Chapter 469: Dead Blood (2/2)

The Atrekna's razor sharp intellect and psychic skills worked against it. Before it could disengage that sheer razor sharp and needle point of its psychic abilities penetrated deep into the thing that had grabbed it.

The Atrekna had mastered, confined, or eliminated their primal urges billions of years prior, when their universe had been full of shining galaxies and burning stars. The urge to eat was still present, one of the few primal desires they had been able to overcome.

What the Atrekna grasped by those cold clumsy hands was plunged into was a thick cold morass of primal urges. Not the burning hot urges they had encountered before, something completely alien even to the Atrekna.

A cold, gnawing, consuming desire to kill and eat. No real thought behind it, not even the warmth of primal instinct from a lower life form.

A cold cloying greasy need to devour. Not for sustenance, not to fulfill a biological need.

Just a need to eat. To chew. To devour.

Disconnected images flooded the Atrekna's mind. A hairless primate looking at other hairless primates over some kind of baked good, thick paste-like covering on the baked good, burning candles on top.

Happy birthday whispered in the Atrekna's mind.

Cold emotionless empty sights of cities burning, the white fire of anti-matter bombardment.

The sight of a five limbed creature pulling off the Atrekna's host's arm.

i've been hurt worse drifted into the Atrekna's mind as it struggled to free itself from the cold morass of alien thoughts, empty of desire, no emotion.

The Atrekna screamed, loud, gathering the attention of several other members of the Quorum. Two turned to look as the Atrekna's feeding tentacles squirmed up its own face and plunged into its eyes. As they watched the tentacles pulsated as the Atrekna began injecting digestive enzymes into its own brain.

but i can't remember when was the last coherent thought the Atrekna head before two of its fellows snuffed its brain functions.

To their horror, it stopped feeding on itself, turning to stare at the others. Before they could ask it anything it suddenly screeched and jumped forward, the ends of its fingers wrapped in phasic energy. It grabbed a fellow Atrekna and pulled it close, burrowing its feeding tentacles into its fellow's face, injecting digestive enzymes, slurping up the slurry with other tentacles.

One stepped forward with a blade of psychic energy and cut the one that had suddenly gone feral into to pieces.

The one that had been attacked staggered back, going down on its knees, the psychic energy around it blinking then going out in a puff.

The others stared at it.

For a long moment it was unmoving.

The Quorum began to turn its attention back to the recently landed forces, that had still yet to emerge from the drop vehicles.

The one on its knees suddenly shrieked, looking up. It lunged up, hands reaching for another member, its tentacles around its mouth flailing widely, its mouth open to reveal the circular dentition.

The same one cut it down.

The Quorum looked at one another, then at the two dead, then each other.

Another one reached out, taking control of the mind of one of the servitor species. It send the heavily armored creature, which looked like a large spider with a bloated and hairy body at the front, forward. The radiation was fading, the engines silent on the drop pods.

The sides dropped down and the creature stopped in reflex to the tension that filled the Atrekna controlling it.

Nothing emerged.

After a long moment the Atrekna sent its mindslave forward.

Movement could be seen inside the pod.

The creature stopped again.

What emerged moved jerkily, uncoordinated, as if it had suffered an impairment of some type. It was all in shadow, but the two burning red eyes could be seen.

Another Atrekna checked.

There was no sign of life or intelligence.

The creature moved into the light.

It was one of the feral hairless primates, wearing cloth, carrying weapons.

Its eyes were glazed over, a white film covering the ocular orbs. Blackish blood drooled from its mouth and the Atrekna noticed that it was constantly opening and closing its mouth, gnashing its teeth, as it stumbled forward.

It raised the rifle it was carrying, tucking the butt of the weapon into the shoulder, and fired.

No thought. No intellect. Instinct.

The high-vee armor piercing rounds hit the mindslave, ripping through its armor, sending ichor and vital fluids spewing from the torso as the primate hosed a long burst into it.

The mindslave collapsed.

Another Atrekna felt annoyance as one of the larger drop vehicles finally showed movement.

One of the great tracked armored vehicles rolled out and into the light. A primate was half out of the top hatch, foregoing the armored protection of the massive vehicle.

It brought the sight to the attention of the other members of the Quorum.

It did not match the memories of those who had encountered the primate armored vehicles.

The warsteel was blotchy, almost diseased looking, with long tendrils of what looked like rust or slowly pulsating purplish-black veins. The tracks seemed worn and battered as they clattered with the vehicle's movement. The markings on the side were faded, many obscured. There was no bright sparkling of psychic shielding, just 'heavy' objects holding the temporal stream in place to flow naturally and not at the command of the Atrekna.

The primate half out looked wrong too. The skin was bluish-white. The eyes white. Blood ran from its mouth and it seemed to be gnashing its teeth as it looked around slowly, jerkily.

One of the Quorum reached out to snuff the unprotected mind.

It went still, then began to shiver, then it jerked to its full height, started to collapse, then jerked upright again.

With a screech it turned and lunged at the nearest member of the Quorum. It grabbed its fellow Atrekna and took a huge bite out of its arm, nearly severing.

It took two others to stop it.

The Atrekna watched their fellows closely.

All four Atrekna of the Quorum who had been injured by the crazed one suddenly screeched and looked up from where they had been sitting, nursing the first physical wounds they had ever suffered.

The remainder of the Quorum were ready. They killed the four quickly, cleanly.

One was bitten.

They killed that one too.

More and more armored vehicles had left the pods, moving as a coherent whole.

One of the members of a Conclave felt it. A bright, burning, raving spark. It looked at it, from a 'distance', just observing it.

It gathered the actions of the rest of the primates around it, then reached out further. It began to examine, not the Atrekna themselves, not their minds, but their actions, and not only the actions they were currently taking, but the ones they had taken, and the ones not yet taken.

The entire Conclave gathered their strength.

This, this was the hive leader. Shielded by several layers of psychic protection.

They struck out at the feral primate's primitive mind.

And missed. Instead they plunged into the mind of one near it, thrusting deeply into the greasy cloying clammy feel of rotted meat in cold porridge. Cold hands tried to grab their minds, pull them deeper, tear them apart.

The Conclave separated the connection and tried again.

And missed again. As is the primate had somehow shifted out of the way, presenting some kind of trap for their attack.

They agreed to try once more.

They had to stop whatever was coordinating the attack. The massive vehicles were slamming straight into the Atrekna mindslaves, into the Devourers, into the slave spawn, using their bulk and mass as well as their weapons to crush the spawn that had been pulled from one of the great rings.

The ones walking, or in smaller vehicles, were on the attack too.

The devourers had problems locating the primates. They had no aura, no psychic spark, no sign of intellect. They were less than computers, less than thinking wires, less then virtual or artificial intelligences. There was nothing to see, nothing to grab onto.

They just moved forward.

And killed.

Not without coordination. Their weaponsfire was coordinated and accurate, they shambled and stumbled and staggered as a coordinated whole. Not as a horde, but in discrete units.

But there was no mind behind what they were doing.

The Atrekna tried again.

The mind they plunged into was dark, cold, the thoughts heavy and thick feeling. The hands were clumsy, strong, and powerful.

Three members of the Conclave were unable to pull away and began screaming.

The Conclave, warned by the experiences of several Quorums, killed those quickly, incinerating the bodies.

Enraged, the members of the Conclave ordered more spawn to be brought up.

Throw everything at the primates.

Whatever trick it was, it would not help.

The Atrekna would subdue them.

One of the Atrekna had faced the primates before, long ago, when trying to wrest a larder world away from them. It had seen the primates in person, had seen what they looked like, how they moved.

It was pulled from its task of holding down one of the primates, who was raving, slamming against its cage, ripping and tearing apart anything that came near it. It had required nearly a hundred Atrekna to keep it pinned.

And it was still a struggle.

The Atrekna handed off its task to another and turned its attention to what the others wanted it to see.

It stared through the eyes of a dwellerspawn.

The primate was staggering. It had taken wounds that had torn through its clothing, through its body armor. The flesh was bluish, with signs of corruption around the wounds. Cybernetic wiring could be seen in the flesh. Its eyes were white. It was chewing on nothing, blood oozing from its mouth.

Is this how they appeared? a Quorum asked.

The Atrekna sent back images from the attempt to take the larder world. No.

The primate fired its weapon, moving in a slow staggering walk, surrounded by others. A psychic lance hit it but flickered and went out, finding nothing to overload and scorch.

Is this how they acted?

No.

Their heat signatures were off. They were only as warm as their surroundings. Only as warm as the ambient temperature. They generated little to no heat with their movement.

As he watched two crouched down next to a dead dwellerspawn and began jamming pieces in their mouths. Another one roared at them, a wordless vocalization, and the two stood up, still chewing on the pieces in their mouth, and moved forward, returning to firing their weapons.

This is wrong. This is wrong. There's something happening here. It isn't quite clear, the Atrekna said.

One of the primate combat cyborgs, a big one, looking rusted and covered in pulsing purple veins, grabbed a dwellerspawn and ripped it apart bare handed. Two others grabbed a large spawn from different sides and began ripping huge chunks of flesh from it.

The cyborg's metal jaws were gnashing.

How do we stop them?

I... I do not know.

V Corps (Dead Blood) pressed the attack.

-------------

Trucker spit over the side, his eyes covered by a pair of mirrorshades. Cry Little Sister was in the lead as he drove a wedge of a hundred tanks into the enemy. The engines were roaring, the cannons firing, the heavy weapons shredding dwellerspawn.

He knew he only had less than a hundred hours to change the course. A hundred hours to destroy the enemy's ability to bring in reinforcements from wherever they were getting them.

Cry Little Sister heaved as it ran over the dead, dying, and those too slow to get out of the way.

Around him the tanks were crewed by dead men. Men he had known, had served with for decades, centuries.

Men who had died in their sleep, outside the armor, some without even their boots on.

He didn't bother telling them what to do out loud, they'd move too slow, they'd react to slow, to take advantage of it. They would follow the warplan and warplan updates as long as he gave them enough time to absorb it.

Only a hundred hours before the dead would die again.

But Trucker knew wars had been won, had been fought, in a hundred hours.

He waved his arm and the tanks of HHC Brigade turned slightly.

The goal was ahead of him. They were trying to move, but it wouldn't help.

He could feel them ahead of them. Feel their cold logic, their icy analogue to anger, at being denied.

He could feel their hunger.

all belong to us whispered around him, not touching his mind, not exactly heard, but he knew it was whispering around him like banshees tormenting a Lord's young bride.

He patted Cry Little Sister with one hand as he tucked his can of chew back into his pocket with the other.

The Third Herd, Spearhead, Third Armor, Pearhead, would crush them under the weight of metal and the pounding of their guns.

Trucker knew he might be defeated, might die before he could accomplish his mission.

But he knew that the forces protecting the planet would not be beaten.

He spit off the side as he grabbed the TC's gun and it racked a round into the chamber.

”Let's get to work, boys,” he gurgled.

Gargled and bubbling groans, moans, and low cries answered him.

----------------------

One of the lowest ranking Atrekna drifted forward on a disk of phasic energy, putting the majority of its power into not being seen as it crossed the shattered and cratered battlefield.

The massive armored host had crossed this place only a few minutes before, but they were already out of sight.

The ground rippled and changed into a forest.

Explosions thudded out from the direction the primate's armored vehicles had gone.

The Atrekna approached what lay in a crater carefully. The primates were up to something, and he had been ordered to discover what it was.

Tank 3-68-C12 had taken a phasic enhanced barrel bull hit at point blank range. The crew cabin had been completely destroyed, the crew vaporized, and the tank had gone dead. It sat, at a slight angle, in the rain, the water hissing as it touched the hull.

Inside a soft green light began to glow.

Black mist filled the interior spaces of the tank. Purple flashes, like minature lightning, lit the depths of the inky black cloud.

The tank shuddered.

The Atrekna backed up slightly.

It gave a low grinding noise, as if it was trying to start.

The black mist poured out of the two massive holes, flowing like water onto the ground.

The tank moved forward an inch, then rolled back to its position.

The Atrekna could not detect any intelligence, any life force. No direction.

The mist suddenly dissolved, almost as if it was sucked back into the tank.

The tank gave a coughing wheeze, blowing smoke from the back deck. It kept vibrating, making a constant roaring noise.

The Atrekna watched as a primate rose up out of the tank.

It was largely fleshless. White bone, with burning red eyes. Blood ran out of the nostril cavity, from between its teeth. It had on a helmet, the tattered remains of a uniform, and it looked around.

Its burning red eyes settled on the Atrekna. A cold malevolence suddenly filled the what could only be a dead primate.

The Atrekna stared in horror, watching frozen as the dead primate slowly lifted up a pistol and aimed it. It leveled it slowly, as if the thick psychic shielding was of no use to conceal or protect the Atrekna.

The Quorum who was watching through the scout's eyes flinched back in horror at the raw cold malevolence that rivaled their own.

The skull faced primate fired the pistol as the tank lurched into motion.

The Quorum didn't see it.

The scout was already dead from a single bullet.

The riven and damaged tracks clattered as the tank followed its brethren.

---------------

Ge'ermo'o stared at the screen as he watched dead tanks suddenly come back to life.

He had seen the black mist and knew it was strange matter nanites.

He knew that the nanites had rebuilt the dead humans into... into...

... he had no words. No concepts in his language.

The dead were simply dead. That was all. They did not return, they did not keep fighting.

The lemurs might as well be doing magic compared to us he remembered General A'armo'o saying.

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic Ge'ermo'o remembered another saying.

He watched a squad of infantry slowly rise up out of the mud from where they had been killed by a blob of acidic spittle. They were burnt, charred, their skin melted away in places. They moved as if they hadn't been reduced to biological slurry, their weapons battered looking but serviceable.

Their eyes burned red.

Ge'ermo'o shuddered and closed his eyes on that side as he turned his attention back to The Atomic Hooves.

Leave the humans to their necromancy, he thought to himself. Leave them to their ancient and forbidden arts, to dark science that should have been forgotten, he touched the icon for his old unit. We Lanaktallan will use clean metal and explosives, not dark science, not necromancy, not foul magics. We will not unlock ancient seals to reach for the forbidden.

He was completely unaware of the irony of his thoughts.