Yenald regarded the woman before him. The blond female mortal was a fierce specimen of human breeding. She reminded him of Aranak almost at once with the way she eyed him like a Champion Wych regarding her next kill, uncaring of the danger such a fight would impose, instead seeking only the thrill it would deliver. Yet, unlike a Wych, she was regarding him, not rushing headlong into a fight. Perhaps it was the blood on his hands, his stature, the broken and moaning bodies of the guards and shattered autonoma behind him as well. Yenald wiped his hands clean on the orange jumpsuit.
"You intend to stop me?" He asked.
"Nah, just break you."
He looked away for only a fraction of a second.
Yenald caught her punch before it had the chance to break his jaw. It instead only dislocated several of his fingers and shattered several bones in his hand. He brought his knee up, slamming it into the mortals gut with as much force he could muster. She flew back, blood spilling from her lips- a gagging sound erupting from her throat, she flipped mid air and landed on her feet, only stumbling one or two steps before fixing him with a near feral grin.
Definitely like Aranak, he thought to himself.
The glow she was giving off illuminated the hallway. Her eyes were once purple- like a noble Cadians –they were now red like warp spawn. He muttered the invocations of banishment to himself.
She jumped, kicking off the wall and spinning mid-air, her back fist cut over his head and smashed through, bits of concrete and plaster cut into his back before Yenald had a chance to duck, he could only close his eyes and drop. The air shifted behind him and he rolled onto his back, the jab that would have fractured his skull caught air- and he caught her underneath the arm with his foot, a single quick kick and he could feel bones shift and pop out of place. He spun on his back, sweeping his leg around and bowling the girl over- she hit the ground and he was up, his leg coming down where her head would have been had she not rolled out of the way. Skipping back, that same smile curling her lips upwards.
"Nice, very slick moves you've got," She said, licking the blood from her lips, for a moment Yenald thought that she was perceiving this all as a sort of game. She wrenched her left arm back into place, the popping of bone-into-socket an all too familiar practice. "I'm done fuckin' around with ya." She growled, that halo of golden light rolled over her body like corposant; her eyes flashed a luminous red. Yenald swayed, falling back into a loose stance, the bones in his fractured hand had just finished knitting back together but still he could tell that this would end in more of them getting shattered.
The bracer on her left wrist clicked, sliding down over her fist, stubby barrels protruded, something internal cycled into place.
The Analytical part of his mind cursed hindsight, should have known that her gauntlet doubled as a ranged weapon of some sort- every Hunter so far had one.
The Practical part of his mind only knew that this was going to hurt.
Buckshot ripped into his chest, he could feel the metal flatten against his rib-plate and bounce off, tearing through muscle as they exited, he grimaced, she didn't allow him to recover. Rocketing forwards she swung, Yenald almost blocked, the flash of gold and black under her sleeve screamed at him and he instead deflected, intending to knock the strike away with his forearm- skin and muscle came tearing away as the metal limb thundered past his head, clipping half of his ear off as her augmetic fist whistled past.
He almost thought for a second that he had tried to block a powerfist. He completely failed to counter the next attack- a point-blank blast from her scattergun gauntlet to the gut that tore a chunk of his flesh out as he tried to turn at the last second to avoid it- all too late.
"C'mon! Just try and hit me you Fuck!" She screamed; she punched again, her own ludicrous strength and that augmetic fist crumpled something in his shoulder, the jagged pain of splintered bones snapped Yenald back to his senses- his reactions, and a fair bit of anger lent to him by indignation forced him to react- to counter- to attack, he was not going to be bested by some stripling mortal wench. He slid like liquid. Coiling a hand back, cocking the wrist, thrusting forwards- pushing, not punching- he smashed his inverted palm into her chest. He felt something crack. Her momentum was halted mid leap. She hit the floor like a stoned bird.
She does not stay down.
She is standing back up- that flare of gold about her only seeming to increase in stature.
She is standing back up.
She shouldn't even be alive.
He hit her with the intention of pulping her heart- he struck her with one of the more direct and reliable killing blows practiced by the chapters Scout Masters; sheer and overwhelming force delivered in such a way that it bypasses the armor and shatters the pulmonary system. He's killed Ork Nobz in a single strike with the same technique, he even one time reduced an Eldar Banshee Exarchs torso into slurry without damaging the breastplate. This Girl was not wearing armor; he didn't need to restrain himself. He hit her almost full force.
"F-Fuc-ckkkkk…" She groaned, staggering to her feet, Yenald lets her; he's too impressed to finish this mortal with a coward's blow while she's on the ground. She'd find her death standing.
"Tryna' grope me? You fuckin' creep," She grins something lecherous and cruel. "Looks like the cell hasn't turned you fruity yet." She's seemed to already have caught her breath. "Fuck, you'll be suckin' cocks through a straw when I'm done with you."
This one certainly had a mouth on her.
Yenald felt his gut wound. The shot had torn up his intestines somewhat; he could feel the buckshot swimming around inside him. The pain was quite severe. He would have to remove the pellets later in order for his wound to heal fully. He had gotten lucky. Had it been two inches more to the left the shot would have hit his spine, maybe even have caused significant enough damage that he would have need of an Apothecary- something that did not exist on this world. The bleeding was lessening; scar tissue was starting to form both on the outside and inside. The Buckshot was being held immobile by fatty tissues. If he didn't move, then just in two hours time the pellets would most likely expel themselves.
He didn't have two hours.
The wound opened back up when he swerved around another sundering punch from the mortal, the shotgun bracer goes off next to his head and scores rents in the wall behind him as he delivers another blow designed to kill in a single strike- his gnarled elbow towards her throat- this time he hits that strange field of energy that the Hunters of this world are able to produce, the girl flips backwards, landing on her feet and punching out with her shotgun bracer again. Yenald rolls under its cone of fire, closing the distance in a matter of half-seconds and throwing a flurry of blows and hacks. She either dodges or blocks each one, grunting through grit teeth, he would not let her get a second chance at wounding him. A mortal never should be able to hold up against an Astartes in close combat for this long- a mortal shouldn't be able to even keep pace with a Space Marine. A human mind simply could not process information at the rate of an Astartes. This yellow haired mortal was proving that otherwise and more; he had the wounds to show for it.
She was trying to corral him, get close, and beat him down with a combination of hand-to-hand techniques involving her Augmetic fist and blasting him apart with her wrist-mounted scattergun. She wasn't like the Hunters he's fought so far. The Hunters he's fought used momentum and movement- attack from different angles, have clear routes of retreat, hit and run tactics.
This beast before him had only three discernable tactics: Get close, hit hard, repeat.
The narrow hallway favored her weapon- scattershot, wide-angle burst. No room to maneuver out of the radius. Her shield was all encompassing, he could find no breaks in it, she was reckless- but she could afford to be, she was matching him- An Astartes- in strength alone. Her hits were brutal enough to the point where he could not afford to deflect them but dodge them; a solid strike from her augmetic would easily break him. Her gauntleted fist- while less devastating in impact power- would shred his flesh with a point blank blast- he could not afford any injuries to hinder him now more than he already is, a single misstep would be the end of him, he had no room for mistakes.
He had to redirect the course of this fight.
He needed to improvise.
He had an idea.