本章概述：

????????????魅魔被打動(dòng)了。

????????????In which a Succubus is moved.

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正文：

敲擊聲在我耳邊響起。

靴子反復(fù)踏擊地面的聲音在大街小巷里轟鳴，不斷接近我精心布置的歡迎。我花了十多個(gè)晝夜來恰當(dāng)?shù)卦O(shè)計(jì)這個(gè)陷阱，就在用了幾個(gè)晝夜來思考該怎樣至臻完美地宣告我的登場(chǎng)后。

一座絕不會(huì)無人欣賞的藝術(shù)長(zhǎng)廊。

獸人只會(huì)認(rèn)可屠殺和破壞，從這個(gè)角度看它們跟我拋在科摩羅的同胞們有驚人的相似之處，盡管我懷疑哪一邊都不會(huì)喜歡這種比較。

我布下了第五條通向我砌起的那座尸堆的足跡。在這里一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)地誘殺獸人是件苦差事，但跟我以往創(chuàng)作任何一件作品的投入也差不多。終于布置完后，我爬上一座高聳入云的樓房以觀察等待我的獵物。

五條道路收斂到這個(gè)開闊地，五條血跡和足印完美地對(duì)齊。這個(gè)廣場(chǎng)是露天的，在巢都里很少見，但我想這是某種宗教信仰；毫無疑問地，陽光會(huì)把他們已死的神明的光芒帶給他們。這里的地面在被我用獸人尸體覆蓋前，描繪著他們的某個(gè)同類的一張臉，一副或丑惡或偉岸的面孔。

褻瀆它為我稍添一絲樂趣，但相比我的真實(shí)意圖只排在第三位。

于是我等待著，恰巧也沒等多久。

我能聽到獸人正在逼近，和它們以驚人的速度和猿猴似的優(yōu)雅猛沖時(shí)低沉而有力的腳步聲。獸人，盡管生性野蠻，卻有著某種與野獸相同的美感。它們不加掩飾的粗魯本身就幾乎是可敬的。它們很快就會(huì)來到這里，但愿是被一個(gè)頭頭帶領(lǐng)的。如果我運(yùn)氣好的話會(huì)是個(gè)戰(zhàn)將（Warboss），不過我懷疑自己的初試能否如此幸運(yùn)。我更可能得到一只沒那么雄偉的獸人，它們管它叫老大（Nob），如果運(yùn)氣垂青我的話可能有不止一只。

甚至可能是……

我的思緒在聽到另一種聲響時(shí)漸漸停止。

腳步聲，但并非獸人的。這些步伐均勻而穩(wěn)定，像節(jié)拍器般規(guī)律。一個(gè)士兵，但不是大頭兵，腳在地面上的踏擊對(duì)衛(wèi)軍來說太重，對(duì)獸人來說太輕。

一個(gè)著動(dòng)力甲的Mon-Keigh，但并非基因改造過的阿斯塔特之一。

真可惜，阿斯塔特聞名于他們對(duì)痛苦和折磨的耐受力。死在與他們之一的戰(zhàn)斗中，在無論有多長(zhǎng)的戰(zhàn)斗中受盡折磨……都將是極好的死法。

我蹲在緊貼樓房側(cè)面的穴怪像旁觀看。我看著一個(gè)Mon-Keigh，一個(gè)發(fā)色如白霜，肌膚似溫和細(xì)土的女性跌跌撞撞地踏進(jìn)了我的陷阱。我對(duì)著以獸人作餌抓住一個(gè)人類的諷刺性勾起嘴唇，隨即我安靜下來，準(zhǔn)備看著她死于蜂擁而至的獸人。

她穿著件動(dòng)力甲，即便破損也有著最為精美絕倫的銀色和淡紫色。盔甲的主體是深沉濃郁的黑色，其上的裝飾，點(diǎn)綴和花紋卻是最淡的銀紫色，她肩上的標(biāo)志是棲息于一朵玫瑰下的纖細(xì)，優(yōu)美的花朵。

隨著她的移動(dòng)，我感覺我的幽默正逐漸褪色。

她在四處張望，她的雙眼即便在遠(yuǎn)處也閃閃發(fā)光。她正看著墻壁，地面……

她在尋找我的作品，但她不可能發(fā)覺其中的我的藝術(shù)技巧。

我看見了她意識(shí)到自己站在什么中間的一瞬。我聽到她凝滯在喉嚨里的呼吸和加速的脈搏。在獸人的喊叫聲近到她遲鈍的感官也能察覺到時(shí)，我嘗到了她極度恐懼下失控的流汗的味道。

我看見了她意識(shí)到自己無處可逃，唯有一死的瞬間。

她用她的同類的粗魯語言惡毒地咒罵，可并沒有如我預(yù)料的那樣尋找藏身之處，而是直沖向那堆死去的獸人。

她毫無形象地爬上尸堆時(shí)左臂無力地垂在身側(cè)，在登頂后又拽過身邊沉重的尸身當(dāng)臨時(shí)掩體。

當(dāng)?shù)谝徊ǐF人經(jīng)過最東側(cè)的道路拐角并在沖向她前野蠻地狂吼時(shí)，她吐出了另一聲咒罵?？偣财邆€(gè)獸人發(fā)動(dòng)起來，在以它們種族的難以估計(jì)的速度拉近距離時(shí)，這個(gè)女人用她的爆彈槍穩(wěn)定地瞄準(zhǔn)起來。

她的爆彈槍咆哮如雷，在她的握持下跳動(dòng)的同時(shí)為獸人送去死亡。利用掩體和制高點(diǎn)，她確保了每一發(fā)爆彈都打在實(shí)處，質(zhì)量反應(yīng)核炸開了獸人的胸腔和顱骨。

獸人仍舊在行進(jìn)，對(duì)危險(xiǎn)毫不在意，更多的喊叫聲和WAAAGH驅(qū)使它們直直地前進(jìn)。

最后一個(gè)獸人倒在尸堆的邊緣，這個(gè)年輕女人在更多的獸人從不同方向沖向她時(shí)猛地調(diào)轉(zhuǎn)槍口。她已經(jīng)拼盡全力，我看著她轟碎了一個(gè)又一個(gè)獸人，并總是挑離得最近的或是動(dòng)作最迅捷的，以盡可能多地與它們保持距離。

策略是合理的，但哪怕她的雙臂都能工作，并配備上她的帝國(guó)能讓她穿上的最精良的戰(zhàn)甲，獸人也還是單純地比Mon-Keigh更強(qiáng)大。最終，它們的肌肉，簡(jiǎn)陋的斧頭，和龐大的數(shù)量會(huì)扯開一切擋在它們和其試圖殺戮的目標(biāo)前的東西，而更可怕的是，獸人甚至不會(huì)被這么一個(gè)危險(xiǎn)的敵人嚇阻。

相反的，看見一個(gè)值得一戰(zhàn)的敵人只會(huì)激勵(lì)它們。

獸人吼叫著，她也吼回去，她的爆彈槍吼叫著撕開一個(gè)又一個(gè)，直到……

我聽到爆彈槍的扳機(jī)扣在空膛上，震耳欲聾地宣告著終局。

當(dāng)獸人意識(shí)到自己的獵物彈藥耗盡時(shí)，它們的濕冷的嗤笑聲回響在廣場(chǎng)上，可在它們能更進(jìn)一步前，一個(gè)更低沉，更厚重的咆哮聲劃開了空氣。

一個(gè)獸人，頭部和肩膀比其它獸人更高更大，一路擠開它的同類走向那個(gè)女人。厚重的金屬板上涂著指繪的粗糙畫像，在它肌肉發(fā)達(dá)到荒唐的體側(cè)懸蕩著，它的手中握著一支重斧，某種偽劣的力場(chǎng)在其上噼啪作響。

那個(gè)女人挺立著，似乎沒被自己臨近的慘死煩擾到。她沒有咒罵，而是短暫地合上雙眼，口中念誦著禱文。那可愛的雙唇看上去豐滿而柔軟。當(dāng)她再度睜眼時(shí)，我不禁贊賞起那亮綠色的雙眼。

那頭強(qiáng)壯如牛的獸人嘶吼著來到了尸堆邊，隨即舉起斧子沖刺。他想要獨(dú)占這次擊殺并為之欺壓了其它獸人。

那個(gè)女人沒有留在掩體里，而是高呼著自己的戰(zhàn)吼反沖過去，讓那個(gè)老大和我都措手不及。

離我上次被驚訝到已經(jīng)過去了很多年了。

她的拇指壓住爆彈槍槍托基部上的符文，卸下空彈匣，隨即把槍甩到那只一直用前臂和軀干夾著一個(gè)備用彈匣的廢手上。

以意志，技巧，亦或是單純的運(yùn)氣，她初次嘗試便把彈匣拍回原位，在那個(gè)老大沖過最陡的坡度前，她從尸堆頂端直接跳進(jìn)那頭野獸的雙臂間，高呼著連我都沒聽過的咒罵。

獸人試圖接下她的沖撞，但已經(jīng)來不及了。它的猿猴一樣的長(zhǎng)臂在女人潛入它的觸及范圍內(nèi)時(shí)出賣了它，爆彈槍的槍口撞上了老大的脖頸——頭盔與胸甲的連接處，隨后扣動(dòng)了扳機(jī)。

她使用的彈匣肯定不是滿載的，畢竟盡管槍聲震耳欲聾卻十分短暫。爆彈槍在全自動(dòng)模式下怒吼，在獸人的脖頸處清空了備彈，在擊錘再次打空前轟飛了它的頭顱并殘暴地摧毀了它后背的大部分。

她沒有停下來，而是騎著獸人老大的尸體一路掉下山坡，在最后一刻躍進(jìn)了下面現(xiàn)在被尸骸糊了一頭的獸人堆里，壓下了爆彈槍槍托，狠狠地砸在了一頭愚蠢的獸人身上并搗進(jìn)了它厚重的腦殼，隨之一同落地。

僅此而已。

她身旁的獸人盯著她跪在它們的同類破爛，抽搐的尸身上，短暫地互相對(duì)視了一會(huì)兒，隨后其中最大的一個(gè)露出笑容，走向前去，舉起了斧頭。

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原文：

A beat thumped in my ears.

Boots striking the ground over and over, thundering through alley and thoroughfare, all approaching my carefully laid welcome. It had taken me just over ten cycles to properly design it, and that was after a few cycles of consideration on how to best and most beautifully announce my presence.

A gallery of art that would undoubtedly be left unappreciated.

Orks appreciated only carnage and devastation, and in that sense I suppose they had a surprising amount in common with my kin whom I’d left behind in Commorragh, although I doubt either would appreciate the comparison.

I completed the fifth track to the mound of the dead I’d built up. Luring and killing Orks piecemeal here had been a small chore, but no more or less effort than I’d ever gone to in creating any one of my great works. Finally finished, I climbed one of the high-reaching buildings that soared up towards the sky to watch for my prey.

Five roads lead inward to this open space, five trails of blood and footprints all perfectly aligned.

This particular plaza was open to the sky as well, which was rare for a Hive, but I supposed it was some bit of faith; something about the sun carrying the light of their dead god to them no doubt. The floor of the plaza, before I had covered it in Orkish dead, had depicted the face of one of their kind that was likely a figure of notoriety or greatness.

Defiling it was a small, added pleasure, but tertiary to my true intention.

And so I waited, and as it happened I did not have to wait long.

I could hear the passage of the Orks approaching, and their deep, thunderous footfalls as they pounded forward with surprising speed and simian grace. Orks, for all of their brutish nature, had a kind of beauty to them in the same manner as a feral beast might. There was absolutely nothing refined about them, and they did not pretend to it, and that in and of itself was almost admirable.

Soon they would be here, a small army of the beasts and hopefully led by one of their bosses. If I was fortunate it would the Warboss, but I doubted I’d be so lucky on my first try. More likely I’d get a lesser bull Ork, a Nob as they were called, maybe more than one if fortune favored me.

Perhaps even a-

My thoughts trailed off as a new sound entered my senses.

Footsteps, but not Orkish ones. These steps were even and steady, a disciplined metronomic beat. A soldier, but not an average one, the strikes of foot to ground were too heavy for a guardsman, too light for an Ork.

A power-armored Mon-Keigh, then, but not one of their gene-forged Astartes.

Shame that, since the Astartes are renown for their ability to withstand pain and punishment. To die in battle with one of them, to suffer and be suffered for however long our fight lasted… that would have been an excellent way to die.

I hunkered in alongside the grotesques that were clinging to the sides of the building and watched. I watched the Mon-Keigh, a female with hair like pale frost and skin like smooth, warm earth, stumble into my trap. I felt my lip twitch upward at the irony of catching a?human?with Ork bait, and settled in to watch her die to the oncoming hordes of Greenskins.

She wore power armor and though it was damaged, it was a most flattering and fascinating shade of silver-and-lavender. The main body of the armor was a deep, rich black, but the embellishments, accents, and tracings on it were the lightest color of silvery-purple, and the symbol she bore on her shoulder was one of a slender and graceful bunching of flowers resting beneath a rose.

As she moved, I felt my humor fade.

She was looking around, her eyes bright even from this distance. She was looking at the walls, the floor…

She was looking for my work, but she wouldn’t find my artistry here.

I saw it the moment that it happened… the moment that she realised what it was she was standing in the middle of. I heard her breath catch in her throat and her pulse quicken. I tasted the unruly tang of fear-sharp sweat as the hoots and whoops of the Orks drew close enough for her stunted senses to detect them.

I saw the moment she realised there was nowhere for her to run and that she was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, going to die.

She swore viciously in the crude tongue of her kind, and rather than looking for a place to hide as I had expected, she charged forward towards the pile of dead Orks.

Her left arm hung limp at her side as she clambered gracelessly up the pile of bodies until she reached the top, then hunkered down, dragging the heavy corpses around her as makeshift cover.

Another oath was spat from her lips as the first wave of Orks came around the corner of the eastmost road and bellowed their barbarous warcry before charging her down. Seven of them in all took the road, and the woman took steady aim with her bolter as they cleared the meters with the deceptive speed of their kind.

Her bolter barked, jerking in her grip as it spat death at the Orks. Taking advantage of both her cover and superior ground, she ensured that each bolt found its home, with the mass-reactive cores detonating Orkish ribcages and skulls.

Still they charged, heedless of the danger and more shouts and roars of?WAAAGH?urged them onward.

The last one died at the edge of the pile, and the young woman snapped her aim as more Orks came charging at her from multiple directions. She triaged as best she could, and I watched as she blew apart Ork after Ork, always selecting the nearest or the swiftest ones, trying to keep as much distance between her and them as possible.

The strategy was sound, but even if both of her arms were working and she was equipped with the finest wargear her Imperium could outfit her with, Orks were simply stronger than the Mon-Keigh. Eventually, their muscle, simple axes, and the weight of their numbers would tear through whatever stood between them and the thing they were trying to kill, and worse was that the Orks wouldn’t even be dissuaded from such a dangerous foe.

On the contrary, seeing an enemy worth fighting just encouraged them.

The Orks bellowed, and she bellowed back, her bolter roaring as she tore apart one after another until-

I heard the bolter trigger slam down on an empty chamber with deafening finality.

The grim, wet chuckles of the Orks filled the plaza as they realised their quarry was out of ammunition but before they could approach any closer, a deeper, meatier roar split the air.

An Ork, head and shoulders taller and larger than the rest, muscled his way through its surrounding kin towards the woman. Heavy plates of metal that were daubed with crude, finger-painted images dangled from its grotesquely muscled body, and it gripped a heavy axe that crackled with a bastardised kind of power field.

The woman stood, seemingly unperturbed by her impending violent demise. Rather than curse, she briefly closed her eyes, and her lips moved across the words of a prayer. They were lovely lips, full and soft-looking, and when she opened her eyes again, I could not help but admire the bright green color they possessed.

The bull Ork bellowed as it reached the pile of dead, and charged with his axe raised. He wanted the kill for himself and he’d bullied the other Orks into letting him have it.

Rather than remain with her cover, the woman screamed out a battle cry of her own and counter-charged, catching both the Nob and myself off-guard.

It has been many long years since I’ve felt surprised.

Her thumb struck the rune at the base of the bolter’s stock, clearing the empty mag, then she swung her bolter towards her lame arm where she’d been clenching a spare magazine between her forearm and torso.

By aim, skill, or true good luck, she slammed the magazine home in the first try, and before the Nob could clear the steepest part of the incline, she lept from the top of the pile directly into the beasts arms while screaming expletives even?I’d?never heard.

The Ork tried to meet her lunge but it was too late. It’s long, ape-like arms betrayed it as the woman dove inside of its reach, slammed the muzzle of her bolter against the joint of the Nob’s neck where its helmet met its chest plate, and pulled the trigger.

Whatever magazine she had used must not have been full because the release was brief as it was deafening. The bolter roared on full auto, emptying itself into the meat of the Ork’s neck, blowing its head off and brutally annihilating the majority of its back before it the firearm hammered dry once more.

She didn’t pause, but rode the corpse of the Ork Nob down the hill of the dead, leaping off at the last moment into the crowd of stunned and now gore-covered Orks below her, turned her bolter stock down, and landed so hard on the stupified Ork under her that she stoved in its thick skull, carrying it to the ground with her.

And that was it.

The Orks around her stared down where she knelt on the ruined and twitching corpse of their fellow, glanced briefly at one another, then the largest one grinned, stepped forward, and raised his axe.