【战锤40k同人作品翻译】Ennui：第五章：优美 Beauty
本章概述：
魅魔被打动了。
In which a Succubus is moved.
正文：
敲击声在我耳边响起。
靴子反复踏击地面的声音在大街小巷里轰鸣，不断接近我精心布置的欢迎。我花了十多个昼夜来恰当地设计这个陷阱，就在用了几个昼夜来思考该怎样至臻完美地宣告我的登场后。
一座绝不会无人欣赏的艺术长廊。
兽人只会认可屠杀和破坏，从这个角度看它们跟我抛在科摩罗的同胞们有惊人的相似之处，尽管我怀疑哪一边都不会喜欢这种比较。
我布下了第五条通向我砌起的那座尸堆的足迹。在这里一点点地诱杀兽人是件苦差事，但跟我以往创作任何一件作品的投入也差不多。终于布置完后，我爬上一座高耸入云的楼房以观察等待我的猎物。
五条道路收敛到这个开阔地，五条血迹和足印完美地对齐。这个广场是露天的，在巢都里很少见，但我想这是某种宗教信仰；毫无疑问地，阳光会把他们已死的神明的光芒带给他们。这里的地面在被我用兽人尸体覆盖前，描绘着他们的某个同类的一张脸，一副或丑恶或伟岸的面孔。
亵渎它为我稍添一丝乐趣，但相比我的真实意图只排在第三位。
于是我等待着，恰巧也没等多久。
我能听到兽人正在逼近，和它们以惊人的速度和猿猴似的优雅猛冲时低沉而有力的脚步声。兽人，尽管生性野蛮，却有着某种与野兽相同的美感。它们不加掩饰的粗鲁本身就几乎是可敬的。它们很快就会来到这里，但愿是被一个头头带领的。如果我运气好的话会是个战将（Warboss），不过我怀疑自己的初试能否如此幸运。我更可能得到一只没那么雄伟的兽人，它们管它叫老大（Nob），如果运气垂青我的话可能有不止一只。
甚至可能是……
我的思绪在听到另一种声响时渐渐停止。
脚步声，但并非兽人的。这些步伐均匀而稳定，像节拍器般规律。一个士兵，但不是大头兵，脚在地面上的踏击对卫军来说太重，对兽人来说太轻。
一个着动力甲的Mon-Keigh，但并非基因改造过的阿斯塔特之一。
真可惜，阿斯塔特闻名于他们对痛苦和折磨的耐受力。死在与他们之一的战斗中，在无论有多长的战斗中受尽折磨……都将是极好的死法。
我蹲在紧贴楼房侧面的穴怪像旁观看。我看着一个Mon-Keigh，一个发色如白霜，肌肤似温和细土的女性跌跌撞撞地踏进了我的陷阱。我对着以兽人作饵抓住一个人类的讽刺性勾起嘴唇，随即我安静下来，准备看着她死于蜂拥而至的兽人。
她穿着件动力甲，即便破损也有着最为精美绝伦的银色和淡紫色。盔甲的主体是深沉浓郁的黑色，其上的装饰，点缀和花纹却是最淡的银紫色，她肩上的标志是栖息于一朵玫瑰下的纤细，优美的花朵。
随着她的移动，我感觉我的幽默正逐渐褪色。
她在四处张望，她的双眼即便在远处也闪闪发光。她正看着墙壁，地面……
她在寻找我的作品，但她不可能发觉其中的我的艺术技巧。
我看见了她意识到自己站在什么中间的一瞬。我听到她凝滞在喉咙里的呼吸和加速的脉搏。在兽人的喊叫声近到她迟钝的感官也能察觉到时，我尝到了她极度恐惧下失控的流汗的味道。
我看见了她意识到自己无处可逃，唯有一死的瞬间。
她用她的同类的粗鲁语言恶毒地咒骂，可并没有如我预料的那样寻找藏身之处，而是直冲向那堆死去的兽人。
她毫无形象地爬上尸堆时左臂无力地垂在身侧，在登顶后又拽过身边沉重的尸身当临时掩体。
当第一波兽人经过最东侧的道路拐角并在冲向她前野蛮地狂吼时，她吐出了另一声咒骂。总共七个兽人发动起来，在以它们种族的难以估计的速度拉近距离时，这个女人用她的爆弹枪稳定地瞄准起来。
她的爆弹枪咆哮如雷，在她的握持下跳动的同时为兽人送去死亡。利用掩体和制高点，她确保了每一发爆弹都打在实处，质量反应核炸开了兽人的胸腔和颅骨。
兽人仍旧在行进，对危险毫不在意，更多的喊叫声和WAAAGH驱使它们直直地前进。
最后一个兽人倒在尸堆的边缘，这个年轻女人在更多的兽人从不同方向冲向她时猛地调转枪口。她已经拼尽全力，我看着她轰碎了一个又一个兽人，并总是挑离得最近的或是动作最迅捷的，以尽可能多地与它们保持距离。
策略是合理的，但哪怕她的双臂都能工作，并配备上她的帝国能让她穿上的最精良的战甲，兽人也还是单纯地比Mon-Keigh更强大。最终，它们的肌肉，简陋的斧头，和庞大的数量会扯开一切挡在它们和其试图杀戮的目标前的东西，而更可怕的是，兽人甚至不会被这么一个危险的敌人吓阻。
相反的，看见一个值得一战的敌人只会激励它们。
兽人吼叫着，她也吼回去，她的爆弹枪吼叫着撕开一个又一个，直到……
我听到爆弹枪的扳机扣在空膛上，震耳欲聋地宣告着终局。
当兽人意识到自己的猎物弹药耗尽时，它们的湿冷的嗤笑声回响在广场上，可在它们能更进一步前，一个更低沉，更厚重的咆哮声划开了空气。
一个兽人，头部和肩膀比其它兽人更高更大，一路挤开它的同类走向那个女人。厚重的金属板上涂着指绘的粗糙画像，在它肌肉发达到荒唐的体侧悬荡着，它的手中握着一支重斧，某种伪劣的力场在其上噼啪作响。
那个女人挺立着，似乎没被自己临近的惨死烦扰到。她没有咒骂，而是短暂地合上双眼，口中念诵着祷文。那可爱的双唇看上去丰满而柔软。当她再度睁眼时，我不禁赞赏起那亮绿色的双眼。
那头强壮如牛的兽人嘶吼着来到了尸堆边，随即举起斧子冲刺。他想要独占这次击杀并为之欺压了其它兽人。
那个女人没有留在掩体里，而是高呼着自己的战吼反冲过去，让那个老大和我都措手不及。
离我上次被惊讶到已经过去了很多年了。
她的拇指压住爆弹枪枪托基部上的符文，卸下空弹匣，随即把枪甩到那只一直用前臂和躯干夹着一个备用弹匣的废手上。
以意志，技巧，亦或是单纯的运气，她初次尝试便把弹匣拍回原位，在那个老大冲过最陡的坡度前，她从尸堆顶端直接跳进那头野兽的双臂间，高呼着连我都没听过的咒骂。
兽人试图接下她的冲撞，但已经来不及了。它的猿猴一样的长臂在女人潜入它的触及范围内时出卖了它，爆弹枪的枪口撞上了老大的脖颈——头盔与胸甲的连接处，随后扣动了扳机。
她使用的弹匣肯定不是满载的，毕竟尽管枪声震耳欲聋却十分短暂。爆弹枪在全自动模式下怒吼，在兽人的脖颈处清空了备弹，在击锤再次打空前轰飞了它的头颅并残暴地摧毁了它后背的大部分。
她没有停下来，而是骑着兽人老大的尸体一路掉下山坡，在最后一刻跃进了下面现在被尸骸糊了一头的兽人堆里，压下了爆弹枪枪托，狠狠地砸在了一头愚蠢的兽人身上并捣进了它厚重的脑壳，随之一同落地。
仅此而已。
她身旁的兽人盯着她跪在它们的同类破烂，抽搐的尸身上，短暂地互相对视了一会儿，随后其中最大的一个露出笑容，走向前去，举起了斧头。
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.
