|Submitted By: Grand Master Lomandalis Date: December 29, 2008, 08:31:16 PM Views: 871
|Summary: Continuation from the story found here : http://www.40konline.com/community/index.php?action=articles;sa=view;article=2
The alarm sounded distant and forlorn. Something had happened and Asphilan was annoyed at the disturbance to his tribute to the dark gods. Raising his head in his sanctuary he cast his gaze around as he slowly rose to his towering height of three meters.
Slowly striding towards the door, he inclined his head as the voices in the warp told him that an agent of the false emperor was on his planet. Grimacing, and unveiling rows of razor sharp teeth, the door slid into the wall silently he stepped out of the sheer black void of the sanctuary and into the dimly lit hall of the command bunker. The wailing sirens got louder the closer he got to the central command.
The door slid open and the sounds inside overwhelmed him in an almost physical sense. Stepping into the command room, his armoured boots rang heavily on the metal platform causing some of the cultists to raise their heads. He looked around at the chaotic nature of the room and grinned to himself. Followers of chaos, running around in chaos, it was fitting.
Closing his gauntleted hands over the railing his voice , although little more than a hissing whisper, had such presence behind it that every person present was able to clearly hear him say “Silence…”
Pressing a button, the platform slowly began to descend. Asphilan was a sight of majesty and terror combined in one. Fully nine feet tall, bearing the armour of the Alpha Legion as if he were dressed in a silk shirt, Asphilan was known to crush the skull of a man who displeased him with his bare fist as much as reward a man.
His voice seemed to slither across the room, much like the hydra of legend depicted on his shoulder plate as he asked for a report. Stepping off the platform he looked around, and when no one answered him he back handed the nearest cultist and sent him crashing into the wall with a resounding crack of bone being pulverized. “Report!” he roared, his voice rebounding off the metal walls, causing the alll of the cultists to cringe in terror.
One man stepped forward (which, for the record, was a very bad idea) and bowing before Asphilan said, “My…my lord, we have lost con…contact with the barracks at…at wall section 3a/cg. We also received a…a report from the barracks at 3b/fg that they were…were under attack.”
The fool of a cultist never had time to even raise his gaze to see his fate, as Asphilan’s foot lashed out and caught him under the chin with enough force that his jaw was forced into his brain, his spine severed in multiple places, and his throat tore open, leaving his head hanging by just a few inches of flesh.
Screaming incoherently, Asphilan turned to face the main display and shouted, “Someone get me a damned recording of 3b/fg and I want it now!”
Scrambling to carry out his order and to get away from him lest his rage take them as well, cultists had a fuzzy recording on the screen in less then a minute. The screen showed a grouping of armed men firing their lasguns down the hall, the angle of the camera not granting a view of the target. Shortly after the image appeared, sporadic flashes came from the far edge of the screen and cultists started convulsing as their bodies were torn apart by bolt rounds. A few were able to get down behind cover and when they raised their heads to look down the hall a black shape flew over the barricade, a gleaming sword wreathed in lightning and a glittering claw tearing the men limb from limb. Turning to face the camera, a leering skull mask grinned up at the camera as his sword cut the last man from shoulder to groin, at the same time he drew his pistol and put a round through the lens of the camera.
Asphilan gripped the nearest console hard enough to cause sparks to fly and the metal to contort. Although his rage was quite apparent he quietly asked, “How long ago was that video recorded?”
“It…it wasn’t a recording great one.” Was the quiet response, in a room that was deadly silent.
Turning his head, Asphilan simply said, “Explain…”
“My…my lord that wasn’t a recording…that was a live…live feed from the security cam…camera in the entrance hall to…to this building.”
If any of the cultists were close to Asphilan (which they were all smart enough to not be), they would have heard him whisper “By the Dark Gods…” before he drew his bolt pistol and blew the head off the cultist that told brought the bad news.
The assassin kept staring at the sparking camera for several seconds before pulling up the blue prints on his visor. Locating what appeared to be the command center didn’t take any time at all and before long he was running down the hall. As he came to a corner, he activated the thermal imagine and peered around the corner quickly before taking cover as the hall was immediately filled with las rounds.
Looking around, he noticed a ventilation shaft above him…right in the intersection of the hallways. Pulling a pair of frag grenades from his pack, he started running towards the opposite wall. Just before he cleared the corner, he hurled the grenades at an angle so they would bounce off the wall and land right in front of the cultists, as soon as the grenades were out of his hands, he pulled his pistol and fired four bolt rounds at the vent…one to each corner. As the grenades exploded, he ran a few feet up the wall before kicking off and launching himself through the ventilation shaft milliseconds before the hall exploded into a deadly hail of las fire.
Once the smoke cleared, he could hear the cultists laughing that they had scared off a lackey of the false emperor. Grinning to himself, the assassin quietly moved down the vent to the area where he assumed the cultists were. Again activating his thermal imaging, he saw that he had figured correctly and that there were about ten warm bodies directly below him. Placing a melta bomb on the vent section about fifteen feet behind them, he went back to the area they were in and activated his power sword, detonating the melta bomb at the same moment that he drove his sword through the metal of the vent. As all the cultists turned towards the smoke filled hall where the bomb had gone off, the assassin quickly cut a hole large enough for himself to fit through. Just before the hole was complete, a drop of molten steel feel onto the cheek of the cultist directly below, causing him to scream in agony and look up… just in time to see a fifty kilogram slab of metal plummet directly onto his head, snapping his neck in three places and caving in his skull.
The assassin was right behind it and as he came down, his sword buried into the chest of the nearest cultist, the force of the impact broke his collar bone, and the tip of the sword piercing his heart. Ripping the sword out of his body before the rest could react, he stabbed at the next cultist in the gut, causing him to double over as he deactivated the electrical field as he used the sword to pull himself up right and rolled over his back, racking his claws down the chest of the first cultist who had managed to bring his rifle around to aim at the assassin.
Activating the power cell again, he ripped the sword from the cultist and threw himself into a roll as three cultists turned and unleashed a burst of las fire. As he came out of the roll he threw the sword into the chest of the first cultist, and in the same motion drew his pistol and a pair of shots almost simultaneously, each bolt blowing the heads off a cultist. Getting right between the two living cultists who had fired at him, his claw flashed from left to right as he cut the rifles in half…and taking the fingers along with them.
Dropping his pistol, the assassin drove two claws into the temple of the first cultist and kicked his foot out, catching the second in the throat… crushing his larynx and breaking his neck. As he let the first cultist drop, he felt a searing pain in his shoulder and was thrown from his feet as the remaining cultists fire a burst at him. Luckily for him the first shot had hit and spun him off his feet, as the others were aimed high and would have taken his head.
Bellowing in rage, the assassin flipped to his feet, grabbing his pistol as he did so and saw that one of the remaining three was smirking. So… it was that motherless son of a bitch that had shot him. Spinning around quickly, he fired two bolt rounds into the midsection of the two who had not landed any shots. As the last cultist stood shocked, the assassin quickly closed the distance between the two of them and grabbed him by his throat, slamming him into the wall and slowly lifting him off his feet.
Panicking as he felt his throat close in the strong grip of the assassin, the cultist pulled out a las pistol and fired a single round which glanced off the thigh of the assassin. Grabbing his wrist, the assassin snapped it quickly and the pistol fell from a useless hand. Glancing at the wound on his leg, the assassin slowly brought his face close enough to the cultist that the cultist could swear he could see the psychotic eyes through the red vision slots. The cultist heard the assassin laugh softly and say, “I’m going to enjoy this…”
The cultist screamed…
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