The fingers of his left hand had not yet healed sufficiently to wield the long sword. Instead, he drew one of the Swordsman's iron blades and gripped Soulhunger in his weaker hand.
Here goes nothing.
With all the speed he could muster, he dashed around the corner of the passage and charged toward the Dark Heresiarchs. His soft boots made no sound on the tunnel floor, and he whispered a silent blessing on the cobbler who had made them.
Soulhunger throbbed weakly in his mind, and the voice in his head and the weight of the dagger in his hand comforted him. He just needed to get close enough to sink the blade into one of the Dark Heresiarchs.
The Hunter waited until he was within a dozen paces of the Dark Heresiarchs before hurling the Swordsman's blade. Even as he released it, he knew the cast had been poor, but it was enough. The crossguard slammed into the face of one Heresiarch, and the man dropped, clutching at his broken nose.
Before the other Heresiarchs knew what was happening, the Hunter was upon them. He lashed out with Soulhunger, and the dagger's tip sank deep into the back of the nearest guard. The blade slid through the man's ribs and sliced the smooth muscle of the heart. The Dark Heresiarch died with a blood-curdling scream.
Power rushed through the Hunter, flooding him with strength and vitality. As the first Dark Heresiarch slumped, the Hunter's right hand—now fully healed—tugged his sword free of its sheath.
"The Hunter!" one of the Dark Heresiarchs gasped, his eyes going wide.
"Stop him!" shouted another guard. The Heresiarch had more courage than good sense, for he lunged forward to cross swords with the Hunter without waiting for his companions to join him. He died in seconds, blood spurting from a long gash in his neck.
Two more guards found their nerve and, drawing heavy swords, rushed the Hunter. He fended off their attacks, waiting for an opening. But when he saw a third man struggling to clear his blade from its sheath, he knew it was time to change tactics. The last thing he wanted was a long, drawn out struggle; he could not allow the First to escape.
The Hunter leapt forward, sword held high, a growl of rage bursting from his lips. One of the Dark Heresiarchs' swords slipped past the Hunter's guard, slicing a deep gash in his stomach. The Hunter's shout of pain blended with the guard's wet gurgle as the Hunter buried his sword in the man's throat. The other Heresiarch swung high, and the Hunter thrust Soulhunger between his ribs. The Dark Heresiarchs fell in unison.
Fear filled the faces of the last two men, but the Hunter gave them no time to flee. He laid open the thick artery in the arm of the first guard, who screamed and clutched at the wound a vain effort to stanch the torrent of blood.
The last Heresiarch proved more proficient with the sword than his companions; he managed to hold off the Hunter's strikes for a few moments, even landing a lucky blow across the Hunter's forehead. A contemptuous slash of the Hunter's sword sent the guard's blade wide, and Soulhunger thrust in for the kill.
The Hunter watched with pitiless eyes as the guard slumped to the floor. The weight of his falling body wrenched the bloody dagger free of his chest. Soulhunger's voice returned as it drank deep of the man's lifeblood, the blade throbbing in the back of the Hunter's mind.
Breathing deeply, he let the thrill of battle wash over him. But instead of exulting in the rush of death, the Hunter felt sick. He remembered that overwhelming force that had drawn the power in Soulhunger's blade downward. Once again, he heard the thump, thump of an immense heart beating.
The First said that every life taken feeds Kharna, he thought with a shudder, the god who would rule the world or destroy it. I am the blade of the Destroyer, and I wield the weapon that will bring about his return.
He took deep, shuddering breaths, fighting down the desire to vomit.
How many more have to die before the Destroyer returns? Can I refrain from using Soulhunger to kill, and thereby prevent his return?
No, I cannot, he told himself. I do what I must.
Though his justification rang hollow, he ignored the nagging guilt in his mind. He needed the power the blade offered if he was to put an end to the First, the Bloody Hand, and the Dark Heresy once and for all.
I do this for Farida. I will stop once I have avenged her death.
He stepped over the lifeless forms of the Dark Heresiarchs who had dared to stop him. Their blood stained the stone floor in an ever-widening pool of red, and his boots left grim prints in the dust. He only paused long enough to retrieve the Swordsman's blade from the ground before striding into the darkness of the tunnels.
I will finish this, no matter how long it takes to hunt down the demon.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
"How many more of you are there?" the Hunter shouted, slamming the hilt of his sword into the Dark Heresiarch's mangled face.
The man cried out in pain, but refused to speak. Blood stained his robes from a deep wound in his side and trickled down his heavy bearded face from a split lip. His left eye had already swollen beneath the Hunter's abuse.
"Tell me what I need to know," the Hunter said, cutting off the man's cries with another blow, "and I may spare you the fate of your companions."
Four bodies littered the room, still bleeding and dying in the wake of the Hunter's violent onslaught. In his hunt for the First, the Hunter had stumbled upon this second Dark Heresiarch patrol. All lay dead save for the man bleeding on the floor.
"Now, are you going to tell me," the Hunter snarled, "or do I have to cut it out of you? No doubt you know what this can do?" He held Soulhunger up before the man's eyes.
The blade glinted in the flickering torchlight, and the Dark Heresiarch's eyes widened. "No," begged the man, "please don't!" The acrid stench of urine wafted up, mixing with the reek of sweat-soaked terror.
"Not so tough, are you?" the Hunter mocked. "Can't blame you there, knowing what Soulhunger can do." He placed the tip of the dagger beneath the man's eyeball and pressed it into the skin—hard enough to draw blood. The Dark Heresiarch's shrieks echoed through the tunnel as Soulhunger drank.
"Now," the Hunter shouted, "you were saying?"
"All right," the Dark Heresiarch pleaded, his voice filled with fear. "Just take that damned blade away!"
The Hunter sheathed Soulhunger. "There. Now talk, or I will be forced to use the dagger on you. How many more of you are there?"
The Dark Heresiarch coughed, a wet sound that brought up flecks of blood. "A dozen," he said. "A dozen in the tunnels, plus another few spread around the city."
"That's it?" the Hunter asked, surprised. "I'd have thought the dreaded Dark Heresy had more than a handful of idiots working for them."
"Damn you, Hunter," the Dark Heresiarch spat through bloodstained teeth.
"That's not very polite, is it?" the Hunter asked, a vicious grin spreading across his face. "Don't make me angry. When I get angry, bad things happen."
Soulhunger slipped from its sheath with a whisper of pleasure, and the Hunter pressed the blade's tip into the Dark Heresiarch's kidney.
"You'll never stop us all!" the guard managed to shout between cries. "You can kill us, but the Demon will just gather more to his side."
The Hunter slipped the blade from the man's side and stared down at the pitiful, bleeding figure. "Your Demon is dead," he said, a vicious grin on his face, "or he soon will be."
"Dead?" the Dark Heresiarch asked, shock registering in his face. "You can't…"
"But I will!" the Hunter snarled, cutting him off. He raised Soulhunger high, and the Heresiarch's eyes widened in fear.
"You p—"
His screams drowned out his last words as the Hunter thrust Soulhunger into his chest. The cries faded and soon died altogether.
A feral grin twisted the Hunter's lips. "I lied."
* * *
He'd spent hours in relentless pursuit of the First, but the Hunter sensed he was finally getting close.
Once the First has met his end, there will be none seeking to return the demon hor
de to this world.
Tane's words flashed through his mind.
“You have no idea how many of us walk this world,” he said. How many demons are there on the face of Einan?
He pushed that thought aside, returning his mind to the hunt for the First. He would have to track Celicia down as well, along with any remnants of the Bloody Hand still living. They, too, must face justice.
The Hunter raced through the tunnels, his sensitive nostrils searching for the scent of decay that marked the First's escape route. He consulted the map in his head. He had a pretty good idea where the First would try to exit the tunnels. He was determined to be there before the demon could disappear.
As he ran, he basked in the power coursing through his body. Soulhunger had claimed many lives, driving away his pain and healing his injuries. He felt stronger than he had in a long time.
He ground to a halt at an intersection, his feet skidding on the smooth stone floor. He filled his lungs with air, inhaling through his nostrils in an attempt to pick up the smell again. A cross breeze from one of the tunnels brought him the barest hint of the First's scent.
There! The odor, while faint, held a distinctive smell of decay. Found you, you bastard.
Smiling, he raced up the tunnel. The smell grew stronger with each step, and he knew his quarry was close. Footfalls sounded in the empty corridors. He hastened onward, and the tunnels echoed the gentle clanking of his weapons in their well-wrapped sheaths.
The light of a torch far in the distance cast eerie shadows along the tunnel walls.
There he is!
The Hunter sprinted through the tunnels, heedless of his surroundings. He had eyes only for the light ahead, and the man carrying the torch.
I've got you now, you bastard!
He drew Soulhunger, but the blade remained silent—sated by the lives it had consumed. Moonlight shone at the far end of the tunnel. He had to cut off the First's escape.
So close, you coward, and yet so far!
Something caused the First to glance over his shoulder, and his eyes widened in shock at sight of the Hunter. He dropped the torch and fumbled for the elaborate sword at his side. As the weapon whispered from its sheath, his expression changed from astonishment—and a hint of fear—to calm confidence. The demon held the blade with familiar ease, his stance relaxed.
"You're not getting away that easily," the Hunter snarled. Dried blood still coated his face and clothes, but he didn't care. He had only one thought in his mind: to kill the man—no, the creature—before him.
"So," the First said, a note of surprise in his voice, "you killed Tane." The demon eyed Soulhunger with wary eyes, his expression haughty and disdainful as he regarded the gore-covered Hunter. "You may have killed him, but you can't possibly expect to kill me! For every year you have lived, I have lived a dozen. For every life you have taken, I have killed thousands. You have no idea how many have died at my hands." He bared his teeth in a snarl of rage. "Would you be one more?"
"You slaughtered humans like sheep," the Hunter spat. "You killed my friends."
"Those filthy creatures should mean nothing to you. We are family. You are not human," the First said, a tone of pride in his voice, "you are something much more. You are the spawn of the greatest race ever to walk this pitiful world. Embrace who you are."
"My blood may be accursed," the Hunter said, slowly, "but I will not be manipulated by a creature like you." His spittle landed in the dirt between the First's feet.
"So the great Hunter turns his back on who he is," the First mocked. "He disowns his blood to play the hero, the protector."
The Hunter gritted his teeth. "I am no protector, Demon," he snarled, pounding his chest with bestial ferocity. "I am the Hunter, and tonight, you are my prey."
"Brave words, Hunter," the First snarled, "but once again you choose poorly. I will relish feeding your blood to my blade, as yours has fed on so many before."
For the first time, the Hunter truly looked at the First's sword. Steel burned bright in the flickering torchlight. The graceful blade seemed almost alive in the demon's hand. Symbols in a language the Hunter had never seen were etched clearly into the steel. He stared at the markings, his skin crawling.
Soulhunger pulsed in the Hunter's hand, screaming of desire. The sword echoed the dagger's whispers. With a horrified sinking in his gut, the Hunter realized the sword was as alive as his own blade. The two blades joined their murderous voices as one, and the din threatened to overwhelm the Hunter's senses.
"I see fear in your eyes, Hunter," the First said, smiling. "Before Thanal Eth' Athaur ever was, this blade had drunk the blood of thousands. It is older than this world, and its power is beyond your comprehension."
The Hunter, fighting to pull his gaze away from the blade, locked eyes with the First. He drew one of the Swordsman's blades in his offhand. The pain of the iron distracted him from the pounding voices in his head.
"Your sword hasn't done you any good," the Hunter growled. "After all, your precious Destroyer has yet to return."
"Perhaps not," the First said calmly, "but all that changes now that I have found you. Your blood is all we need to restore the Destroyer to this world."
"You'll have to take me first, Demon," the Hunter snarled.
"I always loved that name," the First mused. "The 'Demon of Voramis' they called me. Perhaps a bit on the nose, but apt." He gave the Hunter a condescending smile and a salute of the demonic blade. "Farewell, Hunter. You have been a valuable tool, but your usefulness has run out this night."
The First attacked, striking so quickly that the Hunter found himself retreating before he could raise a defense. He twisted away from the First's thrust to his midsection and nearly slipped as he ducked beneath a blow that would have opened his throat.
He counterattacked with Soulhunger, slipping it between the First's guard, striking for soft tissue and vital organs. The First interposed his own blade, batting the dagger aside and opening the Hunter's guard for a riposte. Only the Hunter's reflexes saved him. He barely managed to raise the iron blade in time to turn away a strike meant to pierce his eye.
The First stared at his sword in disbelief. Smoke rose from the blade where the Swordsman's dagger had touched it. The iron corroded the accursed sword with every contact.
"You may just find me harder to kill than you had expected, Demon." The Hunter spat the last word as an insult, but the First only grinned.
"Beware hubris, Hunter," he said, "for that is what has led you here in the first place."
The First renewed the attack, his sword whirling impossibly fast yet with near-perfect precision. With horror, the Hunter realized the demon had only been measuring his skill.
I barely managed to survive Tane! He barely blocked a vicious slash aimed at his throat, and a flash of fear raced through him. Can I survive again?
Their swords clashed in a flurry of steel and iron. The ringing of their blades echoed loudly through the empty passages. The Hunter retreated, barely able to stay out of reach of the First's longer blade. His chances of winning were slim, but he was determined to fight on.
The iron blade in his offhand lent him both an advantage and disadvantage. It would break under a direct blow from the First's long sword, but the accursed steel smoked every time the Swordsman's blade touched it. He defended with Soulhunger, using the iron blade solely as an offensive weapon.
In desperation, he changed tactics. He leapt backward, well out of the First's reach. He quickly sheathed Soulhunger, passed the iron blade to his left hand, and drew his sword.
Confidence flooded him at the familiar feel of the sword, and he launched a storm of steel, striking at the First with blows faster than the eye could follow. For a moment, the Hunter saw fear on the demon's face as the iron blade whistled past his eye. But the First recovered quickly, and the Hunter was forced back once more.
The slim sword in the First's hand hummed in the air, carving deadly arcs around the Hunter. The demon moved wit
h the grace of a fencing master, but fought with the savagery of a warrior. Only the Hunter's desperate speed saved him from the demon's blade. After long minutes of furious struggle, the combatants finally broke apart.
"My my," panted the First, "it seems you are determined to die here."
"I will not die," retorted the Hunter, his lungs burning, "not until I have repaid you for what you did to those I care about."
Not willing to allow the First a moment to recover, the Hunter attacked again with a roar of rage. Every muscle in his body ached, but anger stoked the fires within him. His sword sang as he slashed at the First with a series of concerted strikes that pushed the demon against the tunnel wall.
Real fear flashed in the First's eyes as the Hunter battered his guard. The Swordsman's iron dagger slammed over and over into the demonic sword. The accursed blade smoked and withered, yet it refused to break. The First desperately tried to protect himself, but the fury of the Hunter's sword overpowered him.
The Hunter finally broke through the First's guard with a thrust that pierced the demon's eye and sliced into his brain. The impact slammed the demon's head against the stone wall and his body flopped limply—the nerves in his brain severed. The accursed sword dropped from insensate fingers.
Panting, his face twisted with rage, the Hunter stared down at the unmoving figure at his feet. He raised the Swordsman's blade, preparing to drive it deep into the man's other eye before he could recover. He would have justice for Farida and the others.
"Heal from this, you bastard," the Hunter said.
Pain shot up his spine. His body suddenly jerked, going rigid. His knees buckled and he fell hard. He slammed into the stone floor of the tunnel, unable to arrest his fall. A cold numbness slowly seeped through his entire body. He couldn't feel his arms or legs.
The Hunter screamed as the blade was wrenched from his back. His body twitched, but there was no response from his limbs.
A familiar scent wafted from behind him. Leather. Steel. Lilies.
The voice accompanying the scent was harsh and cold.
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