Admin
Fabala
DaKittyNinja
Skyguard
vietmyke
Mello
OliveYou
rush99999
puddingpunter
ChronicleMan
Kirah
"How fer te the officer's bredge?" Alcander asked, removing the magazine from his firearm and racking the slide back, followed by the practiced movement of shoving the mag back in. He was fully loaded. The two had made it to the lift of the grand tech-progenitum without being molested, acting as if business was usual until the guard at the lift had halted them. When Jocasta rang out the clearance code and it did not work, the guard pulled a gun on them, but Jocasta stomped on his foot and Alcander elbowed him in the face in quick succession, leaving him blacked out on the floor. The green-haired vixen took control of the panel and called down the lift herself. They were inside within the minute.
"Once we reach the top? Less than a quarter-klom." She said with a hint of hopefulness. Alcander wished he shared her enthusiasm, he wasn't sure how confident he was. The shadows of the various tiers slipped by them as they ascended, and she checked her weapon as well. It was a clunky, heavy naval gun, not too dissimilar to his large double action. "We're passing up the Arboretum and the underbelly of the Cathedral now. You expect more trouble?"
Alcander was quiet for a moment as the lift slowed to a crawl, the level easing into place before there was a bellowing hiss of air and a mechanism cranking behind them to indicate the archway was about to open. Alcander held his autogun out, right hand on the holster and left hand steadying it, knees lightly bent. "I havenae been wreng mech before, on tha' scoor."
The door slid open, and bright beams from multiple lumens strapped to lascarbines streamed onto the floor of the lift, illuminating swathes of the dimly lit chamber as a squad of six men led forward a sortie in formation. They had been expecting company, layered with carapace armor and plasteel face helms, visored by infra-lenses. Expensive equipment for door guards. If Alcander and Jocasta had been standing there, they would have been as dead as Sanguinius. However, to the surprise of the assault team, they were nowhere to be found. Each man checked their corner, turned and signaled to their squadmate the coast was clear. The lift was large, but not large enough to lose two targets. After a small conversation in handsigns, one of the men placed a finger to his ear and began to murmur a communique. He stumbled on his words when a small device clocked him in the head, and he placed a hand on his helm before looking down at the mysterious item.
"Frag out!" He screamed, but his men only had time to take two steps before the grenade detonated, shrapnel tearing through their extremities and puncturing the armor of the men in close proximity. Two of the six managed to make it to the wall relatively unharmed as their fellows took the brunt of the explosion, but they were staggered. Alcander slid down the cable he and Jocasta had snagged to the steel veins along the upper wall, calmly taking his time with two well aimed shots to the neck, ending them before they could raise their weapons. Alcander's boots thudded gently on the floor, and after he eyed the corridor outside the lift, he began to rifle through the limp forms of the dead men. He pocketed a few more grenades, and slung a lascarbine onto his shoulder. Behind him, there was a groan, and he spun, his weapon out like lightning, but not fast enough. The wounded man had him dead to rights with a laspistol, before a roar of flames punched into the prone form of the traitor guard, engulfing him in superheated gas. He didn't even have time to scream. One moment he was there, and the next he was charred; incinerated on the spot.
Jocasta slid down right after, smiling happily as she spun her smoking naval gun. Alcander just looked at her. "What? I like the fire."
Suddenly lasbolts and auto rounds singed the wall and ricocheted across the rockcrete, both Jocasta and Alcander diving for cover. Al hit the left outcropping frame of the lift while Jo hit the right. With a few quick glances outwards, the two surmised the corridor leading to the main bridge was covered on a secondary floor four meters upwards on both sides of the run, likely by a dozen guard, and more were believably on their way. Alcander returned fire, but he was stalling to come up with an idea. Jocasta pointed her arm out and fired her weapon with four well-aimed shot, the rounds striking ouslite alcoves and balustrades, erupting in flames. Alcander took that as good enough cover to move, both hands on his weapon as he sprinted out of the lift, rolling behind a statue of Saint Celeste just as a lasbolt singed the ground underneath his feet. After a quick motion to one another, Alcander dropped his gun and pulled out the lascarbine, changing the fire to auto and leaned out of cover, the weapon cracking, sounding like a dozen hammers striking in quick succession as he laid down suppressing fire on the upper floor. Jocasta found refuge behind a stack of utility crates, but not before a lasbolt struck her sidearm as she ran, punching it out of her hands. She cried out and leaped into cover, pushing herself against the barrier as the ensuing fire clattered on the crates like a downpour.
Alcander cursed, but took the opportunity to cook a krak grenade for two precious seconds, before lobbing to the upper level opposite his side. There was a cry of dismay before the concussive explosion rang out. One guard slid across the floor and into view below the railing, and Alcander met his eyes. The traitor tried to scramble away, but Alcander hit him with a burst of lasbolts. "Jo! Ye goot?"
"Yeah!" She said, and when Alcander glanced her way, he saw the woman step out of cover holding a throne-damned hellgun, the entire battery pack firmly strapped to her back. Alcander's jaw dropped as she laid down a hellstorm of fire, the weapon's fire so fast it looked like one, continuous stream of crimson light.
"Wheer weer ye heding tha'!?" Al asked incredulously, but he wasn't so surprised as to not take advantage of the situation, joining her in moving forward, throwing two more frags as the traitors were suddenly pressed, crying out to one another to fall back. But it was slow going, lasbolts striking near Al's feet and Jocasta needing to find alcoves and nooks to regather herself and switch packs. Alcander hit another with a burst from his lascarbine, before his next target was saved when the weapon clicked empty. He groaned and he dropped the weapon before unholstering his autogun once again. As he did so, he peered out from behind the nook of the pillar, and in his vision he caught a sight that caused his stomach to drop. There, up a sweeping staircase upon her throne was Camilla, strapped and struggling, with that bitch Yvraine holding her at gun point.
This wasn't his fight, he kept telling himself. He did not give a damn about this place, but seeing Camilla there, it was like seeing painting of an ecchlesiarchal tragedy. What's more, he was not about to let his employer, a bloody damned princess, and a fun one at that, get killed on his watch. His next words exploded from his throat.
"Princess!" Alcander roared, and he stepped out of cover like a damned fool. A lasbolt snaked by his neck, but he did not see it. All the world faded away as he almost leisurely aimed his gun, bullets raining around his form as if he was blessed like Sebastian Thore himself. He leveled his pistol, a near impossible shot from what had to be two hundred yards. Jo dropped a traitor guard that had leaped out from behind the stairwell to end Alcander, but Al paid it no mind. Instead, as his barrel aligned with the shot, the probator breathed out slowly and pulled the trigger. Five pounds of pressure, his mentor had told him. Five pounds between life and death. His gun kicked back, and the bullet spun like a corkscrew, slicing across Yvraine's cheek and tearing her skin. The seneschal cried out in fear and alarm, but she dropped down as she called for reinforcements, and Alcander's eyes met Camilla's for a brief, infinite moment before time returned to its normal pace, and he spun back into cover before he was ripped to shreds by a hail of lasfire.
"Once we reach the top? Less than a quarter-klom." She said with a hint of hopefulness. Alcander wished he shared her enthusiasm, he wasn't sure how confident he was. The shadows of the various tiers slipped by them as they ascended, and she checked her weapon as well. It was a clunky, heavy naval gun, not too dissimilar to his large double action. "We're passing up the Arboretum and the underbelly of the Cathedral now. You expect more trouble?"
Alcander was quiet for a moment as the lift slowed to a crawl, the level easing into place before there was a bellowing hiss of air and a mechanism cranking behind them to indicate the archway was about to open. Alcander held his autogun out, right hand on the holster and left hand steadying it, knees lightly bent. "I havenae been wreng mech before, on tha' scoor."
The door slid open, and bright beams from multiple lumens strapped to lascarbines streamed onto the floor of the lift, illuminating swathes of the dimly lit chamber as a squad of six men led forward a sortie in formation. They had been expecting company, layered with carapace armor and plasteel face helms, visored by infra-lenses. Expensive equipment for door guards. If Alcander and Jocasta had been standing there, they would have been as dead as Sanguinius. However, to the surprise of the assault team, they were nowhere to be found. Each man checked their corner, turned and signaled to their squadmate the coast was clear. The lift was large, but not large enough to lose two targets. After a small conversation in handsigns, one of the men placed a finger to his ear and began to murmur a communique. He stumbled on his words when a small device clocked him in the head, and he placed a hand on his helm before looking down at the mysterious item.
"Frag out!" He screamed, but his men only had time to take two steps before the grenade detonated, shrapnel tearing through their extremities and puncturing the armor of the men in close proximity. Two of the six managed to make it to the wall relatively unharmed as their fellows took the brunt of the explosion, but they were staggered. Alcander slid down the cable he and Jocasta had snagged to the steel veins along the upper wall, calmly taking his time with two well aimed shots to the neck, ending them before they could raise their weapons. Alcander's boots thudded gently on the floor, and after he eyed the corridor outside the lift, he began to rifle through the limp forms of the dead men. He pocketed a few more grenades, and slung a lascarbine onto his shoulder. Behind him, there was a groan, and he spun, his weapon out like lightning, but not fast enough. The wounded man had him dead to rights with a laspistol, before a roar of flames punched into the prone form of the traitor guard, engulfing him in superheated gas. He didn't even have time to scream. One moment he was there, and the next he was charred; incinerated on the spot.
Jocasta slid down right after, smiling happily as she spun her smoking naval gun. Alcander just looked at her. "What? I like the fire."
Suddenly lasbolts and auto rounds singed the wall and ricocheted across the rockcrete, both Jocasta and Alcander diving for cover. Al hit the left outcropping frame of the lift while Jo hit the right. With a few quick glances outwards, the two surmised the corridor leading to the main bridge was covered on a secondary floor four meters upwards on both sides of the run, likely by a dozen guard, and more were believably on their way. Alcander returned fire, but he was stalling to come up with an idea. Jocasta pointed her arm out and fired her weapon with four well-aimed shot, the rounds striking ouslite alcoves and balustrades, erupting in flames. Alcander took that as good enough cover to move, both hands on his weapon as he sprinted out of the lift, rolling behind a statue of Saint Celeste just as a lasbolt singed the ground underneath his feet. After a quick motion to one another, Alcander dropped his gun and pulled out the lascarbine, changing the fire to auto and leaned out of cover, the weapon cracking, sounding like a dozen hammers striking in quick succession as he laid down suppressing fire on the upper floor. Jocasta found refuge behind a stack of utility crates, but not before a lasbolt struck her sidearm as she ran, punching it out of her hands. She cried out and leaped into cover, pushing herself against the barrier as the ensuing fire clattered on the crates like a downpour.
Alcander cursed, but took the opportunity to cook a krak grenade for two precious seconds, before lobbing to the upper level opposite his side. There was a cry of dismay before the concussive explosion rang out. One guard slid across the floor and into view below the railing, and Alcander met his eyes. The traitor tried to scramble away, but Alcander hit him with a burst of lasbolts. "Jo! Ye goot?"
"Yeah!" She said, and when Alcander glanced her way, he saw the woman step out of cover holding a throne-damned hellgun, the entire battery pack firmly strapped to her back. Alcander's jaw dropped as she laid down a hellstorm of fire, the weapon's fire so fast it looked like one, continuous stream of crimson light.
"Wheer weer ye heding tha'!?" Al asked incredulously, but he wasn't so surprised as to not take advantage of the situation, joining her in moving forward, throwing two more frags as the traitors were suddenly pressed, crying out to one another to fall back. But it was slow going, lasbolts striking near Al's feet and Jocasta needing to find alcoves and nooks to regather herself and switch packs. Alcander hit another with a burst from his lascarbine, before his next target was saved when the weapon clicked empty. He groaned and he dropped the weapon before unholstering his autogun once again. As he did so, he peered out from behind the nook of the pillar, and in his vision he caught a sight that caused his stomach to drop. There, up a sweeping staircase upon her throne was Camilla, strapped and struggling, with that bitch Yvraine holding her at gun point.
This wasn't his fight, he kept telling himself. He did not give a damn about this place, but seeing Camilla there, it was like seeing painting of an ecchlesiarchal tragedy. What's more, he was not about to let his employer, a bloody damned princess, and a fun one at that, get killed on his watch. His next words exploded from his throat.
"Princess!" Alcander roared, and he stepped out of cover like a damned fool. A lasbolt snaked by his neck, but he did not see it. All the world faded away as he almost leisurely aimed his gun, bullets raining around his form as if he was blessed like Sebastian Thore himself. He leveled his pistol, a near impossible shot from what had to be two hundred yards. Jo dropped a traitor guard that had leaped out from behind the stairwell to end Alcander, but Al paid it no mind. Instead, as his barrel aligned with the shot, the probator breathed out slowly and pulled the trigger. Five pounds of pressure, his mentor had told him. Five pounds between life and death. His gun kicked back, and the bullet spun like a corkscrew, slicing across Yvraine's cheek and tearing her skin. The seneschal cried out in fear and alarm, but she dropped down as she called for reinforcements, and Alcander's eyes met Camilla's for a brief, infinite moment before time returned to its normal pace, and he spun back into cover before he was ripped to shreds by a hail of lasfire.
