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Elsewhere, there was utter quiet, except for the soft swaying sounds of the robes from the men around him. Antonius strained, the sounds echoing and bouncing oddly off the engine room where he now was. Behind him, the Alban Assault squad stood, the bulk of their jump packs replaced by the standard power-plant backpacks of the Astartes. Adonis has wisely guessed that jump packs would be of little use in a cramped ship corridor, and only he, Antonius and Remus bore their artifice wings for fear effect.
Sergeant Nero stepped forward, a melta bomb in his hand, the steady blue link of the arming light indicating all was ready. With a twist, the set spikes were deployed, and the Chaplain leapt back as the veteran rammed the bomb home and rolled to cover behind a thick set of pipes. The explosion rocked the room, walkways and railing alike falling and plunging.
Sparks hissed from conduits with hoods shook off, and smoke filled the room from the wrecked door. Antonius landed, bolt pistol drawn, his crozius leaving it's back sling as a marine in white armor slumped forward, several bio-tubes disconnecting from his raw, pink flesh. Fluids leaked from them, nutri paste, blood, and other life sustaining methods.
With a quick, cursory glance, Antonius stepped back and racked the slide on his gun, watching the as of yet barely breathing body. This was not what was to be in this compartment, nor had he known he would find an Astartes there in stasis he would not have guessed it to be this one. Hatred boiled and seethed in his veins, a fire that would consume any mortal man. Yet he was Antonius, the Void-Slayer. He had taken the head of one of Ahrimans chosen. His very helmet was that foul witch's skull. He possessed nerves of steel, even for an Astartes, and he would not give in to such a petty emotion.
Shifting debris revealed most of alba Assault squad. Marines surfaced liek awakening titans, throwing off rock and plasteel, some pulling girders and steel rods from their armor with grunts, the wounds clotting as they began to bleed. Voice and vox chatter sounded, as roll calls were made, and absent battle brothers were sought out. Antonius them silenced with a chop of his crozius. The suspended Astartes had drawn a breath.
'You.... Fools... Damned fools.. '. The voice was raspy and slow with disuse, but it still had a slight fluidly musical tone to it. Rage flared again, and blood suddenly gushed from a dozen re-opened wounds as the back haft of Antonius weapon collided with the re-awakened marines jaw, the splintering of bone heard from Sergeant Neros position. A smooth fluid movement and he had drawn his power axe and began motioning to men, all of them pivoting and drawing lines of fire on the struck form.
'Constantine... Chief Apothecary Constantine... What a pleasure.. We damned fools have come to find you, with a full spear head. Your insults are to be repaid this time.. Pre.."
Antonius was cut short as Constantine stepped forward, his apothecary tools whirring. His narthecium cut a furrow down the chaplains skull helm. The reductor let off a single loud report as it spent a bolt of its twice blessed ammo, intended for easing the pain of death for marines. Antonius staggered back, the bloody gobbet of flesh that was once his eye falling in several pink and white blobs to the floor of the ship.
Blood rushed from the wound, clotting slowly, and Constantine reared back his gauntlet as the Alban Assault squad began to open fire, grabbing the First Chaplain in a deadly embrace, stabbing and hacking with tools intended to save life. Antonius, his crozius and pistol dropped in the shock of loosing his left eye, now roared in unleashed fury, his fists pummeling the apothecary over and over again, taking equal blows in measure from Constantine. The bullets finally stopped, as the two became too entangled for a clear shot.
Standing quietly, his axe humming, Sergeant Nero looked on. None heard his whispered prayer, but he looked to the ceiling of the engine room none the less, as if expecting a sign. And, from the opposite side of the room, a set of white lines began to appear in the blast door, slag dripping and falling from the melted metal in white-hot ropes.
'The Emperor Protects..' |