"Viasperon's Story - Chapter 8?"
Hi all, I hope you're enjoying these; there's more to follow. Please read the earlier Chapters if you want to catch up with anything.
These are stand-alone Chapters written along the lines of a history of Archon Viasperon. However, due to the nature of how I write (i.e. I down the inspiration that hits me), some of them may follow directly in time from the previous one, but others won't. Also, the subject will not always be the same.
I'm always trying to improve as a writer, so all comments, criticisms and suggestions for what concepts you want to read about and/or improvements to make, please PM me. AndyG.
ďMalifex Four was what they call a Ďhiveí world...millions of millions of them crowded on top of one another, toiling away for little reward and even less recognition.Ē Ladia Diadex began.
An amused grunt from Elishera told her that he sympathised with their plight and her steel-toed boot immediately stopped tapping the floor, waiting for him to contemplate what he had done. Although only her eyes were visible behind her ornate fan, Lady Diadex knew that his vision was upon her, fearing a death-strike.
She took the liberty of only waiting thirty seconds before resuming her movements. The scratching of the craftsmanís knives, the rasp of the grinding wheel and the high pitched whine of the foundryís generators continued...perhaps a little more quicker than before...the smith seemed eager to finish his work and get her out of the shop.
The Archon returned to her story; for some reason, re-tellings always seemed more satisfying when told in the third-person:
A forwards somersault carried her into the heart of the Stealer-Brood, long daggers slicing down into the left shoulders and through into the groin of her first victim. Itís chittering communication was turned into a cry of agony as it dropped Ėas though poleaxed- to the ground.
The Wyches of her bodyguard had also joined her from the Raider which had now sped away out of contact and the warriors speared into the other beasts, tearing the heads and hearts from two of them before they could even turn around to face these new attackers.
Hearing several blades skitter against chitin, Diadex knew that this spelled the end for their owners as the Tyranids grappled with the Wyches and ended their lives in a mass of wetly chopping talons. The rest of her squad circled their prey, looking for the one stroke to end their opponents, whereas (unusually) the genestealers seemed content to guard and be defensive, as though knowing that time was on their side..? Lady Diadex also knew that this was the case...the victors would turn their guns and blades on the Dark Eldar as soon as their main enemy was routed or dead...
Her blades scisssoring at itís throat, she removed the head from her own enemy with her next strike, spinning round to impale an onrushing genestealer in both thighs as she ducked beneath itís outstretched claws. Twisting her fists inwardly, the blades wrenched apart itís arteries and opened the wounds even further to allow more vitality to flow out of it; the creature was dead before it hit the dirt.
The leader-beast seemed to recognise her as a suitable opponent and it snarled at her across the combat, both sets of arms slicing up and down to efficiently separate all four limbs from the next two Wyches in itís way. Using itís superior bodyweight to barrel another Wych -Issida- to the ground, it ignored the fallen Dark Eldar completely as it now faced Diadex. Through itís legs, she saw that Issida was now being attacked by a swarm of the small insect-like Rippers. Although her handblades killed whatever they touched, soon she was covered in a living carpet of them, yet still she stuggled.
Surprising her, the Broodlord beckoned to her with one taloned hand, goading her to approach: evidently quite a lot of humanoid creatures had contributed to this thingís genetic codes over the years. In response, she whirled around and spat a series of poisoned needles towards itís face; one side of the creatureís face froze in itís snarl, but it blocked the rest with itís upper right forearm, preventing certain death, but incapacitating the limb just as the paralysis-toxin was designed to do.
With a roar, it launched itself towards her, the two lower arms opened wide to catch her if she dodged and the upper left arm punching straight for her head.
Her cartwheel to the left took her out of range of the outthrust claw, but she could not escape the lower right set of stabbing claws which tore through her ghostplate armour as though it was paper and carved a large gouge out of her middle, dropping her to her knees in the dirt as the melee raged all around.
Nursing her injury and looking back, the Broodlord was slow to regain itís own feet and pulled out the long knife that she had embedded into itís chest up to the hilt.
Even mortally wounded, the beast was a formidable opponent for most warriors, but Lady Diadex was sure that she now had itís measure. Circling around it -making darting lunges and desperate parries where she could- she headbutted one of the smaller ones who got close and looked like it might intervene, making it fall back onto the waiting blades of a Wych. The Broodlord hissed at itís compatriots...this was a win or die confrontation, but one-on-one.
Thought grievously hurt, it still seemed to be able to anticipate most of her dodges...if she had allowed herself to think that way, she would have conceded that -even crippled- it still possessed too many arms and razortalons for her to avoid them all.
Although she was bleeding heavily from her stomach wound, the power she had absorbed from her earlier kills meant that she barely felt itís effects, but she knew that she would pay the ultimate price if they were not attended to. Breathing hard and shaking blood from her eyes, she surveyed the monster: two arms now hung limp at itís side, and the monster had been slowed, but even the useless limbs could still prove useful as blunt flails if she was not careful. One of itís main eyes was also gouged out, but it still had enough glinting black orbs left to keep track of her movements, as the new gash to her right thigh evidenced.
Sensing the end of the fight was near, she keyed in the alert for the Raider to return -for the rest of the squad if not for herself- and stood motionless infront of the Broodlord.
Spreading itís arms out wide and howling out itís battle cry, the animal charged towards her and the other ongoing combats meant that there was nowhere for her to flip to in order to get completely out of itís range.
Parrying one claw, she ducked inside itís snapping fangs and the other of itís talons scraped across her chest armour, protected at the last second by a shimmer of pale yellow energy as the armourís failsafe shield activated.
Whirling around so they were back to back, her elbow-blades shicked out of their holsters and she stabbed them into the Broodlordís spine. Bellowing in pain, it arched itís frame away from the impacts and she span to face itís back, both hands stabbing around itís head: her left hand gouged out itís remaining main eye and the fingers of her right hand thrust inside itís maw and drove upwards through the roof of itís mouth into itís brain. Although her fingernails were coated with the same venom she had used on it earlier, through muscle spasm -or plain spite- the Broodlordís jaws clamped shut on her hand, severing three fingers and she was close enough to hear itís last noises as it juddered then finally stilled in her grasp.
With her physique enhanced by combat drugs, Lady Diadex held the Broolordís corpse aloft and shared her victory with the three remaining Wyches and she smiled as she saw that one of the survivors was Issida. Covered in blood -much of it her own- she staggered, then stood, surrounded by the bodies of the Rippers as the last one still twitched in her mouth. Biting off itís head and spitting the animalís remains out onto those of the other Tyranids, Issida howled in triumph, joining the shrieks of her leader and remaining Sisters, only ending as the Raider returned and hovered at knee-height.
Itís hull pock-marked not only with the remains of bio-acid and tiny grubs but also from laser scorchmarks and myriad bullet holes -evidence of the pilotís skill at avoiding the many firearms which had come his way- they boarded the transport with the Broodlordís remains and left the field with the battle stil raging.
ďGive me the weaponĒ she snarled at the transportís gunner. His moment of question and hesitation at her order proved costly as she flipped him over the side of the Raider and he plunged to his doom amongst the barbarism below. Unable to leave without at least one parting gift, Lady Diadex saw that the Imperialsí line had been bolstered by a Hellhammer superheavy tank which was busy clearing great swathes of Tyranids from the battlefield with itís heavy cannons and flamethrowers. Targetting the rear of the tank with the transportís Dark Lance, a pulsing pencil-thin line of blacklight hit the tankís engine compartment and at first nothing happened, but then yellow flames began to flare along the joints of all the armour plates before the whole tank was engulfed in a thunderous explosion of debris and fire, shredding and vapourising everything in proximity.
Hearing that the mission was complete (and with the battle now hanging in the balance instead of favouring the mon-keigh) the Raider made it to the rendezvous point five minutes earlier than planned; despite this, the transport only just screamed through the webway portal before it closed.
Urgently trying to trace any living relatives of Private Sam/Samuel "Jock" Wilson (Black Watch, No. 6 Commando, UK Army Service ID 2764432, died 10.06.44). Any info/suggestions gratefully received.
"Mockles! Pent on silpen tree, blockards three a-feening. Mockles! What silps came to thee, in thy pantry, dreaming?"
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