NOVEL WEB Vakor 9/7A
A small piece of metal began to skitter out from under his feet, only to be stilled by a rapid micro-correction in his gait. Even the smallest noise could spell doom here. The Adsecularis around Vakor took no note, too busy watching their surroundings like hawks. He had forced them to leave their oversized metal armour behind; the clanking would be intolerable. Thus, they felt all the more naked, tightly gripping their las-locks and scatterguns and jumping at the slightest sounds. No matter. If the enemy came looking, they would not live long either way.
His red robes scuffed intermittently against the ground as he silently stalked the dead halls of the hulk, sending back periodic data-bursts to the base camp to fill out their maps and tactical data-stacks. They must have come about two kilometres by now. So far, it had been completely uneventful.
Approximately an hour ago, Zeta-21 had exloaded his report to the Omnissiah's Wrath, claiming the presence of hostile forces including Astartes, and requesting reinforcements. The quartermasters had only been too happy to respond; this expedition was of great personal importance to the Archmagos, and they would rip every single augmetic out of their flesh if it meant currying another ounce of favour with him.
Vakor 9/7A had no qualms in being counted as a part of the reinforcing force. He was a natural choice to form the vanguard of the exploration; a small Skitarii force could not respond effectively to all threats, and any other Techpriest with martial acumen approaching his was much too important to the expedition to risk. But it would have been better if the enemy had put up more of a fight. As of now, the closest flesh-vice expression that could articulate his status would be 'bored'.
His Noospheric link flashed with an incoming communication.
"Speak, Zeta-21."
"This unit begs your forgiveness for the interruption, Acuitor."
"Formality is not necessary. State your purpose."
"As you wish. Our sentry drones have picked up auspex signatures. An enemy force is heading in your approximate direction. Electronic defence mechanisms are making their exact number hard to determine, but expect at least twenty."
"Scrambling technology indicates technical sophistication."
"Forensic patterns match those inloaded into the libraries during the Damocles Crusade. Expect equivalent forces. Uploading relevant countermeasures to your sensoriums."
He acknowledged the data-packet with a code-blurt.
"Understood. Keep the sensor platforms dark and cloaked. The info-sphere must not shrink."
"As you command. Terminate link."
Vakor exloaded readiness directives to the Adsecularis, running a finger over the Cog Obscurus hanging at his belt: a product of Sanctus Ferrum design. Its ability to adapt to enemy electronics and interfere with them could be extremely useful to those who preferred to strike from the shadows. Those such as him. Some of the more puritanical Magi opined that its algorithms flirted dangerously with Abominable Intelligence paradigms. He said it did not matter. Function above all.
With a thought, he activated its hyper-complex circuitry, feeling a sphere of distortion descend upon his systems like the dark shroud of night. For an instant, they were blind. Then hardcoded null-codes triggered, cancelling out the Cog's effects on their own systems. His omnispex registered hostile IFF pings, just around the next corner. Finally, some stimulation.
The first T'au fire warrior that turned the corner, sensors still blissfully ignorant, was immediately scythed down by a coruscating las-lock blast. The high-power shot cut straight through its formidable armour, smearing the wall behind with blue stains. The massive power rig on the thrall's back whined as it prepared another shot, but the other hostiles were alert now, communicating in coded comm-bursts as they ducked and weaved to evade fire, settling behind cover and returning fire with their pulse rifles. Within a few volleys, the first thrall fell, half his body burned away by a blast of plasma.
Without a word, Vakor knelt, threading the thin gold chain of a Cog Mechanicum between his joined hands. He meditated upon his vast combat libraries, letting the world fall away as he felt the motive force running through his conduits. He was its weapon: an unstoppable avatar of vengeful energy. He let the power run to his augmitters, loosing his battle-cant in a harsh binharic whisper.
"Omnissiah, may my blade strike true."
A scattergun discharged with a heavy thump, the penetrating slug going straight through a xeno heart. He heard its life flutter away.
"Let your logic shield my soul."
Las bursts were answered by more pulse rifles, vaporizing chunks out of the makeshift cover taken up by both sides. More thralls bit the dust, outmatched by the superior marksmanship of the enemy.
"Let your strength fill my form."
The number of allies was dropping fast, but the Adsecularis had finally managed to close with the T'au. Their repurposed industrial equipment chewed through the enemy, their inferior reflexes unable to keep pace with even these clumsy blows. The xenos screamed warnings and orders at each other, trying to fall back or outflank them.
"Let your wrath guide my strikes. And should I falter in my purpose…"
The final thrall fell. He was alone. They took aim. His sensors blared warnings about targeting locks. Estimated distance: twenty feet. Less than an instant for a firearm.
"Let your mercy fulfil my penance."
The master-crafted Lathe blade protruded through the weak joint in the closest soldier's nape, suspending him like a slaughtered animal from Vakor's integrated weapon. The other fire warriors were slow to react, unable to comprehend how their target had appeared directly in the middle of their formation in less than a heartbeat. Mechadendrites whipped around, slashing another two into pulp with whirling blade assemblies, before they finally recovered, bringing their rifles around with the determination of professional soldiers. Admirable. Futile.
He was already gone, pulping another hostile's head with a crushing servo-claw as he leapt to the ceiling, suspending himself with micro-adherence implants. The combat zone was exploding with data: approach pathways, environmental hazards, fields of enemy awareness. They were looking for him, repeatedly refreshing their sensors, but the Obscurus rendered it futile. He let his dataspike snake down, punching it into the helmet of a fire warrior. Immediately, digi-viruses overcame its systems, life support corrupted as he choked on artificial vacuum. Even as he died, his comm systems blared infection vectors, transmitting the infection to all within earshot. Their formation dissolved into disarray, panic overcoming the T'au's desperate taps at their control interfaces to counteract its insidious machinations.
Vakor took the opening to drop noiselessly again, drawing his transonic blade from its sanctified sheath. The weapon slid harmlessly as he drew it across a fire warrior's back, as lightly as a feather. But its cogitators were already calibrating, adjusting its frequencies to the material. The next, real blow slid through the carapace like it did not exist, decapitating the xeno's head neatly. It did not realize its death until, attempting to turn to face him, it found its severed head dropping from its shoulders. Five others died similarly, until the remaining finally found their bearings. But he was gone again, leaving behind two more shredded by metal shards from his mass drivers.
The hostiles were in full-blown panic now, screaming obscenities in their strange tongue while they blindly discharged their weapons into the oppressive darkness. None came close to his well-shrouded perch in an alcove. His libraries contained the translation djinns for their crude speech, but why would he use them? They were not worth the processing cycles. Instead, he took advantage of their fear, releasing a low infrasonic drone from his augmitters. The ominous sound wormed its way into their mind, amplifying their paranoia. They jumped at unseen shapes in the dark, screamed warnings at foes that did not exist, and discharged magazine after magazine at a vaguely man-shaped stack of pipes. Cooling gases filled the hallway, reducing visibility further and only adding to their terror. All the while, he let his sonic assault grow more and more insistent. Vakor could almost feel their senses warping as primitive survival instincts reasserted themselves over civilized values. In a dark, primeval forest, it was safer to assume a shifting shadow was a lion and not another hunter. Half-obscured by fog and darkness, sensors sputtering uselessly, how could they tell which flickering shape was a friendly and which their inexorable death?
Finally, one snapped, dropping all pretence of discipline as he turned to run. The commanding officer screamed at him, presumably to hold his ground. He was answered by a pulse rifle bolt to the face, melting away even as he fell to the floor. The virus had successfully disengaged IFF locks that usually prevented friendly fire.
That was the final straw. Soldier turned on soldier, the nominal order disappearing as they lifted gun and blade to rip each other apart. They no longer cared who was who; terrified tension screamed for relief, and they had no choice but to answer. Perhaps, with one of their leaders around, this would have been harder to bring about. But here, there were none. Only strange insects that hugged your form and whispered sweet betrayal and surrender in your ears. In that regard, at least for now, he was no different. And so Vakor only watched from the shadows, recalling an ancient proverb in Magos Samadhi's data. Apparently, it had been drawn from a pre-Old Night lexical archive.
Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.
In less than a minute, only one warrior survived, armour pockmarked with glancing plasma burns and dents left by clumsy blades. He staggered to his feet, using his gun as a crutch; his leg had been broken by a brutal strike to the knee. Vakor chose this moment to drop, letting his maglev systems slow his descent to a stealthy scuff of robes on the floor.
He felt the T'au's tired eyes lock onto his own optics as the xeno turned to behold him. His desperate spite shone through as he lifted his pulse rifle one last time. Just as it discharged, Vakor grabbed the barrel and pointed it straight at his own chest. The crackling nimbus of superheated plasma dispersed harmlessly against his protectiva shields. The soldier's grip sagged, letting go of the trigger as he collapsed helplessly to the floor. He had admitted defeat.
"Find deliverance in the Omnissiah's mercy." Vakor did him the final favour of a prayer in his own tongue, before the mechadendrite-mounted bolt pistol painted the floor with his head.
"Acuitor, I detect another force tracking your combat zone. Do you wish for me to dispatch more Adsecularis?"
"No, there is nothing more of consequence here. I am withdrawing to the main force, Zeta-21. Subsequent reconnaissance can be postponed safely to the establishment of the first resupply point on your advance."
"Acknowledged. Exloading expected convoy path. And the inbound hostiles?"
"I will slow them down. Terminate link."
In an instant, his optics tracked a stress-point in the metal ceiling. It had been building up over centuries. He let the energy from his potentia coil flow into high-energy capacitors in his limbs. The luminen war-spirits proclaimed their readiness with system acknowledgements and targeting solutions. He raised his arm, the concentrated energy charging along conduits and blasting from a weaponized port. The pinprick energy bolt hit the targeted point perfectly, shattering it. The ceiling immediately buckled under its own weight, burying the hallway in an avalanche of debris that stopped calculated inches from his own position. The convoy was not scheduled to pass through here. The enemy could try to figure out how to get through this. His work was done.
Without another instant wasted, he turned on his heel, already allocating newly freed processing power to optimization and diagnostic routines. Maybe there would be a real fight next time.