Part 8
Uirus' home was a cavern. While he was not as learned in architecture as an Iron Warrior or Imperial Fist might have been, he knew enough to find a suitably sturdy cavern large enough to contain his bulk, while also leaving room for future expansion if he sought to carve it.
The robes he had arrived in whatever place this was had become worn and tattered over the months of wear, so he'd sought out a material with which to either repair them or make more. He'd found it in the form of the strange leaves of trees that had begun to appear on and around his mountain, particularly in the valley between it and another that faced it. They were enormous, easily large enough to almost act as a small blanket for a mortal, and suitably sturdy, almost like animal hide. He had stitched several together, poorly, and managed to make for himself a set of pants and an ill-fitting, sleeveless tunic.
It had been raining upon his mountain home for close to a day. Each raindrop was larger than it would be on a standard gravity world, being close to the size of a mortal's thumb. The cave sat high on the side of the mountain on a relatively solid and rocky face, which he'd specifically chosen to avoid risking a mudslide from covering the entrance.
It was on the dawn of the next day that the rain finally subsided and the clouds broke overhead. Uirus rose as the last drops of water spilled over the entrance of his home, grabbing the belt where a sheathed stone dagger rested and securing it around his waist. He had yet to find anything other than plant life on this moon, neither animal or fungus appearing to exist, but he had little wish to encounter anything new without a weapon.
He headed down to the valley, carrying a basket woven from the vines some of the other trees had on his back, eyes scanning the surrounding wilderness.
The one who had once been known as the Emissary stepped from his cavern home, which sat near the base of the mountain. While he'd have preferred a higher spot to provide better visibility, the dangers of a rockslide, not to mention the inconvenience of hiking down so far to reach the river-carved valley where food and fresh water could be found, had made that implausible.
Dressed in well-stitched robes made from the large leaves that hung like flaps from some of the trees, he looked about himself, clutching a stone spear, a sling hanging at his waist next to a small pouch that held a number of pointed stones. The small clearing outside his adopted home, the entrance of which he'd covered with vines and a few sticks as camouflage, was empty as it always was. However, while he'd yet to encounter anything besides plant life, he had little wish to encounter anything new without a weapon.
He headed down the short distance into the valley, an empty satchel large enough to carry a day's worth of fruits and other useful materials he might find slung over his back.
Uirus studied the forest of the valley around him, drawing close to the river where the ripest fruits could be found. These trips for food were rare but they brought him something approaching satisfaction. The air was crisp and smelled sweet and the wind felt good on his skin. Most of his life had been spent encased in power armor and in ventilated corridors and halls, not the open wilderness. He had hunted before of course, but those had always had purpose driving him forward, a clear target set by others. This was different.
His eyes turned upwards, finding many fruits hanging from the trees. Some looked similar to fruits he had known and had similar tastes, but each was slightly off. Most were low enough that he just needed to reach up and grab them. He bit into one, enjoying the sweet taste while his other hand continued to pick fruits and set them into his basket. While he didn't need to eat very often, he had taken to gathering the fruits and experimenting with them, whether for the purposes of cooking or alchemy. He'd had little success on the latter efforts, as his sorcerous abilities still remained beyond him. While he retained his psychic gifts, however, those powers were too weak to accomplish much of anything beyond rustling leaves.
The river was overflowing from the rain, resulting in some of the trees toppling over as their roots were ill-suited to the mud. Detritus had begun to pile up within the river, catching on itself and he frowned. It had rained before on this moon. The local fauna, especially the fauna near the river, should have adapted to such things long before his arrival. Yet, multiple trees just within sight had been torn down.
He removed his belt and set it and the dagger it held in the basket, which he placed firmly beyond the mud. He stripped off his leafy garb as well, as he did not wish to be forced to stich a new set of clothes. Then, he stepped into the river, wading forward to where the largest build-up had been. If nothing was done, a dam would be formed by the debris and further destruction would be caused to his source of food.
He began pushing and pulling the trunks of trees and large bundles of branches, mostly to the sides of the river. The water was deep, nearly coming up to his chin in some areas, but moving relatively slowly.
For around an hour, that was all he did, shoring up the banks of the river with the debris, positioning larger pieces to not be caught up so easily by the river's pull. However, as he was about to leave, something he saw out of the corner of his eye made him stop.
He waded over to a log he'd pushed aside, taking a second look. There were gouges in the wood, gouges that couldn't have been made by river current or debris. There were two, each roughly the size of his closed fist and around a meter apart. The wood had not been broken by blunt force, but stabbed and sliced into as if by a steel blade.
His eyes narrowed and he went to retrieve his dagger.
The one who had once been the Emissary let out a soft yawn as he approached the river. It was early in the day for him and even after many months he was still getting used to having a biological clock rather than a mechanical one. Not that he was complaining. He preferred not to think about that time.
His satchel was already mostly full of fruit, but he'd yet to carve a bucket for catching rainwater and so needed to make one final stop before he headed back. Drinking river water was unsanitary, but he could start a fire to kill anything living in it. The last thing he needed was to receive the Plague Lord's blessings so far from civilization.
When he reached the river, however, he came to a halt, his eyes narrowing. Debris littered the mud-filled bank. That wasn't too surprising, there had just been a fairly large shower of rain after all, but the debris wasn't cast-off. It was too organized, too evenly placed.
He heard shifting branches above him and whirled about, lifting his spear just in time to see a mass drop down between himself and the path he'd taken. It was a human man, but far larger and he thought at first it might be an Ogryn, only to realize with even greater horror that it wasn't.
What in the Omnissiah's name was a Space Marine doing here?
Uirus pulled his head to the side as the spear thrusted out towards his face. While his skin was strong enough to ignore such a weapon, his eyes were not so durable.
"Hold, mortal," Uirus growled, but despite the fear in the man's face he showed no signs of relenting. Perhaps he did not speak low Gothic? The man was dressed in primitive dress, similar to if more finely wrought than what Uirus himself had taken to wearing.
The man stabbed again at Uirus' face but this time the Space Marine caught the spear between his thumb and forefinger. With a simple twist, the speartip snapped off and fell to the ground. His eyes narrowed again. Such a tool could not have made the marks he'd seen.
The man scrambled back, this time going for a weapon at his waist, a sling it seemed. Uirus withheld the urge to roll his eyes.
He inhaled, preparing to shout his order again with enough force to stun, but the sound of creaking wood made him pause. He turned and looked into the forest, eyes narrowing. Something was coming, something large enough to cause the trees to sway and creak as it brushed past them.
He drew the dagger from his belt. The trees stilled. A glance told him the other man had heard the noise as well, the mortal's eyes going wide even as he drew the sling and a few sharp stones from his satchel.
The glance was a mistake. As his eyes turned back towards the forest, something large was already rushing forwards, fast.
His first thought was that it was a boar, as he saw it had a pair of tusks, gleaming white, emerging from the sides of its mouth. However, that thought only lasted an instant. Brown scales, golden eyes, and a wide maw that opened to reveal four fangs each the length of his forearm told him this was a serpent.
He leapt to the side, rolling back onto his feet as the serpent almost flew through the air, jaws snapping shut where he'd been standing a moment earlier. It was enormous, easily twenty meters long and wide enough to swallow him whole. Despite its sheer size, it was as fast as he was.
Its titanic tail whipped around, fast enough that all he could do was pull his arm up to guard his head, slamming into him and sending him flying through the air. He slammed into the trunk of a tree with enough force to cause it to fall over. His bones ached, but he was already standing, dagger still in hand.
It coiled around itself once more then sprung forwards, once more attempting to swallow him. He was ready this time and dodged to the side, plunging his dagger down into its back. Yet, the stone blade shattered against the tough scales and the serpent turned to wrap itself around him. It squeezed with terrible strength and he grunted as he felt both the bones in both arms break from the force.
He expected it to continue, to squeeze until he was motionless pulp that it could easily swallow, but instead it whipped its body around again and flung him with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. He could already feel his bones starting to reknit themselves, but such things would take days. Nonethless, he rose to his feet, feeling his muscles tear themselves open on sharp bone and heal again in seconds as he forced his arms into a fighting stance.
The serpent considered him, tilting its head to the side in a way that was almost human. Then, slowly, almost languidly, it slithered forward, rearing its head up and far out of reach, glaring down at him with terrible eyes.
Uirus tried to reach out to its mind, tried to brush against its will with his psychic powers, his last hope. Before he could react, the serpent's tail lashed forward again and slammed him into the ground. He started to rise again, but the beast coiled around him again, seemingly intent this time on squeezing him to death.
The sound of stone scraping scale drew the attention of both Astartes and serpent, their gazes each turning towards the source of the flying rock, the human from earlier, holding a sling in trembling hands.
Well, he's dead, Uirus thought. The serpent's mouth opened and a deep hiss that reverberated through Uirus' bones filled the air, almost like vox-static yet deeper and less synthesized. The man quailed even as the serpent moved towards him, slowly, playfully, all while keeping Uirus locked in a coil of its body, tightly enough that he'd have begun to asphyxiate already if he were not an Astartes.
The man quickly prepared another stone, but it would be pointless Uirus knew. The man would die and then he would.
The serpent rose to its full height, its mouth opening wide, wide enough to swallow an Astartes in Terminator plate whole. The man loosed the stone from the sling and the serpent's maw plummeted towards him.
The man who had once been the Emissary stared at the serpent. The serpent stared back with its one remaining eye, motionless. The ruin of its other eye, where the stone had embedded itself deep, was little more than a bloody mess.
The beast's body shuddered then went limp. The pair of tusks it had seemed to droop, seemingly articulated by bones and muscles within the mouth almost like its four fangs.
He wasn't sure how long he was sitting there, the only sound his own panicked breathing. At some point, he realized the Astartes was there as well, freed from the snake, staring down at him and the serpent, seemingly just as stunned.
That… that worked? He wondered to himself. The Astartes was most likely thinking the same thing.
When the Space Marine moved, it was slowly, but any movement made him jump back, preparing for a new attack. Yet, the giant simply held up his hands in a peaceful way that seemed entirely opposite of its existence. That the giant's arms were a mangled mess thanks to the snake made it more intimidating than friendly.
"I mean no harm," the Astartes said. "Do you understand me?"
"I… I do," he replied. Should he run? No, there was no point. Even wounded, there was no way he could outrun, let alone outfight an Astartes. What in the world had possessed him to try and fight the snake?
"I was not aware there were others on this moon," the Space Marine said before gesturing to himself. "I am Uirus."
Ahsael's lieutenant. Something about the recognition must have shown on his face, because Uirus's face grew stoney.
"You know me," the Astartes said. It wasn't a question.
"I… I do."
"Then, given you have not immediately attacked or fled, may I assume you are also a worshipper of the Architect of Fate?" Uirus asked, his voice neutral.
"I'm… I'm not," he replied truthfully. There was no point in lying either. "But I have no wish to be your enemy."
Uirus' eyes glanced at the serpent. "I was unaware there were any animals on this moon either. Have you encountered such things before?"
"No," he said. "I don't know what that was or where it came from."
"I see," Uirus said, with a nod of what at least looked like respect. "It was a good kill. May I ask who you are?"
Once more, he considered lying, then thought better of it.
"Lukas," he said.
