"Now," Bergelmir said, his voice flat,
"let's greet the bastards."
—
He began a slow, deliberate march across the scorched earth. Each step of his immense, armored foot was a promise of destruction, the tattered cloak dragging behind him like a funeral shroud.
The air around him shimmered with a faint, psychic heat, a palpable aura of power that seemed to press down on the ruined battlefield.
A handful of Xarcarion soldiers turned to face him, raising their las rifles. Their faces were a mix of defiance and dawning horror.
Bergelmir simply raised his massive gauntleted hand.
A silent, invisible force slammed into the nearest soldier, crushing his chest and throwing him backward into a tree trunk with a wet thud.
The tree split with the impact.
Another silent bolt of psychic energy overcharged a powerpack, making the soldier's las rifle explode in his hands.
The man screamed as the searing heat melted and burned his flesh.
Bergelmir moved with the weight of a glacier. His storm bolter remained silent, an unnecessary tool when his mind was a weapon.
As a desperate Xarcarion charged him with a bayonet, Bergelmir met the charge with a simple backhand.
The ceramite plate of his gauntlet connected with the soldier's skull with the sound of a shattering gourd. The man's body crumpled, lifeless, at his feet. Bergelmir didn't even break stride.
Behind him, Rouar followed.
Where Bergelmir was an unstoppable storm, Rouar was a whisper in the wind. He moved with a dancer's grace, his lithe form weaving through the chaos. He was a silent death, a blur of motion that the human soldiers barely registered.
A Xarcarion, startled by Bergelmir's relentless advance, turned his back to Rouar for a split second. That was all it took.
Rouar's plasteel staff swung low, a silent arc that caught the soldier behind the knees. The man's legs buckled, and as he fell, Rouar was already on him. He brought the staff down, its conductive prongs crackling with a faint blue light, and the soldier went limp without a sound.
Rouar didn't pause. He was already moving to the next target, his black eyes scanning the treeline, his ears twitching at the slightest sound.
The two were a perfect, terrifying contrast. Bergelmir was a brute-force battering ram, an irresistible force crushing everything in its path, while Rouar was the silent, precise assassin, exploiting every weakness and ensuring no enemy escaped.
The Xarcarion forces, disciplined as they were, were not prepared for this. Their formations broke, their shouts turning to panicked screams.
They were being hunted, not by an army, but by two different kinds of predators.
"Are there more?" Rouar asked.
—
"No," Bergelmir answered after scanning the area with Psychic power,
"But you should take cover." He finished.
BOOM!
An artillery shell exploded prematurely because Bergelmir crushed it mid-air.
Rouar was hiding behind Bergelmir, the perfect cover.
Bergelmir just glanced at him and sighed.
—
Through the binoculars, the world narrowed to a focused circle. The chaos of the battlefield was a distant, silent film.
A few terran kilometers away, a hulking shape stood in the smoking wreckage of the forest. The spotter's hands, steady as they'd ever been, adjusted the focus until every detail was sharp.
The figure was a mountain of armor, draped in a scorched, tattered cloak. It moved with a slow, deliberate cadence that defied logic.
Behind it, a smaller, agile figure flitted in its wake. The beastmen had broken, and for a moment, the spotter felt a flicker of professional satisfaction.
Then he saw it: a glint, a flash of something blue shimmering off the armor's runes. It wasn't a reflection, but raw energy.
—
"A psyker?" he muttered, a cold knot forming in his gut. His voice was a low hum, drowned out by the shouts of the artillery team behind him.
His hands started to tremble, the focus of the binoculars blurring slightly.
He watched as the hulking figure simply raised its hand.
A soldier, caught in the open, was thrown aside like a ragdoll. It wasn't a projectile; it was pure, unseen force. The realization hit the spotter with the force of a hammer blow. The glint of blue, the immense psychic signature...
"No....."
A sudden, sickening chill ran down his spine. The lenses of his binoculars seemed to brighten, focusing not on the figure, but on him.
Despite the impossible distance, the smoke and the wreckage, and the very laws of physics, he felt the gaze lock with his.
Two piercing, glowing blue dots burned through the lenses, through the kilometers, right into his soul. It was a hunting dog staring back, and it had seen him.
"That is a fucking Librarian,"
he whispered, the name a curse on his lips. His heart hammered against his ribs, a panicked drum in the sudden, silent terror. This wasn't a rogue psyker; it was an Astartes.
The power was unmistakable.
Panic seized him, a primal, all-consuming fear.
"Retreat!"
he screamed, the word a strangled, desperate cry that tore from his throat.
He tore the binoculars from his eyes, letting them fall with a hollow clatter to the ground.
WHOOSH...
The sound of something impossibly fast tore through the air, a compressed shriek that destroyed any sense of direction or safety.
He barely had time to turn before the sound was swallowed by a deafening, final...
BOOM!
—
"Let's move, they know our location," Bergelmir muttered, his voice a low thrum in the smoking air.
The ground was a cratered, charred wasteland. The thunder of the artillery strike had silenced the forest's gentle hum, leaving an unnatural quiet broken only by the crackle of burning wood.
He didn't need to scan with his psychic power to know what was left of their team. The destruction was absolute.
—
"Toward the others, then." Rouar's voice was a low purr.
He nimbly climbed onto a nearby rock, his black ears swiveling to catch every sound. From his perch, he pointed eastward, his lithe form a dark silhouette against the hazy light.
"That way."
Bergelmir gave a curt nod. He strode forward, his massive form a moving shadow over the wreckage of the battlefield. The mangled remains of the Beastmen and Kroot were scattered across the earth, the tragic price of their stand.
He stepped over the twisted metal of what was once the Hydra, his gaze fixed on the horizon, leaving the dead behind without a second thought.
Rouar dropped from the rock and followed, a swift, silent blur at his heels.
The two were all that remained of their warhost, a pair of solitary predators marching toward the last known position of their allies.
—
A powerful gust of wind roared, a sound like a physical blow.
WHOOSH!
A colossal shadow, a shape that seemed to blot out the sky itself, covered the area for a long second, then parted as fast as it had come.
The sheer force of the wind sent a hail of rocks, debris, and torn bodies hurtling across the ground. A fine mist of blood painted the air, splattering a few crimson drops onto Bergelmir's armored boots.
He stood his ground, an immovable rock in the torrent.
"What was that thing?" he asked, a long, irritated sigh escaping his vox-grill.
—
Rouar, who had been sent reeling a few paces by the impact, quickly regained his footing.
He stood up, his sleek black fur ruffled by the wind, his ears flattened in a mix of surprise and alarm. His eyes were wide as he stared into the sky, his voice a low, disbelieving whisper.
"It can't be... a Vraskariin?"
—
"A what now?" Bergelmir demanded clarification.
Beneath layers of ceramite and the helm's cold optics, his eyebrow was raised in genuine demand for a logical explanation.
—
Rouar's ears, which had been pressed flat in alarm, now twitched forward, scanning the still-empty sky. His sleek fur was ruffled, and a low, guttural growl rumbled in his throat, a sound of deep-seated disturbance.
"That wasn't natural," he said, his voice a low, urgent purr.
"A Vraskariin shouldn't be here. It's someone's doing."
He took a step back, his gaze fixed on the spot where the shadow had vanished.
"That thing just got food. It will now find the biggest tree to hang from and feast."
"A doom is waiting there."
—
Bergelmir's gaze met Rouar's.
For a long second, there was a silent, cold understanding between them.
The Astartes' mind, a fortress of logic, pieced together the fragments: The burnt down trees and the biggest tree left.
The very same one they had used to exit the Underwoods.
The Vraskariin, now fueled by its kill, was going to go there to feast and slumber.
Bergelmir let out a long sigh, the sound a low, heavy exhalation that carried a hint of grim weariness. His massive gauntleted fist clenched for a second, the ceramite plates groaning with the pressure.
"Let me guess," he said, his voice hard. "Those northern beastmen lured that Vraskariin or whatever here. Burnt down all the trees in the area, and trapped us out here?"
—
Rouar's expression was a mask of grim seriousness as he gave a single, solid nod.
—
"Can't we just sneak by it?" Bergelmir suggested, his blue visor fixed on the distance.
—
"No," Rouar answered, his voice a low purr of warning.
"The whole area where it rests and feasts will be covered in strings. One touch, one misplaced step, and it wakes up."
The Astartes was silent for a long moment, processing the new, intricate layer of danger. He let out a final, definitive sigh, and his fist unclenched.
"That thing is on my list," Bergelmir stated, his voice now devoid of any irritation, replaced by a cold, deadly finality.
"And whoever did this as well."
—
Somewhere not so far, to the east.
Kochav and Shadowgaze moved through the forest with a sense of grim urgency. The sound of their footsteps was a steady rhythm in the unnerving silence of the forest.
The distant roars of the Hydra and the staccato thunder of the autocannon fire had drawn them away from the first tree, passed the second, and now a chilling silence had fallen.
"There," Shadowgaze said, her voice a low murmur. She pointed forward, her eyes glowing green, using her psychic power.
"Only two signatures....."
Bergelmir and Rouar slowly came into view, blood and grime covered them slightly.
Bergelmir was an immense, unmoving shadow, his storm bolter held loosely at his side. Rouar was crouched low, his black ears swiveling. The scent of ozone and scorched earth hung heavy in the air.
—
"Told you, he won't die so easily." Kochav said, his tone dry as his gaze shifted from Shadowgaze to the two survivors.
"Took you long enough." He shouted toward them.
—
Shadowgaze's eyes, their customary hazel hue replaced by a chilling green glow, settled on Rouar, then on the Grey Knight.
"You carry the scent of death and a great disturbance. Explain."
—
Rouar bowed slightly and reported,
"We were ambushed by the Xarcarions, my lady. Only I and The Grey knight survived."
—
Bergelmir stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the group.
"They are dealt with, for now." He quickly summarized the ambush, the Hydra, and the artillery team.
"But we seemed to have another problem." He continued.
"A flying lizard."
—
Rouar added the details, his voice a low, urgent purr.
"It's not just a beast, it's a natural disaster. The Vraskariin just got food."
"It will rest on the great tree, and we are trapped outside."
—
Shadowgaze's head tilted slightly, her glowing eyes slowing fading, her usual hazel hues returned.
"We came to the same conclusion as well."
"We have to find a way to protect the last tree, or we will be forced to take a long walk home."
—
Kochav let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"I bet those northern tribesmen will be waiting for us at the tree as well"
"A fight then?"
He finished, everyone's gazes fixed on him.
—
An Aeldari, A Felinid, An Astartes and A Rogue Psyker....(with four more unnamed allies.) against an unknown number of enemies, waiting to ambush them at their rendevouz.