"Talos?"
Although the voices around him kept reminding him, the prophet did not answer. Instead, he gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger, firing a tracer bullet to illuminate the dark tunnel.
The numerical runes on the helmet's tactical retina faded away, shrinking every second, as the assault cannon's spinning barrel began to glow a brighter red under the pressure of superheat.
"Talos."
The voice was hoarse again.
"Don't go too far ahead."
The assault cannon roared, then slowly lowered.
Talos wanted to retort, but didn't know what to say - Sirion was right.
However, the frustration remains.
The hunt changed again.
Talos paused in his stride, letting the stabilizers and servos on his leg armor help him achieve this goal.
Cannon barrels hissed in the cold air, and alien corpses lay scattered at his feet. Cerion and Marcus trudged closer, the sound of their joints grinding and heavy footsteps filling the tunnel.
They all wore Terminator armor, and the twin bolt bombs on their arms showed the Tainted Imperial Eagle.
"I'm running out of ammo."
Marcus said in a low voice:
"It's time to get back in our power armor and split up, the slaughter is enjoyable, but they're trying to avoid us."
Talos nodded.
"I'm going to miss these armaments."
"I can do it too."
Ma Kuchen replied with a smile.
"I've lost count of how many of these vile aliens we've killed. There were at the last intersection...there are so many of this group."
Markushen raked his twin bolters through the bloody remains of the destroyed bodies.
"About ninety-four"
"These are just scum."
Sirion turned his tusked helm towards Machu Shen.
"But what about those screaming bitches? I haven't hit them yet."
"I do not have either."
Talos said with regret.
"I didn't hit the first one. Only the weak ones died like worms. None of the howling banshees died."
Korosa, who was once a technical sergeant, walked last. His armor was washed clean with blood. His helmet was not in the style of the Eighth Legion, but a cruelly curved horn emerged from the bridge of the nose on the panel.
"They are the priestesses of the alien war god."
The prophet turned to look at him, but for a moment no one said a word.
"What did you just say?"
Korosa snorted.
"I have tortured Eldar prisoners in the past, so I probably know something about it."
"Whatever they are, we should meet back at the Third Claw."
"Talos."
Suddenly, a voice sounded on the communication channel,
The prophet hesitated for a moment, but no famous characters flashed on his helmet display.
But the voice was familiar enough.
"Valer?"
"Bro, I'm up in the ruins, we have to talk."
"No, please let this be a dirty joke, I ordered you to leave for a reason, idiot."
"Hear me out, Talos."
Talos then listened carefully to his brother's explanation, though Valiel's was rushed and fragmented.
It took a while for Talos to roughly understand what he meant.
"Let's go to the Third Talon."
He immediately ordered the other Fireclaws.
"Valiel, don't go down here. The tunnels are full of Eldar."
"Will you come back to the surface?"
Talos himself wasn't sure.
"Probably, you just have to stay hidden for now."
When the First Claw and the Third Claw finally reunited, the howling banshees were back.
The Third Talon had been reduced to four warriors, their slain brethren left in the corridor.
This time, the Night Lords are ready.
They'd spent the past few hours chasing their prey through the hallways, satisfying their hearts in a way they'd never felt before, but now they were going head-to-head.
The alien howled through the ranks of the Eighth Legion, only the blur of blades and flowing buns visible.
Talos heard a growl from one of his brothers.
"We are outnumbered!"
But the limbs and blades pressed against him made all information meaningless. The two banshees in front of him screamed and raised their swords. Talos felt the cold touch squirming in his muscles, slowing him down. speed.
"Long live the King of the Night!!!"
Talos let out a scream of his own, a roar from three lungs and an enhanced respiratory system, heightened tenfold in intensity with the help of a loudspeaker in his helmet.
The surviving Night Lords heard the cry and then their hearts beat faster.
The long-standing tactic of the banshees is to deafen the crowd with their howls, softening the enemy before killing them.
But now, now Talos was using it against the screamers.
The three alien long swords shattered at once, and when the harmonious and brutal screams reached their peak, the eyepieces of several banshees also cracked at the same time.
Then the Night Lord's howl suddenly died away again, and Talos swung out his fist, damaging the first banshee's head, shattering her skull and shoulder bones.
The second man staggered back amid shouts, only to be shot to pieces by an assault cannon.
Talos put down his empty assault cannon and reached for his bolter, taking a deep breath and preparing to scream again.
But suddenly, his throat seemed to be blocked by something.
Cerion on the side punched the alien in the stomach, breaking her sternum and spine at the same time.
When her weak legs hung on him, he lowered his head and stabbed her body with his helmet.
"Did you hear that?"
Everyone shouted loudly, and Talos also closed his mouth. He felt that his heart was accelerating uncontrollably.
"It's footsteps."
Talos said calmly, aware that something was approaching.
"It's not footsteps, that's too fast."
Cerion tried to retort. He pushed twice hard to get the twisting body off the horn.
When he stood upright again, his neck made a knowing crack.
Then Sirion heard it too.
Talos was right, it was footsteps.
"what is that?"
There was a rush of rhythm that softly struck the stone on the steps and echoed through the corridor, as loud as the wind on the bend.
Talos stood above the two slain Eldar girls, blood dripping from his curled fingers.
Now all the shouting has stopped and the only sound is the sound of footsteps.
"What is it?"
Cerion repeated his question.
Talos took a deep breath and answered tremblingly.
"A storm of flesh and blood, a rain of blades, she walks in the void."
The prophet ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the sour taste on his gums.
"Like a silent storm."
