Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar: Chapter Seven

It was dark in the depths of the storage areas under the starport, the wan light left most areas in deep shadow and visibility was extremely low. This did not present an issue for Jerord McKernze however. He had been born and raised in the main hive on Cyrast, he hadn’t known bright illumination before he was nearly a man, hadn’t seen the sun till he was recruited into the ranks of the Astra Militarum at the age of 16. 

So, though the environment was that of shadows and gloom, he could see almost as well as he could in full light. Certainly he could see well enough to track his quarry. The Genestealer’s blood glistened on the ground, sporadic patches providing the trail that he now followed. Though injured the creature was still moving fast, evidenced by the distance between the splashes of ichor. However, it had been wounded severely and the blood was plentiful. McKernze had tracked the Genestealer down three levels, determined not to let the xenos escape. Now, at last, he sensed the hunt was coming to an end. 

He moved quickly but silently in a half crouch, his years of training in covert operations coming to the fore. His ears strained to hear over clanging chains and whirring machinery and fans, circulating the stagnant air over and over again. His Hellgun was held ready to blast any attacker but he was all too aware that even wounded, the Genestealer could strike at a speed that beggared human understanding, if it came to close quarters combat he would have to rely on his borrowed Tanith blade. 

The pools of blood were becoming more frequent, the creature was slowing. McKernze slowed as well. Most likely the Genestealer had ceased it’s flight and holed up somewhere, either in its actual den or an improvised lair. Mckernze located the next splash of blood, in between two chest high crates. He peered into the shadows, even with his adapted eyesight he could see very little. He was so preoccupied with looking ahead that he didn’t see the shape approaching from behind… 

However a life in a hive attuned more than the eyes, his ears pricked and he whirled, his finger on the Hellgun's trigger. His target yelped and dived to the side. McKernze frowned, Genestealers didn’t yelp. He looked down and flicked on the light on his weapon, stealth was no longer a viable strategy anyway. The beam shone out, straight into the face of Rosanna Valetin. 

“Throne! I nearly shot you!” he breathed, Valentin squinted against the light, 

“Sergeant? What’s going on? I woke up a few minutes ago, heard a noise, came to see what it was. “

McKernze frowned again, he thought he had been quieter than that. He was slipping. It was no surprise, he was tired beyond measure, pushing himself beyond the limits of endurance on this fool's vendetta. 

“Are you ok?” He asked, ignoring her question. “The ‘stealer, it grabbed you, we thought you were dead.” He switched the light off and held his gun in one hand, reaching down with the other. 

Valetin took the proffered hand and McKernze hauled her to her feet. She rubbed the back of  her neck, wincing. 

“I’m not sure, I'm a bit fuzzy. It dragged me across the roof and I remember struggling against it, I guess my combat harness broke.” She looked down at herself self consciously as if to confirm the harness was absent. “I don't remember anything after that. I guess I fell and got lucky, maybe fell through a vent or something.” She looked shaken, her eyes were glazed slightly and her speech was a little sluggish. There was something very somnambulant about her manner. McKerzne bought her up to speed quickly. 

“The bastard ripped apart most of the squad, I sent the survivors back down to the surface. They’re hopefully gone by now but do you want to follow them? We wounded the Stealer, I'm going to find it and finish it off. 

Something flashed across her eyes, so quick he wasn't even sure he’d seen it in the gloom. He couldn’t place the expression. It passed and she shook her head. 

“No, I'll stay here with you Sarge, I'd never make it down there. I’m not even armed.” She looked down at herself and around as if a rifle might magically appear. 

“I don’t have any spares, didn’t expect to find anyone”, McKernze confessed ruefully, he pulled a grenade from his webbing and a combat knife from his waist, passing them to her, she accepted them with a grateful nod, stashing the grenade in her pocket and holding the knife in a reverse grip, readly to slash or defend as needed. 

“Keep low and keep quiet and let me know if you hear anything,” McKernze instructed. “I'm following a trail and I think we are getting close.” He turned, set his Hellgun to ready and moved off, following the blood once more. 

The creature was definitely slowing. He half fancied that he might come across its corpse lying on the floor, that would be an Emperor granted boon he thought. He glanced behind himself periodically to make sure Valetin was still with him. Something troubled him about her, he wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was just shock, not many survived being that close to a Genestealer. He thought of Ayris, poor Jheeta Ayris, and his expression darkened. She would survive, she was tough. And if not, well, she would be avenged, make no mistake about that. 

He stopped, holding up a hand out of habit though he wasn’t sure Valetin would see it in the gloom, her eyes weren’t as accustomed to his were to seeing in the dark. He cursed himself for not thinking of this in advance but he heard her draw to a halt behind him regardless. He turned, Hellgun raised up. 

“The trail, it’s gone. Stay here a moment, I'm going to scout ahead a little, I can see better than you. Stay alert, just in case.”

He moved off, crouched, once more hunting alone. He scanned his environment quickly. He was reaching the outer edge of this level, indeed he could just about make out the howling wind. A docking bay was open somewhere, he supposed. Had the Xenos gone that way, hoping for escape outside the facility? It had lost a lot of blood, surely it couldn’t keep moving much longer. 

Indeed it seemed the Genestealer had opted for liberty over sanctuary as Mckernze spotted a small splash of blood at the end of a line of crates, heading towards the bays. He headed in that direction, rounding a corridor spotted with drops of the alien ichor and came to Docking bay 19 Theta. The bay was vacant, docking arms hanging idle and loading servitors nestled in their alcoves, dormant. Rain came in from the open bay doors, dripping from hanging chains. McKernze breathed in deep. Even tainted by industrial pollution the fresh air was welcome after suffering stagnant recycled oxygen, he had had enough of that in the Hive to last a lifetime. 

Now, where was his quarry? It didn’t take him long to pick up the trail, and as he headed over to the centre of the landing bay he noticed something different. 

The Genestealer’s blood here was presented as a smear, a stain that streaked across the numeral designation of the bay. The alien’s formidable strength had failed at last and it had had to crawl or drag itself to continue. It appeared that it weakness had been temporary however as the streak ended abruptly. Nonetheless McKernze was sure that the Genestealer was somewhere in the bay. It was much lighter in this area, Landing Floods shining bright, there were few places to hide. 

A cursory examination picked up the blood trail, smaller than ever leading towards the open bay door. McKernze stopped for a moment as the thought that the creature might have healed it’s wound and that accounted for the diminishing trail as opposed to a lack of life fluid. No, though they were horrifically potent entities, they were still living creatures, still organic. Nothing could lose that much blood and recover, not quickly anyway. 

As he neared the entrance, rain spattered his face. He savoured it, even as he scanned for his prey. A nearby maintenance gantry caught his attention, or more so the scattered containers strewn across it. Something had been through there, He shouldered his weapon and mantled the obstacle. A spot of blood that most would have missed proved his judgement correct. The gantry stretched ahead and there, a vent, ripped through. There was a shape inside. His keen eyes made out the Genestealer’s outline and he raised the Hellgun to his shoulder. 

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! The scream of denial and anguish was punctuated by a searing pain as something landed on his back and a knife stabbed into him. It was wrenched out and plunged back in again and McKernze roared and spun around trying to dislodge his mystery assailant, though he suspected from the scream exactly who it was. The blade ripped through the meat of his shoulder and upper arm as it exited and he felt his right arm go limp as muscle and tendons were severed. The Hellgun fell from nerveless fingers and he slumped to the floor as Rosanna Valetin rolled and came up in a crouch between him and the Genestealer. Her face was a rictus mask of fury and hate. 

“I won’t let you kill it”. She leered. Her eyes were ablaze yet also somehow glazed, as if the fire lay behind smeared glass. She held the knife in front of her, her mouth set in a vicious snarl. McKernze tried feebly to push himself up with his left arm. He could feel blood pouring down his back, soaking his combat vest. He managed to get to his feet, his useless right arm hanging by his side. His Hellgun lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his blood.  Before he could even think about grabbing it, Valetin pounced. 

One armed, bleeding heavily, half conscious, Mckernze did the only thing he could do. He counter charged, knocking Valetin off balance, even as her blade penetrated his side. They both crashed to the ground and Valetin’s grip was loosened on her knife. McKernze twisted, roaring in agony as the blade ripped through his skin but he managed to wrench the knife from Valetin’s grip. He came to his knees as Valetin also rose, the wind temporarily knocked from her. 

“Rosanna, why?” He breathed. “What happened to you?” He clambered to his feet and crashed against the gantry as he stumbled, his flailing legs caught the Hellgun and he winced as the weapon went clattering off the gantry, disappearing into the darkness below. For a moment he leaned heavily on the railing, trying to maintain his footing. Valetin regarded him with cold wide eyes. Her gaze was rabid, the countenance of the insane zealot. 

“It is holy, you cannot understand, you are a non believer. Outsider!” She hissed. “It is beyond you all, you are like insects, fodder, i have SEEN the true way!” She stepped to the side, placing herself between McKernze and the Genestealer. McKernze barely noticed, slumping to his knees. His vision was fogging and he was growing cold. Even though he had disarmed Valetin it seemed his hunt was going to end in failure. He prayed for forgiveness from the Emperor. 

“Look at you,” she sneered, “dying on your knees, dying without knowing the light, the love of the Yellow King. You were never really alive, scrabbling in the dark, basking in lies and ignorance.” WE will endure, we will rise, we will encompass the stars, we will be EVERYTHING.  Will be FOREVER. You will die here, pitifully, pathetically.” 

McKernze couldn’t disagree. That did indeed seem to be his fate. He brought his hand up in a futile gesture of denial and crashed to the floor, face down in a pool of his own blood. Valetin grunted in disdain and turned around, walking over to the Genestealer, it looked at her balefully and her expression softened to one of pure devotion and love. 

That expression swiftly turned to horror as a grenade landed at her feet. She barely had time to register it before the cooked explosive detonated, ripping her and the Genestealer apart in a storm of shrapnel. The grenade she had in her pocket then detonated, the double explosion wreaking further ruin and catching McKernze in a searing blast. The gantry collapsed and McKernze, barely conscious, tumbled into the abyss amongst a storm of burning twisted metal. 

Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar - Chapter SIX

VI

The gunfire came from nowhere. Ulo and Ulk threw themselves to the ground with panicked yelps as bullets impacted all around them, only their size saving them from being struck. Neither was Drakensson spared, the Squat ducking as the piping he was proceeding along sparked with ricocheting rounds.

 

The sudden attack had come from above. They were pinned. The Canids sought shelter behind some crates, and blind-fired in the direction of the ambush, back into the upper levels of the skeletal surrounding buildings. It was a trap, and they had walked right into it.

Suddenly the situation worsened yet further as figures emerged from the shadows, bearing a variety of ill maintained weapons. Garanthe could swear that they had not been there a moment ago. Around a dozen of them advanced, firing speculative shots in the gloom. They were closing in on the pinned Squat and Canids. Seven more emerged from near the Inquisitor's position, rising from grating in the floor or swinging down from overhead piping and walkways.

Garanthe loosed shots back at the approaching group, blasting a few from their feet with his trusty shotgun. He was suddenly caught cold by yet another ambush and was forced to fall back by some cargo containers. He fired twice more before ducking back and reloading, thumbing shells into the chamber with practiced, calm efficiency.

Dolf charged forward with a yell, brandishing his Powersword. felling two cultists with precision shots. He swayed to the side as another attacker swung wildly with a sparking Power Maul. Dolf tried  to bring his weapon round but the cultist was too close and he could only parry as the maul was brought down in a vicious downward blow. He darted back to make some room but the cultist's eyes gleamed cruelly and the maul lashed out again and swatted the pistol from the ex guardsman's grasp. A close combat affair it was to be then.

Garanthe surveyed the situation. Almost all of the Inquisitorial Team were pinned; Autogun fire chattered from above, punctuated by high powered rifle shots, preventing the Canid mutants from moving or supporting the isolated Drakensson who had a cultist with a battered flamer closing on him. Garanthe himself was locked in a firefight, conserving as much ammo as possible while still keeping the foe at bay.

Redirection of the fusilade from above signalled the arrival of Andrukas and Deathshead. The addition of the Inquisitorial Crusader and Deathwatch Space Marine in Power Armour altered the balance of the battle drastically. The Astartes' Boltgun killed half a dozen cultists in seconds, figures tumbling from the upper reaches. Andrukas reaped a mighty toll, his Power Sword steaming as cultist blood sizzled on the energized blade. The Canids and Squat rallied. The Tide turned.

Yet the respite was momentary. As if responding to an unseen signal even more cultists swarmed from every conceivable recess and shadow like a swarm of insects, their extra arms adding to the allegory.

These newest arrivals toted heavier weaponry, one fired a Webber at the Crusader, enveloping him in strong, sticky strands. Andrukas roared in frustration as his arm was trapped by his own shield, unable to swing his sword, rendered impotent. 

High powered mining lasers cut through the piping where the Canids were cowering. They returned ineffectual fire once again but they were rapidly running out of sanctuary. 

Drakensson was backed into a corner, facing the Cultist with the flamer. The abhumans faced off against each other and the cultist snarled maliciously as it depressed the trigger. The Flamer sputtered but failed to ignite and before the Squat could respond the cultist howled in frustration and leapt backwards into the shadows, melting away.

Autofire from above suddenly cut down Dolf, the Guard Veteran toppling to the floor without a sound. Ulk and Ulo braved the pinning fire, the Canids scampering for their lives as the cover they had been sheltering behind was obliterated. Through the Emperor's Divine Grace or pure luck they survived, their diminutive stature making them difficult to hit. Ulk started scaling the objective building as his brother held off encroaching cultists. 

Andrukas was besieged by foes, jabbing with their knives at the stricken crusader, trying to find a chink in his armour. Bellowing his hatred he tried to use his mass alone against his attackers but it was futile, he was being swarmed, it was only a matter of time. 

Deathshead had moved off. A walking one man army, he stalked towards the biggest concentration of cultists, blasting away with his Bolt Pistol. The mass reactive shells obliterated the hybrids to bloody gobbets of flesh. The Deathwatch Marine was vengeance incarnate and his wrath spoke bloody ruin. 

Garanthe was forced back, step by step, by yet another surge of cultist hybrids, these truly were abominations, sporting utterly alien limbs, and melee weapons that puslated and writhed with a life of their own. Their faces held not the faintest trace of humanity, plated and fanged. Xenos filth. 

So preoccupied with the danger before him was he, that he failed to check his surroundings. 

His life was almost forfeit. Claws flashed in the dark and only some sixth sense kept him from being decapitated by the lunging creature. Genestealer! No hybrid mutation this, a purestrain monster, Tyranid vanguard organism. A deadly foe. Dropping his shotgun and drawing his Powersword, the Inquisitor was forced into the most deadly of duels.