Hell Fist by Justin Woolley

Author:Justin Woolley
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2022-11-29T14:18:36+00:00

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Justin Woolley hails from the bottom of the world in Tasmania, Australia and is an author of science fiction and fantasy. In his other life Justin has been an engineer, a teacher, and at one stage even a magician. A long-time fan of Warhammer 40,000, he has written the novella Prisoners of Waaagh! and the short stories ‘Redemption Through Sacrifice’ and ‘Night Shriekers’ for Black Library.

An extract from Catachan Devil.

Torvin leant back and waved frantically at his face as something, some huge insect as big as his fist, flew close by. Seemingly unconcerned by his attempts to fend it off, the insect investigated him momentarily, circling his head, sounding like the buzz of a Valkyrie engine as it passed his ears. Apparently finding nothing of interest it flew away, darting between dense mossy trees and hanging vines to quickly disappear into the jungle. Torvin returned his attention to where he was going just as a springy branch, bent forward by Trooper Gernt in front of him, whipped back to slap him broadside across the cheek.

‘Throne damn it,’ he muttered as he raised his lasgun, bayonet fixed to the end, and slashed at the jungle.

New branches, vines and leaves seemed to fill the space in front of him with every step even if he tried to follow the path Gernt and the other troopers were cutting through the trees. When they’d looked out at the jungle from atop Karoo City it had certainly seemed thick, but this was even worse than he’d expected. He could be only steps behind Gernt and barely be able to see him through the green. When he looked up, the canopy completely blocked the sky and the diffuse light that filtered down was tinged with a yellow-green hue. Even the ground beneath his feet was only visible some of the time. More often than not he was pushing through ferns and monstrous ground-covering plants with leaves almost as wide as he was tall, his legs out of sight below the knees. It was like trudging through the worst blizzard back home on Skadi, but this was a living blizzard of reaching creepers and enormous flat fronds that couldn’t be waited out.

He might have complained about blizzards on Skadi but what he wouldn’t have given for the freezing touch of wind-whipped snow right now. The jungle heat made everything about this worse. It was a damp, concentrated, energy-sapping heat that made every step of lugging his pack and lasgun more difficult. He was sweating profusely, his fatigues drenched through. Then again, he didn’t know how much of that was his own salty sweat and how much was the moisture from all around him. Every leaf was wet. The ground was soft enough that his boots regularly sank sole-deep or further. The air itself was saturated to the point he thought it might have been easier to swim.

Now, after hours of slogging through the dense vegetation, the jungle was, mercifully, beginning to thin somewhat. They were

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