Chapter 894 - 893: The Blood Angels' Jump Pack Assault Squads Became Food for the Flying Spiders; We Wind-blesseds Are Far Better at Flying

After Szczesny, Chapter Master of the Ninth, and his Honour Guard had repelled an attack by a group of Megarachnids, they discovered a vast clearing in the grasslands.

Dozens of square kilometers of red sand lay exposed, with no grass taking root.

Szczesny stopped, his custom-made Cataphractii-pattern Terminator Armor's hundreds of plates of finest alloy clicking as he bent and picked up a triangular, slightly curved shard of colored glass.

It was smooth and rounded, with machine-cut notches along its edges.

An Astartes helmet visor. Mark III Iron pattern.

Not a Shadows of Order's pattern... a Blood Angel's. From Frome's three companies.

"Alert!" Szczesny's gruff voice carried on the wind.

He looked up sharply. The violent Shieldstorm was gathering overhead, bolts of furious lightning snaking through the thick clouds.

"Disperse!" Szczesny shouted.

No sooner had he given the command than forks of lightning split the air and struck down.

The pale yellow glare painted the sky, lashing out at the Shadows of Order.

The "Wind-blesseds" called the wind, its silent force swirling around their Cataphractii armor.

A gale formed rapidly, lifting them skyward.

Crackle...

The explosive, roaring current carved deep trenches, blasting scorched, pitch-black pits into the sand.

The storm above grew more violent, pressing down like a mountain.

Nicholas, the storm psyker, raised his arms. The Fenrisian runes of frost blazed to life.

Boom, boom, boom...

The thunderstorm clashed a kilometer above, rumbling and rippling.

Ripples, like javelins, struck the ground, melting the sand into translucent pits.

Tick, tick, tick...

The chittering of the Megarachnids filled the air. A thousand xenos, their long, transparent wings vibrating, descended from the sky.

Their rapidly beating wings produced a deafening drone, seemingly unaffected by the storm.

Szczesny, the "Ocean Songster," glided nimbly through the air, dodging a dozen pale lightning bolts, surveying the area.

The flying spiders were bulkier than their ground-dwelling kin. Their four blade-like forelegs were folded against their chests, like cold, hooked scythes.

They formed a rapidly contracting grey ring, closing in from all sides.

'You can fly. So can we.'

"Mask of Fury!"

The Fury-masked warriors, their hearts pounding, their blood surging with adrenaline, let out guttural roars.

"Ha!" The Furies, now adept at donning their Masks of Fury, no longer needed the preliminary Mask of Wrath they had used during the Second Rangdan War on the prime planet.

Szczesny felt the roar of the Furies coalesce into a howling gale. "Nuceria-anesthetic!"

The Furies raised their tranquilizer guns three times faster than usual, their aim true.

Their bodies surged with power, more potent than any combat stimulant, yet their minds remained cold and sharp. Their sights were locked on the vulnerable necks of the flying spiders.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...

The anesthetic darts screamed through the air.

The Furies' marksmanship, unmatched in the Shadows of Order, guided every dart to its mark.

One by one, the spiders wobbled, their wedge-shaped heads drooping, crashing to the ground in clouds of red sand.

The surviving flying spiders banked, attacking from the sides and rear.

Their four arms reached out, grasping for the black-armored warriors.

The Furies, their obsidian eyes tracking the lightning-fast lunges, channeled their spirituality, creating swirling gusts to evade while unleashing a storm of precise darts.

Bang, bang, bang...

One flying spider after another fell into the red sand, their grey ring rapidly thinning.

The spider with the most prominent cephalothorax let out a piercing shriek. The thunderous beat of its wings sent tremors through the "Wind-blesseds'" diaphragms.

It lurched backward, evading the darts.

It lunged, its hooked claws digging into a Fury's Cataphractii armor.

The tips of the hooks scraped against ethereal layers, slipping.

The Fury, knocked off balance, was about to shake the spider free when two of the outer hooks pierced his vambrace, meeting the inner hooks.

It lifted him, rising sharply.

The other flying spiders broke away, converging around it.

Szczesny's eyes narrowed. The intelligence from the Black Emperor had noted that the more prominent the cephalothorax, the stronger the spider and the higher its status.

The "Ocean Songster's" hair stood on end, crackling with electricity.

The sky above him darkened, clouds gathering, lightning leaping.

A bolt of silver lightning, from the "Ocean Songster," gathered with a bolt from the clouds, merging.

The lightning, like an arrow, struck the neck of the spider with the most prominent cephalothorax.

Boom!

Ichor sprayed, spattering the Fury's Cataphractii armor.

He spun and fell, channeling his spirituality.

The wind within him howled, slowing his fall.

The "Wind-blessed" hovered, watching the fleeing flying spiders.

"Their leader is dead, but they are not scattering. They are all fleeing in the same direction," Nicholas's voice, like scraping steel, cut through the air.

"They are heading for the Thorn-Tree Nest," Szczesny's gruff voice boomed. He rode the gale, pursuing the fleeing spiders.

He moved with the wind, reaching the edge of the clearing in moments.

A white outline caught his eye.

Szczesny focused on four massive, white thorn-trees.

Red-armored Astartes were impaled on their giant thorns. Unlike normal trees, these thorns didn't branch from the trunk.

Each thorn grew from the tree's base, piercing the Blood Angels.

Immature spiders clung to the thorns, their hooked beaks tearing through Mark III Iron pattern armor to taste the flesh.

Blood dripped from the white thorns, staining the shattered wings and broken jump packs.

'Frome's jump pack assault squad. My Lord mentioned that captured Astartes are hung on these thorn-trees.'

'The Blood Angels' jump pack assault squads became food for the flying spiders. We Wind-blesseds are far better at flying.'

Szczesny's throat vibrated, and he opened his mouth.

Rumble...

A blast of sound, and the spiders froze, their transparent wings still as glass.

Bang, bang, bang...

They crashed to the ground, among the shattered Blood Angel armor.

The sound faded. Szczesny caught his breath and addressed Nicholas.

"My Lord commanded us to report to him when we find the white thorn-trees."

"I will contact the Shadow's Sovereignty immediately."

Nicholas landed on the red sand, his breathing steady as he entered the Second Level of the Magnus state.

He raised his force staff. As a non-telepath, he had to rely on his psychic hood's array to amplify his psychic projection to penetrate the cloud cover.

The crystal net around his head grew hot, his hair matted with sweat, as his obsidian eyes shot a beam of light skyward.

....

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