The final fight and conclusion...
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HUNTED
(Part 7)
A savage eagerness within him told Volstag that he’d reached
his destination. The laboratory doors
slid open. It was a large chamber with
two metal medical slabs at center. Still
strapped to one was the cold corpse of the wolf scout Holm Blackfoot, left to
decay in disgrace. Each of the three walls
were dedicated to profane equipment: one a bank of instrument cabinets; one
displaying tanks of chemicals and vials of drugs; and the third alive with
mechanical medic arms and warp-infested growths pulsing with white eyeballs and
gibbering mouths. Standing at that wall,
feeding a monstrous mouth with a lump of flesh cut from Volstag’s lost pack
mate, was the depraved apothecary Abaenon.
He was cloaked in black. His face
and exposed hand were more dark metal bionics and black tubing than pale flesh. Two augmented slaves were also present in the
room. All three stared to see what had
opened the door.
The smoldering, wounded wolf stood in the threshold, highlighted from
the right by the flickering wall of fire outside. His body smoked, his chest heaved, his eyes
shined, and he showed his teeth.
“Quickly,” Abaenon snapped,
directing the nearest slave to grab the Claw of Agony from a pedestal in the
corner.
Volstag paid no attention. His glare was locked on the bank of glass
tanks and bubbling vials, a wall of multi-colored potions lit from behind. Somewhere in one of those alchemical elixirs
could be a captured Space Wolf gene-seed.
The second attendant stood before
of that chaotic aquarium, frozen in the wolf scout’s sights.
Volstag raised his boltgun and held
down the trigger, spraying explosive bolt rounds in wide arcs until every bolt
was spent and every tank was shattered.
The mutant slave that had stood between him and the tanks was now a warm
heap lying atop broken glass. There was
the sound of heavy rain as a mix of alchemical soups and blood rushed through
the steel grid floor to the decking below.
The gun’s barrel smoked and its chamber
clicked several times, empty. Volstag
dropped it.
The first slave retrieved Abaenon’s
weapon and held it up in front of his master.
The Night Lord shoved his spindly metal hand into the bionic glove. Its thin scalpel blades hummed to life and
took on an azure glow.
BOOM. A single bolt pistol round exploded inside the
slave’s forehead. His remains slumped to
the floor.
Volstag dropped the pistol.
Abaenon showed his own teeth now,
some dark iron, others rotten bone. His
bladed fingers twitched playfully.
The Space Wolf paused to lock the laboratory
door behind him. He revved his
chainsword a couple times, making slow sweeps with it through the air, then
dropped it too.
It’s time, he told himself. The wolf within stirred and stretched, as if
it’d been lying in its den after a nap, patiently waiting for its turn at the
hunt. Volstag flexed his fingers and
felt a pleasant ache as they grew a full centimeter longer, the nails
thickening and curling into claws.
His senses
sharpen even further: he heard alarmed voices in the hallway outside; smelled
the stinging chemical fumes dripping through the floor; saw more clearly the
scars and bionics of Abaenon’s altered face, the single yellow eye flinching
anxiously, a bead of nervous sweat rolling down his cheek.
“You’ve met this side of me before,
haven’t you?” Volstag growled. “You
remember better than I do, and you fear it.
Good, traitor. Fear redemption. By the time your servants cut through that
blast door, I will have torn out your throat and spit it out.”
Abaenon side-stepped over his dead servant,
never taking his eyes from the transforming Space Wolf. His glowing, bladed fingers scratched at the
air between them. “You think you’ve
destroyed my reserves, my samples,” the Night Lord said, “but I still have you.
And what a wonderful specimen you
are. The gene-seed I take from you will
be far more valuable than everything I took from your brothers—”
This was too much for Volstag to bear. The beast within snapped its mental leash and
the Space Wolf lunged forward. He moved
fast but had to dart around a steel table.
That obstacle allowed Abaenon the chance to react. The Claw of Agony met Volstag as he pounced
around the table, four humming blue blades slicing easily through the knotted
muscles of his left shoulder. Volstag
threw himself to the right, smashing against a cabinet of medical instruments
and torture toys but successfully avoiding the Claw’s follow-through, which
certainly would have severed his entire arm.
Four deep cuts sizzled and smoldered, the smell of burnt flesh
overwhelming all else. Abaenon’s
mechanical smile shined from beneath his hood.
The apothecary
then danced backward to a small arms locker in the corner. He tore off the cabinet door with his Claw and
seized a bolt pistol from within.
But when the Night Lord turned to fire the Space
Wolf was already there, centimeters from impact. Both bodies slammed against the sundered
locker and the bulkhead behind. Savage
instinct took hold and Volstag tore at the throat before him with elongated
fangs. Instead of flesh he found a
mouthful of fragile tubes which now leaked their black fluids down his bearded
chin. The wulfen claws of his right hand
dug deep into the flexible ribs of the Night Lord’s power armor and found a
spring of red blood there. But Volstag’s
full-on charge had made him vulnerable as well; the four scalpel-like fingers
of the Claw of Agony were now buried deep into his bare flank. The searing heat of the blades pierced his
vital organs.
The Space Wolf pushed himself away, dragging
some of Abaenon’s innards out as they parted.
Four streams of blood broke from the wounds left by the Claw of Agony,
wounds that would not clot, despite his superior Astartes anatomy. Just like the torture scars on his chest, the
Claw’s power defied all healing. And
Volstag’s left arm now hung limp and nearly useless, vital muscles and tendons
having been cut in the first attack. But
at least he was standing.
Abaenon’s dark form slumped to the floor. The mechanical side of his face seems frozen
now, as did the entire left side of his body; the hoses Volstag had bitten
through must have provided his artificial parts with whatever they needed to
function. The black fluid mingled with
red blood across his exposed intestines.
The pale, human side of his face seemed even whiter now. With great effort, Abaenon raised his bolt
pistol in an unsteady hand. Volstag
stepped forward again, paused. The Night
Lord’s hand shook, the pistol’s muzzle flashing wildly at and away from its
target. Volstag slapped the weapon away with
his good arm and returned with claws to finish the job, ripping under the collar
and hood and all but severing the dark apothecary’s head.
Now three more bodies leaked blood and organs,
the room stunk of death and chemical fumes, and broken glass littered the
floor. And despite the gory scene,
Volstag felt a calmness come over him.
It was done.
There was pounding at the door and angry voices
outside. A few seconds later came a
hissing sound, followed swiftly by green sparks spitting through the edge of
the door. A plasma cutter, Volstag realized.
He looked around at the wrecked lab and ruined
bodies, and drew a deep breath.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told himself. He had done all he could. That which he had
denied himself hours before he could now succumb to: it was time to give
himself fully over to the Wulfen. Perhaps I’ll wake again in another tree,
he thought. The beast managed to escape before. Though Volstag really didn’t care if he ever
awoke from the rage again. It wouldn’t
matter now. The traitors of Tundra
Station would be found and dealt with by his coming Wolf brothers. He’d destroyed any stolen gene-seed of Leman
Russ and he’d had his vengeance. All
that remained was an honorable death.
He rolled his head about, feeling the muscles of
his neck tighten and swell as his jaws bit down in anticipation. The green sparks continued and the stink of
burning metal added to the chemical bouquet of the room. Pain flowed from each digit along the bones
and into his wrists as the beast readied its claws. His head started swimming. Was it the fumes or was he simply losing
domain over his own body?
The Space Wolf that was Volstag Dragonclaw faded
back into the darkness of his mind, trusting the beast within to finish his
legacy for him.
END
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Great job!
ReplyDeleteThe visuals on this final chapter were well done. I really found myself draw in through that fight.
Thanks, Thor. :) I like the story, mostly because you rarely see a Space Marine in a vulnerable position, so I'm glad to have done something different with them.
DeleteAgreed. It wasn't your typical bolter porn where the "good guys" kick ass and take names. That gets old quick but, as you said, having the characters be vulnerable makes it far more interesting.
Delete