Crone World - Part 16

Holm’s eyes widened, realizing his mistake. As anyone who had a lick of sense, he took the only reasonable course of action. He turned and ran.

Never bring a gun to a power sword fight, Holm thought as he sprinted back towards the Death Spiral. “TULLEY! CHANGE OF TARGET!!” he yelled as he ran. Upon reaching the the gangplank, he skidded to a stop and turned around. Taking aim at Balit, he fired; but the round went wide and missed.

Holm's chest caved inward as a solid slug struck home, sending him reeling backwards. He caught the corner of the gangplank, lost his footing, and flipped over it. He landed in a heap on the opposite side, face down and unconscious.

Tulley did not like the swift change of events and sought to make things more equitable. Watching Balit start to sprint towards the ship, he yelled down the corridor for assistance from the Ork. “DURNO! Get your green arse down here!”

Another shotgun blast rang out, sending broken metal fragments radiating through the air. Balit was now halfway to Holm.

Glancing to Balit’s distant associate, Tulley discovered that he was starting to reload his double barreled shotgun. Trying to buy time for his incapacitated commander, the corporal yelled as he fired at the charging enemy leader.

The first lasbolt punched Balit in the stomach, hard. He fell forward, rolling to a stop near a stack of crates. Blinded by pain, he tried to get up, but an intense burst of force exploded in the middle of his back as Tulley’s second shot found its mark. Darkness swallowed up Balit, who knew no more.

At the far end of the corridor, Durno’s massive head leaned into view.

“Wot?” he asked, perplexed.

Before Tulley could sardonically respond, the tell-tale cacophony of voices came to life outside. “Warp wind!” he yelled over the gibbering, “The Boss is hurt outside!”

Durno sprang into action upon hearing the human’s last remark, running down the corridor like an enraged bull. He leapt from the airlock and landed near Holm’s inert body. Meanwhile, Tulley manned the airlock controls and waited for Durno to come back inside. The lumbering Ork cleared the airlock with surprising speed, carrying Holm in like a sleeping child. Once they were clear, Tulley cycled the airlock closed, shivering all the while at the peculiar chorus of voices that thundered outside.

Cifpa and Reymalden both appeared on the scene shortly afterwards. When they discovered that Holm was injured, they wasted no time in carrying him back to his quarters. When they arrived, Reymalden drew out his medi-pack and shooed everyone else out of the room. While the storm continued outside, Durno, Tulley and Cifpa sat in the corridor and waited. By the time the wind died down, Reymalden exited the captain’s quarters and shut the door behind him.

“Captain Holm will be fine, the shot glanced off and spared his life. Unfortunately, he has several cracked ribs and will be in no condition for any form of activity in the near future. He is bedridden until his condition improves.” Reymalden’s mirrored visor reflected distorted views of Durno and Tulley. “He wishes to speak to both of you. Make sure your conversation is a short one.”

They entered Holm’s quarters and winced at the condition of their commander. His chest was completely wrapped in bandages, crimson blotches spread on the right side of his torso. His breathing came as a shallow wheeze.

“How do you feel, sir?” Tulley asked.

“I’ve felt better, corporal,” Holm whispered as he winced in pain. “Reymalden says I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Just glad you are, sir.”

“Enough well wishes, then. I hope that the threat to the ship has been neutralized?”

“I stopped the leader from gutting you, but another Warp wind sprouted up before I could deal with his partner. Durno’s the one who brought you inside.”

Holm smiled weakly at the Ork. “Thank ya, lad.”

Durno grunted, as if to acknowledge the complement.

“Have you gone outside yet?” Holm asked.

“No, sir. We were waiting to see how you fared.”

“Well then, waste no more time and get your arses out there. Find out where those two are and kill them. That’s an order,” Holm wheezed. His chest suddenly spasmed as he coughed and he moaned in pain.

“Whut ‘bout me, Boss?” Durno asked.

“What about you?” Holm replied, not understanding the question.

“Do ya want me t’stay and help or go an duff th’ bad humies?”

“I want you to assist Tulley. You will listen and obey him during my forced absence. Is that clear, lad?” The tone in Holm’s last part of the sentence carried the threat of violence. Durno frowned, glancing sideways at the corporal.

“Woteva ya say, Boss,” the Ork said as Reymalden entered and ushered them out.

Petro dragged Balit back behind a collapsed wall, far away from the Death Spiral. His master was bleeding profusely from the abdominal wound he suffered. He praised Tzeentch for the arrival of the Warp wind that covered their escape, but he also cursed it because he lost their rations in the turbulence. Still unconscious, Balit’s shallow breathing rang hollow as it exited the Eldar helmet he wore.

Putting his shotgun aside, Petro began ripping strips of his clothing to serve as makeshift bandages. Wrapping them around the wound, he was able to staunch the bleeding. His master cared for, he began to survey his surroundings to ensure that they were not followed.

“Where are we, Petro? What has happened?” Balit’s voice rasped.

“You were shot by Holm’s man. I got us out of there because of the Changer’s intervention. A Warp wind came to life and effected our escape.”

“Praise be to Tzeentch,” Balit replied as his familiar landed beside him. He petted the monster’s heads with affection.

“The Changer has given us a challenge, however. As payment for covering our escape, he has taken our rations,” Petro said, not making eye contact with his master.

“I see,” Balit said quietly. “That must be rectified.”

The Chaos Magos chanted, his voice becoming smoother and more refined.

Pheal’nash Dtha thalacoul. Pheal’nash Dtha Tzeentch thalacoul. Pheal’nash Dtha thalacoul.

A multicolored vapor coalesced in front of Balit and its tendrils spread outward, reaching for Petro. Horrified, the cultist could do nothing but sit transfixed by the colors and lights. Wherever the tendrils touched flesh, it mutated. Petro screamed in agony as the power of Tzeentch blessed his body with change, change not free from pain.

The cultist’s nose and mouth receded and disappeared. His eyes sprouted from his head on snail like stalks. Unable to breathe, Petro ran in a panic until his legs became spongy as the bones turned to jelly. He convulsed as his lungs burned for their last gasp of air. A few moments later, it was all over. Petro was dead and his body was far from human.

“Time for dinner, my pet,” Balit said as he got to his feet and took up his power sword.

+++EST 7352LOGNAV-HES DEATH SPIRAL+++

+++Journal Date: ETAC Day 7+++

+++Author: Trader Jil Velstrak +++

+++Thought for the Day: Fear Chaos as you would your own death+++

Our camp was attacked again today. This time, we were assaulted in broad daylight by two scavengers that apparently had ties to the alien that harassed us several nights ago. We sent them packing, but not without cost. Holm, my unlucky friend, was severely hurt and is now resting comfortably. The Tech-Hospitalier tells me he will be out of action for at least a week before Holm can resume regular duties.

In his stead, Holm has passed authority for security and exploration to Corporal Tulley. He and the Ork have just returned from trying to track down the men who attacked us, but were unable to locate them. They were able to discover a pack, presumably belonging to our foes, filled with foodstuffs. There was enough food for another eight days.

The greenskin, by look and by word, doesn’t seem to appreciate the change in command much less taking orders from such a diminutive human. I wish the man well, for he has been given a tiger and he holds it by the tail.