Hellsreach - Aaron Dembski-Bowden [27]
I see nothing alive. I hear nothing alive. And yet…
‘I smell fresh blood,’ I vox to Artarion. ‘A survivor, still bleeding.’ I gesture to the vast coolant tower with my crozius. The mace flashes with lightning as I squeeze the trigger rune. ‘The alien lurks beneath there.’
The survivor is barely deserving of the description. It lies pinned under metal debris, impaled through the stomach and pinned to the floor. As we approach, it barks in its rudimentary command of the Gothic tongue. Judging from the pool of cooling blood spreading from its sundered form, the alien’s life will end in mere minutes. Feral red eyes glare at us. Its porcine face is curled in a rictus of anger.
Artarion raises his chainsword, gunning the motor. The saw-teeth whine as they cut through the air.
‘No.’
Artarion freezes. At first, my brother knight isn’t sure what he’d heard. His glance flicks to me.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said,’ I’m stepping closer to the dying alien even as I speak, looking down through my skulled mask, ‘…no.’
Artarion lowers his sword. Its teeth stutter to a halt.
‘They always seem so immune to pain,’ I tell him, and I feel my voice fall to a whisper. I place a boot upon the creature’s bleeding chest. The ork snaps its jaws at me, choking on the blood that runs into its burst lungs.
Artarion must surely hear the smile in my voice. ‘But no. Look into its eyes, brother.’
Artarion complies. I can tell from his hesitation that he does not see what I see. He looks down and sees nothing but impotent rage.
‘I see fury,’ he tells me. ‘Frustration. Not even hatred. Just wrath.’
‘Then look harder.’ I press down with my boot. Ribs crunch with the sound of dry twigs snapping, one after the other, as the weight descends harder. The ork bellows, drooling and snarling.
‘Do you see?’ I ask, knowing the smile is still evident in my voice.
‘No, brother,’ Artarion grunts. ‘If there is a lesson in this, I am blind to it.’
I lift the boot, letting the ork cough its lifeblood through its blood-streaked maw.
‘I see it in the creature’s eyes. Defeat is pain. Its nerves may be dead to torment, but whatever passes for its soul knows how to suffer. To be at an enemy’s mercy… Look at its face, brother. See how it dies in agony because we are here to watch such a shameful end.’
Artarion watches, and I think perhaps he sees it, as well. However, it does not fascinate him the way it does me. ‘Let me end it,’ he says. ‘Its existence offends me.’
I shake my head. That would not do at all.
‘No. Its life’s span is measured in moments.’ I feel the dying alien’s gaze lock with my red eye lenses. ‘Let it die in this pain.’
Nerovar hesitated.
‘Nero?’ Cador called over his shoulder. ‘Do you see something?’
The Apothecary blink-clicked several visualiser runes on his retinal display.
‘Yes. Something.’
The two of them were searching the ruined enginarium chambers on the level beneath Grimaldus and Artarion. Nerovar frowned at what the digital readouts across his eye lenses were telling him. He looked to the bulky narthecium unit built into his left bracer.
‘So enlighten me,’ Cador said, his voice as gruff as always.
Nerovar tapped a code into the multicoloured buttons next to the display screen on his armoured forearm. Runic text scrolled in a blur.
‘It’s Priamus.’
Cador grunted in agreement. Nothing but trouble, that one. ‘Isn’t it always?’
‘I’ve lost his life signs.’
‘That cannot be,’ Cador laughed. ‘Here? Among this rabble?’
‘I do not make mistakes,’ Nerovar replied. He activated the squad’s shared channel. ‘Reclusiarch?’
‘Speak.’ The Chaplain sounded distracted, and faintly amused. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve lost Priamus’s life signs, sir. No heightened returns, just an immediate severance.’
‘Confirm at once.’
‘Confirmed, Reclusiarch. I verified it before contacting you.’
‘Brothers,’ the Chaplain said, his voice suddenly ice. ‘Maintain search and destroy orders.’
‘What?’ Artarion drew breath to object. ‘We need–’