Roddy awoke to a cacophony, with Senior's worried expression hanging over him.
The rest of the Pack were struggling against each other in the enclosed space, each trying to get at Twitch, who was fitting violently. The journey into the vents and the chase had been too much for him. His system was overloaded with fear, stress and pain. His mind was beginning to shut down.
Roddy bit, grabbed and kicked his way past the panicking Pack to get at Twitch, who had a sick, yellow foam around his mouth. He pushed his pack away to give Twitch some space and supported his head, to stop him from banging it against the hard vent walls. At length, the fit stopped and Twitch lay there taking short shallow breaths. Roddy had nothing to help the poor, loyal, mischevious and dealdy young sniper with. No medication and a poor understanding of field aid. He cursed his luck and prepared to watch Twitch's final breaths.
A noise further down the vent and the pack collectively turned, hearing the noise of scraping metal and scurrying footsteps. Roddy sighted down his rifle, still listening to the hurried and pained noises coming from beneath his line of sight.
What he saw coming out of the dark reaches of the vent almost made him drop his rifle in shock.
_________________________
Bullet-Nose flashed his axe up above his right shoulder for a sweeping, diagonal cross strike down towards the crazed Pit-Fighter's neck. He was jus out of reach and his belly was exposed.
The Pit-Fighter lunged with a heavy rock-drill at the bared abdomen but Bullet-Nose had been anticipating the attack, his right foot planted to throw his weight to the left side at the last possible moment. He darted past the blow and spun to plant the flat of his axe across the back of the, now over-committed Pit-Fighter's head. There was a loud clang as the two metal surfaces met and the Pit-Fighter's over extended run took him face first into the pit wall. Bullet-Nose walked calmly around with his axe lowered before taking a passive and defensive stance.
The Pit-Fighter roared his anger and frustration. His body marked with nicks, cuts and bruises that each would have been killing or debilitating blows against a normal man. He was being toyed with and he knew it. The Rock drill whirled into life again as the Pit-Fighter turned his broken face to eyeball the Ratskin, who stood as a statue to calm anticipation.
A murderous look of contempt filled the Pit-Fighter's face. His secondary bionic arm folded, as if to test it's workings. He danced to his left, then his right. The drill swung around sideways, used like a sword blade which Nullet-Nose avoided and darted in to carve another slice with the axe, but the momentum of the heavy drill-arm carried the Pit-Fighter around like a top, he other arm coming in a disgusting metal punch, which landed into Bullet-Nose's ribs, cracking at least one. He folded up holding his chest, his axe, lost from his grip. He dropped to one knee and the Pit-Fighter, now recovered from his crazed and wild spin walked over Bullet-Nose and screamed a triumphant and gutteral cry of victory, to the cheers of the surrounding spectators.
Bullet-Nose rose to his feet like a springing rat inside the bionic and outstretched, open guard of the Pit Fighter. With his head raised, the Ratskin could push his bone-knife up, under the chin of the steel skull and into the Man-Machine's Brain. The Pit-Fighter's roar came to an abrupt and garbled end. The result was rather messy. Bullet-Nose dropped the body of his defeated opponant and strode over, to underneath where King Narcissus sat, silently contemplating the mangled body of his champion.
After some time, the aging Pit-Fighter looked to the panting and slightly bowed form of Bullet-Nose.
"Very well Ratskin. You have proven your worth here today. Signed our deal in blood and honour. Your kind will have our support when the time is come. I hope you have not dragged us into some fool Ratskin destiny dream, as is the want of your people. It is rare of you people to come here seeking our help, prepared to gamble your lives for the blood-price that it entails.
The King threw a heavy sack down into the pit.
"Here's the rifle that you wanted. There're enough rounds there for whatever you should meet on the rest of your journey. Also, the other thing that you wanted and a little surprise, should you come across anything that needs a little more juice. Don't let it be said that Narcissus thinks only of himself ..."
The King let out a long and mighty laugh at some joke that was beyond the ken of the Ratskin, who grabbed the bag and walked to the far end of the pit, through a set of cast-iron doors which were swung open as he approached. He left the Mad Old King alone, laughing over the corpse of his kinsman. There were others that he must find.
___________________________
In another place a, little deeper down, a man was waiting. He was grey-haired but not quite ready to be called old. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for but he had been listening for some time to what he was being told. The Hive spoke to him, hinted at its intentions from somewhere far away, somewhere deep down. It was faint at times and he couldn't always get the gist of the message, yet it had led him this far and saved his life on numerous occasions. Though his companions had long ago labelled him mad and he sat, solitary, listening to a voice only he could hear.
It told him to wait. It told him that help was coming. It told him that there was a price to pay. He nodded a grim acceptance and sipped from a bottle of wild-snake that he had hoarded. He would wait. He stripped and oiled his Heavy Bolter while he listened, waiting for further updates. The Hive never failed him. He would not fail the Hive.
The rest of the Pack were struggling against each other in the enclosed space, each trying to get at Twitch, who was fitting violently. The journey into the vents and the chase had been too much for him. His system was overloaded with fear, stress and pain. His mind was beginning to shut down.
Roddy bit, grabbed and kicked his way past the panicking Pack to get at Twitch, who had a sick, yellow foam around his mouth. He pushed his pack away to give Twitch some space and supported his head, to stop him from banging it against the hard vent walls. At length, the fit stopped and Twitch lay there taking short shallow breaths. Roddy had nothing to help the poor, loyal, mischevious and dealdy young sniper with. No medication and a poor understanding of field aid. He cursed his luck and prepared to watch Twitch's final breaths.
A noise further down the vent and the pack collectively turned, hearing the noise of scraping metal and scurrying footsteps. Roddy sighted down his rifle, still listening to the hurried and pained noises coming from beneath his line of sight.
What he saw coming out of the dark reaches of the vent almost made him drop his rifle in shock.
_________________________
Bullet-Nose flashed his axe up above his right shoulder for a sweeping, diagonal cross strike down towards the crazed Pit-Fighter's neck. He was jus out of reach and his belly was exposed.
The Pit-Fighter lunged with a heavy rock-drill at the bared abdomen but Bullet-Nose had been anticipating the attack, his right foot planted to throw his weight to the left side at the last possible moment. He darted past the blow and spun to plant the flat of his axe across the back of the, now over-committed Pit-Fighter's head. There was a loud clang as the two metal surfaces met and the Pit-Fighter's over extended run took him face first into the pit wall. Bullet-Nose walked calmly around with his axe lowered before taking a passive and defensive stance.
The Pit-Fighter roared his anger and frustration. His body marked with nicks, cuts and bruises that each would have been killing or debilitating blows against a normal man. He was being toyed with and he knew it. The Rock drill whirled into life again as the Pit-Fighter turned his broken face to eyeball the Ratskin, who stood as a statue to calm anticipation.
A murderous look of contempt filled the Pit-Fighter's face. His secondary bionic arm folded, as if to test it's workings. He danced to his left, then his right. The drill swung around sideways, used like a sword blade which Nullet-Nose avoided and darted in to carve another slice with the axe, but the momentum of the heavy drill-arm carried the Pit-Fighter around like a top, he other arm coming in a disgusting metal punch, which landed into Bullet-Nose's ribs, cracking at least one. He folded up holding his chest, his axe, lost from his grip. He dropped to one knee and the Pit-Fighter, now recovered from his crazed and wild spin walked over Bullet-Nose and screamed a triumphant and gutteral cry of victory, to the cheers of the surrounding spectators.
Bullet-Nose rose to his feet like a springing rat inside the bionic and outstretched, open guard of the Pit Fighter. With his head raised, the Ratskin could push his bone-knife up, under the chin of the steel skull and into the Man-Machine's Brain. The Pit-Fighter's roar came to an abrupt and garbled end. The result was rather messy. Bullet-Nose dropped the body of his defeated opponant and strode over, to underneath where King Narcissus sat, silently contemplating the mangled body of his champion.
After some time, the aging Pit-Fighter looked to the panting and slightly bowed form of Bullet-Nose.
"Very well Ratskin. You have proven your worth here today. Signed our deal in blood and honour. Your kind will have our support when the time is come. I hope you have not dragged us into some fool Ratskin destiny dream, as is the want of your people. It is rare of you people to come here seeking our help, prepared to gamble your lives for the blood-price that it entails.
The King threw a heavy sack down into the pit.
"Here's the rifle that you wanted. There're enough rounds there for whatever you should meet on the rest of your journey. Also, the other thing that you wanted and a little surprise, should you come across anything that needs a little more juice. Don't let it be said that Narcissus thinks only of himself ..."
The King let out a long and mighty laugh at some joke that was beyond the ken of the Ratskin, who grabbed the bag and walked to the far end of the pit, through a set of cast-iron doors which were swung open as he approached. He left the Mad Old King alone, laughing over the corpse of his kinsman. There were others that he must find.
___________________________
In another place a, little deeper down, a man was waiting. He was grey-haired but not quite ready to be called old. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for but he had been listening for some time to what he was being told. The Hive spoke to him, hinted at its intentions from somewhere far away, somewhere deep down. It was faint at times and he couldn't always get the gist of the message, yet it had led him this far and saved his life on numerous occasions. Though his companions had long ago labelled him mad and he sat, solitary, listening to a voice only he could hear.
It told him to wait. It told him that help was coming. It told him that there was a price to pay. He nodded a grim acceptance and sipped from a bottle of wild-snake that he had hoarded. He would wait. He stripped and oiled his Heavy Bolter while he listened, waiting for further updates. The Hive never failed him. He would not fail the Hive.