them only the most fleeting of targets and their reactionary fire had been rushed and inaccurate despite their pedigree as troopers. They had begun 15 hours ago as the hunters, and had become the prey. Then again McKernze considered, had they ever truly been the hunters at all?

It had been Millins the first time, a blur, a yellow blur, followed by an arc of bright crimson as the Genestealer had ripped him apart, cutting him open from groin to shoulder, ragged wet meat falling to the floor as the creature darted behind some stanchions and disappeared back into the shadows as swiftly as it had emerged. The squad had lit it's path up with Hellgun fire but had hit nothing, the Genestealer had already gone, leaving what had used to be Millins scattered over the floor in piles of bloody meat.

The second time Valetin had been taken. They had progressed to the higher levels of the docking port and the temperature had dropped, they were checking an open hangar, empty save a small utility pod and some cargo crates that it had been moving. the wind at that altitude whipped across the floor and made the hauling chains chime hauntingly. From out of the hanger entrance they could see much of Narthley laid out before them, paralysed and peaceful. Nonetheless they remained on high alert, vigilant and guarded.

It had made no difference, the Xenos had erupted from nothingless, murdered Kincade, grabbed Valetin and propelled itself at a speed no living thing should be able to manage towards the edge of the hanger before leaping onto the exterior of the dock and disappearing. Gobbs had the misfortune to be in its way. There was no spray of blood this time, only a bloodcurdling scream that eventually faded as the trooper was hurled into the air and fell out of sight.

Down to six now, they continued to track the Xenos through the upper levels of the port. Well, track wasn't quite the right word, thought McKernze sardonically, more like stumble about aimlessly till another of them died. He chastised himself for his attitude, mentally sentencing himself to penance later. If there was a later.

He lowered his hand satisfied that his ears had been deceived. The next search area was a large Storage Bay similar to the one where they had started the search.. The way that the containers were arranged made for three paths through to the rear of the bay. His scanner indicated an abundance of  of turns and alcoves in the arrangement of the containers, plenty of spaces for a predator to hide, plenty of choke points and kill zones. It was less than ideal but he had been instructed to find and kill the Xenos and that was exactly what he was going to do. Or die trying.

With two fingered signals he sent Langers and M'obe left and Signhet and Jarazis right. This left him and Ayris to take the central path. McKernze was fine with this, Jheeta Ayris was a strong and reliable soldier, as tough as they came and there was no-one he would rather have watching his back. He glanced back at her and she shot him a wry grin and wink that said 'after you Sarge' before returning to scanning her surroundings.

The feed in his helmet crackled and hissed. At this height the atmospherics of Worth affected communications equipment, although not critically. The separated squad progressed through the bay, navigating the labyrinth of containers stacked high and haphazardly, checking their corners and angles as they went. They were exhausted but they were model soldiers, the best of their kind. The Inquisition would expect nothing less, would ACCEPT nothing less. Only the most elite and pure of heart got to serve in the Emperor's Holy Inquisition.

The Stormtrooper Squad had traversed around two thirds of the length of the Cargo Bay without incident when McKernze's comm crackled into life. A panicked yell followed by the "FSSHK" of a burst of Hellgun fire. M'obe's voice hissed through, "Contact! Contact!" he screamed, his rich Varusian accent distorted further still by the squealing interference. Wordlessly McKernze, broke into a sprint, knowing Ayris would be just behind him. Left, "FSSHK!" Left, "FSSHK, FSSHK" right, and another FSSHK! followed by an unearthly bestial scream , left, right to the other end of the bay and then left, left, right to double back down to M'obe and Langer's position. The comm had gone dead and the only sound was the pounding of boots and the pack on their backs.

Rounding one last corner, McKernze saw M'obe standing against a container, grinning inanely even as his rifle was held ready. Langers was in the shadows, prodding something with his Hellgun. McKernze stopped and took in the scene, Ayris was seconds behind him.

Report! The sergeant barked, he was in no mood for this, M'obe snapped to attention and indicated with his rifle at Langers.

"it's.. it's some kind of scavanger sir" his hard constanants clacking in the Varusian manner. "Emperor above, I thought it was the..." suddenly his face vanished, replaced by a fountain of gore. He didn't even have the time to scream, his head just disappeared mid sentence. The ragged stump of his neck and lower jaw pulsed with the motions of speech but the rest of him wasn't there to form the words. His body toppled to the side and McKernze was already lifting his Hellgun as the Genestealer pounced on Langers who was mid turn. The Stormtrooper was eviscerated almost immediately,  the creature's razor sharp talons making a mockery of his carapace armour. Unlike M'obe, Langers DID scream as he died. Mckerze fired, but the Genestealer had already gone and his shots merely cut Langers' corpse to ribbons, steaming offal falling to the ground in bloody chunks.

The Genestealer scaled the wall of the container and launched it self at McKernze while he was still firing. He would surely have been killed but something slammed bodily into him, hurling him to the side. His finger was still on the trigger of his Hellgun, fire stitching its way across the container behind Langers' remains as McKernze fell. The impact as he hit the hard floor jarred the gun from his grasp, the rifle skittering across the floor into the shadows. He turned the fall into a combat roll and came up on one knee to see Ayris grappling with the beast. Actually grappling with it. He had known she was strong but her desperation lent her reserves of strength beyond normal human endurance. Even so it was only a matter of moments before she was overpowered and even now, Mckernze watched as she was borne to the floor, the Genestealer's claws flashing in the gloom.

McKernze acted without thinking, years of training resulting in honed reactions and instinct. In one smooth motion he pulled his laspistol from its holster and fired. Two handed, for better stability, two quick shots, best for accuracy, textbook battle action. The two shots slammed into the Genestealer as it retched hot bile at the stricken Ayris, desperately trying to hold the monster at bay.  McKernze's practised shots threw it off just enough that the liquid spattered over the floor by the side of Ayris' head rather than her face.

In all the years Jerord McKernze had served with Jheeta Ayris he had never heard her scream. Until now. As the bile spattered on the ground it splashed up and droplets hit her cheek, even without the sizzling sound and smell of burning flesh, detectable even from afar, McKerze would have known it was acid from her anguished cry. The bile ate into the decking and her cheek, and her resistance began to waver. McKernze thumbed the power setting on his pistol and drained the pack in one final shot.

The bolt of energy seared a hole into the Genestealer's torso as it sank a claw into Ayris' shoulder.
Wounded at last, it recoiled and screeched, ceasing its assault on the fading Ayris and glaring malevolently at McKernze. The Stormtrooper Sergeant knew his life was measured in scant seconds and prepared to die for his Emperor, when suddenly a volley of Hellgun fire erupted around the Genestealer as Singhet and Jarazis arrived, firing from the hip as they took in the scene. Had they taken a more measured approach they may well have killed the beast but as it was they wounded it enough to deter it from it's attack on McKernze and it fled, leaping impossibly fast and impossibly high above the containers into the darkness,  a trail of glowing ichor left in its wake. The entire assault had taken under a minute. In that time two more of his squad were dead and another incapacitated.

Mckernze threw away the smoking Laspistol, it's power relays were fused and the pack connector port and casing would need replacing, it was useless. He raced over to Ayris, lying unconscious in a pool of her own blood. Kneeling beside her he pulled the saviour kit from his suit webbing. Jarazis and Singhet were scanning the area, Hellguns raised ready to fire. McKernze assessed Ayris' injuries with a practised eye. Her left shoulder was more or less gone, ripped to slivers of meat and splintered bone. The Genestealer's claws had cleaved through the armour like it was tissue and torn the joint below to ribbons, McKernze was astonished that her arm was even still attached. He pushed her ravaged shoulder back together as much as he could and pulled the coagulant/wound packing foam cannister from the saviour kit. Designed to pack wounds and literally hold soldiers together on the front line till proper treatment could be obtained, even this basic aid was beyond the reach of most rank and file guardsmen. Holding flesh together with one hand, he deployed the foam with the other, the foam solidified and constricted as it contacted the flesh, knitting the wound together as it snaked into the muscles and blood vessels, stopping the loss of blood. It wouldn't heal the injury (privately McKernze thought the damage irreprible and thought it likely that Ayuris would lose the arm entirely) but it would keep her from bleeding out. Indentured to the Inquisition she would enjoy better treatment than most were they able to get her to medical facilities. Should the wound be too severe and the Limb unsalvageable then she would be granted a high function bionic replacement, service to the Holy Inquisition came with many priveledges.

Her life saved, at least for now, McKernze turned his attention to her secondary injuries. Her combat suit was rent and torn, bloody gashes testament to her herculean feat of holding the Genestealer at bay. The worst two of these he used the foam on but many of the lacerations he was able to treat with Synth Skin, a plastic flesh that he could use to dress the injuries. This done he turned his attention to her face, turning her head he could see where the acidic secretion from the Genestealer had done it's terrible work. Jheeta Ayris had never been a typically beautiful woman but her squat freckled face and upturned button nose had a definite charm. Now the right side of her face was a ravaged ruin, Skin eaten away and cheek muscles exposed and heavily damaged. He covered the ragged mess with a layer of Synth Skin, likely the resultant scarring would be permanent. Ayris stirred as the cooling spray contacted and tightened on her ruined face. Her eyes flickered and opened and she attempted to focus on McKernze.

"Did, did we get it?" that was Ayris, always about the mission. McKernze looked down, and started to put the cannisters back in the Saviour Kit. Valetin had been the squad Medic and she was gone. Like the rest of his squad he only had basic life saving treatment and access to the most rudimentary of items. Ayris couldn't be treated here.

"not quite," he admitted. "It's wounded though, bleeding, don't worry, we'll finish it off soon. Lie still, you've lost a lot of blood"

He busied himself putting the Saviour kit back into it's webbing. Ayris closed her eyes again.

"You saved me" he murmured.

Ayris didn't open her eyes but managed a half smile, the plastic flesh on her cheek crinkling unconvincingly,

"Of course I did Sarge, you're the Sarge. I'm not being left to get...." she faded out and her features went slack. Her chest still rose and fell, she was merely asleep.

McKernze looked at her for a moment and came to a decision. He stood and addressed Jarazis;

"Get her out of here, double time. Back to the Elevator. Take her down and get her some treatment. Signhet will cover you." He began to remove his armour and combat suit.

Jarazis hesitated, Markon Jarazis was one of the most loyal soldiers Mckernze had ever served with, it wouldn't be easy to get him to go. "and you Sarge? Please don't tell me you are going to do what I think you are. You're coming with us right?"

McKernze stooped, retrieving a Hellgun, he wasn't sure whose. Grabbing spare power packs he removed the webbing from his combat suit and wrapped it round his torso. Grenades, ammo, flares, everything useful was stowed.

"I'm going after it Markon, you can't stop me. That Bastard has killed over half my squad and I want revenge. Either I die or it does. He hefted the Hellgun and checked the charge, repriming the load. "It's wounded and it's bleeding." He stooped next to the creature's pooled ichor and dipped the hellgun barrel into it cautiously. Satisfied that it was non corrosive he shouldered his weapon, scooped some up and smeared it over his torso and arms. He also covered his face and forehead. There was no guarantee that the Genestealer hunted by scent but McKernze would take any advantage he could get. It was unlikely that the Genestealer was still nearby, they had hurt it. It was probably off somewhere licking it's wounds. McKernze would put it down, He would track its trail of blood and end the beast once and for all.

"If  it's bleeding I can find it, I can kill it. I WILL kill it, Emperor willing. Or it will kill me," He Shrugged, "It's that simple Markon, as I say, you can't stop me. Get the hell out of here, Save Jheeta. That's an order"

Jarazis met his gaze, saluted. He reached behind him and produced a large blade in it's scabbard. It was a Tanith Warblade, 'Straight Silver' they called it. He had been given it years ago. McKernze didn't know exactly what he had done to receive such a gift but it must have been absolutely monumental. He had served besides the Tanith and knew full well how much the blades meant to the Ghosts. They would literally rather lose an arm than part with them. Jarazis had never divulged the details, he was not one for recounting exploits. He has simply said that it was given to him as tribute and that the man that had given him it didn't need it. McKernze had no idea what circumstances would lead to such a situation but respected Jarazis's privacy. Now Markon Jarazis extended the knife to him hilt first in it's scabbard.

"Do me a favour Sir, Stick this in the bastard, for Langers, for Valetin, for Gobbs and M'obe and Millins and Kincade. Stick him with it good. You can give it back after." McKernze took the knife reverently and attached it to his belt, it was more like a short sword than a typical issue combat knife. He knelt and picked up Ayris gently, Signhet looked on, Hellgun still aimed, he was taking no chances. Jarazis took  Ayris from his Sergeant. He was a big man and cradled the unconscious soldier in one meaty arm, saluting again with the other before turning round and heading back the way they had come. McKerze retuned the salute and, checking his equipment one more time, set off in the opposite direction, the Hunter once again.

Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar. Chapter One.

I: 

The Ulysses class bulk cargo hauler Thrace's Arrow lumbered through space much like the millennia extinct cetacean that it resembled had journeyed Ancient Holy Terra's long since evaporated oceans. No one would describe the vessel as elegant or graceful. No, utilitarian would be a better term, it was designed for one thing and it did it adequately, though it was in ill repair and ancient. Blocky, grey and slow, it made its way for Celias IV, its holds laden with ore and a small amount of other assorted materials  from Worth. However this was not it's only cargo. 

In the deep dark spaces of hold Six-Beta Kappa-Four-Three, inside a weathered container the twin of which languished back on Worth, the Genestealer waited. Suspended upside down in the nondescript crate, it slept, its alien metabolism lowered to near undetectable levels, expending as little energy as possible.  

Nonetheless, even in this dormant state it was aware, aware of it's surroundings, aware of the psychic urges from its Patriarch back in Endomaw. It was aware of the hybrid cult members that had infiltrated the vessel and of course it was aware of the ever present Tyranid Hive Mind, so very far away but always inexorably on the move, drawn to fresh feeding grounds as its Hive Fleets devoured planet after planet, system after system, sector after sector, in a never ending attempt to quell the insatiable hunger of the Tyranid race.

Suddenly it was aware of something else. An increased level of alarm amongst the freighter's crew, human and Hybrid alike. Rising fear and panic, a warning signal from its Brood Brothers. Then it was aware of a sudden acceleration from the Hauler, the whine of the engines as they strove to supply the additional thrust being demanded of them. The juddering of the hull as it protested against extra forces it was never designed to endure.

The Genestealer began to unfold itself, pumping adrenal fluids to its extremities and bringing itself to full alertness, preparing to react quickly if needed. It swayed slightly as the vessel was rocked by an impact, then another. The whine from the engines became a scream as the ship attempted maneuvers and velocities far beyond its intended limits. The creature hissed and dropped lithely to the floor, almost silent. It tensed, straining to discern what was going on outside the confines of it's container. The crate was secure and locked but the Genestealer's razor sharp claws would be able to tear through the metal casing of the container in seconds if needed.

Suddenly the container rocked violently as the hull was torn asunder. The superstructure was ripped apart and laser fire lanced into its inner workings. The Genestealer was aware of the rush of decompression and the squeal of twisted metal, it was aware of the swiftly hushed screams of the crew as they were sucked into the cold vacuum of space, an environment it could easily survive. The creature was aware of the tortured terminal scream of the engines as they went into a catastrophic overload, damaged beyond any hope of salvation. Aware of the roar of plasma fire surging through the ship as something critical gave way.

Then it was aware of nothing at all as it was utterly obliterated in the searing white hot blast of a critical level plasma engine explosion.

Far away, though perhaps not in the terms of void combat, Alexys Servil Tayn grunted with mild satisfaction as the hulking freighter simply disappeared in an blinding ball of plasma. Even though the display screens around her dimmed automatically, Tayn still narrowed her eyes at the sudden flash. As the explosion dissipated, leaving just metallic fragments as a cloud of fine debris, she unclasped her hands from behind her back and with a tight smile turned to congratulate her crew on the kill.

Well, at least those crew that were human.  Many of the menials onboard the Strike Interceptor she commanded were mind scrubbed servitors, half human cyborgs that were programmed with just enough information to perform their assigned tasks. Those that still had faces stared blankly at their instruments, performing minor adjustments as needed by the thousand to keep the ship operational and running smoothly.

Still, as she turned Tayn caught a few human expressions, mostly satisfaction and pride. Gleams in eyes here and there, Most noticeably on Shais Jaroslav, her first officer and lover. The gleam in Shais' eyes spread to her ebony round face and burst out in that smile that Tayn found so very appealing. She fought to keep her own smile from showing and instead focussed on bestowing her praise upon the crew as a whole, using the ships address system to do so. And it was praise well earned, given the speed that they had reacted to the Inquisitor's signal, identified, hunted down and eliminated the target. Everything had performed admirably, not least the aged vessel itself.

The Strike Interceptor was called Fist of Makius, a sleek lethal predator of a vessel. Old and of a design not exactly of the typical Imperial style. It was more streamlined, with fins akin to an aquatic hunter, its engines were spread around the hull rather than clustered at the back which gave it a unique and at times hazardous level of maneuverability and temperamental handling. Tayn had been its master for 35 Terran Solar Years. Of course those units of time could mean little when the vagaries of the Warp were factored but in any case, she knew the ship and knew it well, even if she didn't know who 'Makius' was, or particularly care.

No, the ship worked and performed as she desired and that was all that really mattered to her. She wasn't one to get sentimental about such things, being an entirely pragmatic woman, who dealt with facts and cold hard data rather than emotions and feelings. For years she had operated the ship as a hunter, taking bounties and settling feuds. Running escort to convoys and any other work she could get. The ship's appearance had largely kept it out of Imperial service with none wanting to associate with such an unusual and exotic looking vessel, but there was always someone looking to hire a vessel even if they regarded the unorthodox Strike Cruiser with suspicion or disdain.  This had not bothered Tayn in the slightest, she knew the truth even if she was one of the only ones who did. Few others knew how she had become Shipmaster and from where the vessel originated and those that did not only ever asked her once, for her steely glare brooked no further enquiry on the subject. Fist of Makius therefore remained an enigma. Dark and mysterious as the depths of space itself, and just as quietly dangerous.

It was this that had attracted Inquisitor Garanthe to the vessel in the first place. Tayn let her mind drift back to the memory. Five years ago she had been escorting a Merchantman Convoy that was making a supply run through the Danoiris Belt, an area of space thick with nebulae and asteroids. The asteroids in the area churned up the gases of the nebula leading to each piece of space rock being surrounded by eddies and a bright corona of disturbed gas. Some would have found it beautiful. She had not. Tayn had simply considered it an annoyance, the phenomenon cast false sensor echoes and made the Belt a prime spot for an ambush.

And so it had proved, approximately half way through the belt the convoy had been attacked by xenos Pirates, their jagged yet elegant vessels scything through the gases and seeming to appear out of nowhere. One of the leading vessels of the convoy was crippled in seconds, it's minimal shielding flaring before the follow up shots ripped through the hull, spilling gasses and corpses into the void. However, the Pirates were not looking to destroy the vessel, only disable it, and as it span, powerless and  out of control, the raider ceased fire and slowed for boarding and capture.

Fist of Makius' retribution was swift; with her armament being almost entirely forward facing, she bore down upon the Raider vessel and obliterated it with a punishing volley of fire. But the Pirates were in number.

Realizing that the convoy had protection, the three other raiders halted their predation of the other Merchant ships and focussed upon the Interceptor. Their exotic weaponry lanced at the Fist of Makius and under the combined volley the shields buckled. The Interceptor was designed for combat under evasive maneuvers and to be hard to hit. She was not designed to repel firepower of that magnitude and she had been caught cold, exulting in the kill.

Tayn was no novice ship commander though and took steps to ensure her ship's survival. Gambling that her foe valued the contents of the Merchant Vessels highly, she pulled the Interceptor behind one of the ships and, though fire lanced after her, it ceased as she reached the lee of the vessel. However, the Pirate Vessels were agile and deadly and sought to outmaneuver and surround the Fist of Makius, harrying it and managing to strike it a few more times, punishing it's weakened shields yet further though they could not land a telling or penetrating blow. Tayn had never been prone to desperation but even she was growing worried at the odds that she was facing.

She decided to use the environment to her advantage, with curt commands she ordered the ship into one of the pockets of gas, gambling that the nebula would hide her ship. It was an extreme risk, there could have been anything in there, another Raiding party could have been concealed within and she would have not known until she was right on top of them. Fortune favoured her though and as two vessels followed her in, the third doubled back to attack the convoy once again, the transport ship's meagre defensive turrets swiftly silenced by the exotic weaponry. Panicked messages spilled onto the bridge as the convoy begged for help from the raiders. Tayn ordered the communications cut, silencing their pleas. Inside she seethed, not at any real empathy for the convoy but for the fact that she had had to abandon it, albeit temporarily, she had pride in her reputation.

Tayn was jolted from her reverie as Alberto Gaijin her communications officer, hailed her from the other side of the bridge. She listened to his report and strode to the command throne, the prosthetic on her left leg clacking against the polished floor as she did so. Ensconcing herself within the hard metal device she felt the sockets on her neck and wrists open and connect to the mechandrites that snaked up from the throne. Thus linked she was able to connect on the ship in a much more intimate fashion, feeling it's indominable machine spirit. Tayn may not have been an overly sympathetic person but even she acknowledged the awesome presence that was Fist of Makius. That was not all she was privy to though, through the neural connections in the throne she was linked to all the different areas of the ship, receiving information from Engineering, which informed her that the engines had been pushed beyond normal limits and would require minor repairs, weapons bays (engaging in post combat canticles of reloading and cleansing), in fact every department, simultaneously and constantly updated. She was aware of the navigator, holed up in her chamber, not needed to pathfind through the Warp at the moment and performing some inscrutable form of meditation. Satisfied that all was well on her ship she mentally opened the link that pulsed, indicating a message coming in on a secure channel.

Tayn accessed the communique with a thought, as she had suspected it was a recorded message, a pointed yet polite request for an update on the situation from the Inquisitor. With a sequence of thoughts Tayn submitted a reply, confirming the kill and advising of the minor repairs that needed to be completed before they could return. she wondered how his own mission of infiltrating Endomaw was proceeding and enquired as much. Though the Inquisitor was in no way obliged to divulge, Tayn was direct and didn't care much for etiquette or politics, something he found laudable, he would likely answer. She signed off with the standard 'The Emperor Protects' and dispatched the message with a thought. There would be a delay before the information was received and by then the Fist of Makius could be well on its way. With any luck she would be in a position to aid the Inquisitor should his mssion have not been as straightforward as hers.