Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 40: Battle

The Sybarite had always believed that the Thirsting Lady treated him with a certain tolerance, ever since he had awakened in an artificial womb that had been ravaged by a Daemonette of Slaanesh. And so, he unleashed his desires without restraint, his only fear being that he might lose himself in the experience and forget to offer his most exquisite emotions to his patroness.

Just like now.

The massive central corridor felt somewhat empty. The Sybarite, clad in exquisitely forged armor, swung his agonizer whip, lashing out at a servitor.

CRACK—

The long whip struck skin. The custom-brewed toxins and neural-hooks on the lash licked at the flesh. The immense pain should have produced a beautiful echo.

It should have.

"Boring, boring!" The Sybarite kicked over the servitor, which had been trying to continue its task of moving cargo. He had to admit, the cruelty with which the mon-keigh tortured their own kind had earned them a sliver of his respect.

He glanced at the Scourge by his side. With a flick of his wrist, the whip uncoiled and wrapped around the Scourge's slender leg. These genetically modified Drukhari were couriers in the tangled cityscape of Commorragh, and also lithe, deadly killers. The long, exposed legs, specialized for high-speed maneuvering, were exceptionally captivating to the Sybarite's eyes.

"AIIIEEE!!!"

A tempting shriek, like the song of a nightingale, burst from the Scourge's throat.

Now that's more like it.

A satisfied smile spread across the Sybarite's face.

But before he could tighten the whip, an unseen terror washed over him, his decadent expression instantly replaced with horror. It was a fear etched into the heart of every Eldar. Following this terror would be the claws of Slaanesh's minions.

He quickly released the whip, drew his massive headsman's blade, and injected a combat-drug into his veins, suppressing his desires to their lowest point.

But after waiting for a dozen seconds, the Sybarite saw no sign of the slender, deadly figures he had expected.

"The handmaidens of the Thirsting Lady... have not arrived?"

The psychic wounds from a Hunter's terror would not heal quickly. He desperately hoped his guess was true. While the Sybarite dared to indulge himself so freely on another's ship—after all, death was just death, and the spoils from this Kabal's raid were said to be enough to rent out the largest arena in Commorragh for a grand spectacle, a price of resurrection he, a high-ranking officer, could afford—being killed by a Slaaneshi daemon was an entirely different matter.

To be invited into the Thirsting Lady's six-ringed palace in the Empyrean after death was a fate no Eldar could accept. The mere thought of it was enough to make one's soul tremble.

"Perhaps this is an invitation from the Thirsting Lady? An invitation to partake in a grand feast?" The Scourge, who had accompanied him, maxed out her senses. After confirming that aside from a thinning of the veil between this place and the Empyrean, there was no other disturbance, she carefully pushed the whip away with her claws, her expression one of annoyance. "Do not jest."

The Sybarite narrowed his eyes. He tightened the whip around the Scourge's leg, his mood relaxing slightly, allowing his weakened soul to recover. He was about to tell his companion to stop teasing him when his open mouth froze once more.

In that brief moment of distraction, the squad he had been in contact with had gone silent.

He instinctively looked down the deep corridor. Every nerve in his body screamed that something was approaching.

The assault on the Drukhari's dark nest had begun again. And this time, it would be no mere probe!

"HORUS!"

It was a roar.

A roar filled with such killing intent that it threatened to burst his eardrums. He instinctively tensed every muscle, but his chest wouldn't expand. It was as if an invisible hand had wrapped around his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

This... this feeling!

This presence surpassed any beast he had ever known. At least the creatures that had died at his hand in the arenas had never possessed such killing intent.

As a golden power lance swept towards him, only one thought remained in the Sybarite's mind.

I am going to die!

CRACK!

A sharp sonic boom echoed through the hall. The Sybarite's body had only just begun to react when it was struck by the lance in mid-air and blasted into a fine mist.

SLASH!

The sharp tip of the lance sheared through the Scourge's wings. Just as the young warrior thought she had escaped, a massive hand clamped down on her head and slammed it into the bulkhead, bursting her skull.

Forcibly suppressing the Red Thirst, Karna threw aside the headless corpse and roared again.

"SANGUINIUS, WITNESS ME! CONSUME ME!"

Almost every Drukhari heard that deafening sound at the same instant. It was a mournful howl, carrying the darkest emotions of a holy angel at the moment of his death. It was the fury of repaying the world for all the suffering he had endured in his final moments of despair!

Behind him, the War-hounds, dragging the mangled corpses of Sslyth, were infected by this world-burning rage. These xenos who consorted with the Drukhari were utterly repulsive. The War-hounds smashed the body of an Ur-Ghul with their gauntlets, then charged unhesitatingly down the crimson path.

The Angel led the Hounds, plunging into the cage and tearing it to shreds.

In Romulus's tactical view, the three warriors leading the frontal assault were acting like a siphon, drawing the Drukhari lurking in the shadows towards the heart of the battle. In doing so, they completely exposed their backs to the executioners in the darkness.

ZZZZT!

A beam of light shot out. A Drukhari, his nerves honed by the forges of Commorragh, controlled his body with terrifying speed, twisting aside so the beam only left a shallow scorch mark on his armor.

An Incubus, rushing towards the site of the attack, dodged the laser fire with an impossibly acrobatic move. These warriors, a sect of the Drukhari who worshipped the god Khaine, were the Kabal's most loyal mercenaries and the deadliest killing machines in single combat. The tormentor helms they wore constantly emitted a psychic pulse that disoriented their opponents, giving them a massive advantage in battle.

But that was all.

The opening shot had given their squad the initiative. As the Incubus fixed his cold gaze on the warrior in the Corvus-pattern helmet, he was met with the high-speed blur of a spinning chain-axe.

CLANG!

His exquisite skill allowed him to block the blow. With a slight exertion of force, he overpowered the Shark and was about to take his head when a second attack cleaved through his right arm. He quickly tried to disengage, to create some space, but another axe blade easily caught up with the back of his head. The roaring teeth of the saw tore through his body, splitting him in two from top to bottom.

The interlocking teeth of the chain-axes caught the flesh, and as the Sharks withdrew their weapons, they tore the Incubus's corpse to shreds, sending blood and limbs flying in all directions.

Only then did the still-functioning tormentor helm finally dispel the psychic shadow that had been covering the Carcharodons.

(End of Chapter)