Galaxy in Flames (32 page)

‘Pressure!’ said Vaddon as he flicked over the settings on his narthecium gauntlet. Scalpels and syringes cycled as Brother Mathridon, an Emperor’s Children Astartes who had lost a hand in the earlier fighting and served as Vaddon’s assistant, kept pressure on the wound. Casto bucked underneath him, his teeth gritted against pain that would kill anyone but an Astartes.

Vaddon selected a syringe and pushed it into Casto’s neck. The vial mounted on the gauntlet emptied, pumping Casto’s system with stimulants to keep his heart forcing blood around his ruptured organs. Casto shook, nearly snapping the needle.

‘Hold him still,’ snapped Vaddon.

‘Yes,’ said a voice behind them. ‘Hold him still. It will make it easier to kill him.’

Vaddon’s head snapped up and he saw a warrior clad in the armour of an Emperor’s Children lord commander. He carried an enormous hammer, purple arcs of energy playing around its massive head. Behind the warrior, Vaddon could see a score of Emperor’s Children in purple and gold finery, their armour sheened with lapping powder and oil.

Instantly, he knew that these were no loyalists and felt a cold hand clutch at his chest as he saw that they were undone.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Vaddon, though he knew the answer already.

‘I am your death, traitor!’ said Eidolon, swinging his hammer and crushing Vaddon’s skull with one blow.

H
UNDREDS OF
E
MPEROR
’
S
Children streamed into the palace from the east, on a tide of fire and blood. They fell upon the wounded first, Eidolon himself butchering those who lay waiting for Vaddon’s ministrations, taking particular relish in killing the loyalist Emperor’s Children he found there. The warriors of his Chapter swarmed through the palace around him, the defenders discovering to their horror that their flank had somehow been turned and that more and more of the traitors were pouring into the palace.

Within moments, the last battle had begun. The loyalists turned from their defences and faced the Emperor’s Children. Assault Marines’ jump packs gunned them across ruined domes to crash into Eidolon’s assault units. Heavy weapons troopers and scout snipers amongst the ruined battlements shot down into the enemy, swapping tremendous volleys of fire across the shattered domes.

It was a battle without lines or direction as the fighting spilled into the heart of the Precentor’s Palace. Each Astartes became an army of his own as all order broke down and every warrior fought alone against the enemies that surrounded him. Emperor’s Children jetbikes screamed insanely through the precincts of the palace and ripped crazed circuits around the domes, spraying fire into the Astartes battling below them.

Dreadnoughts tore up chunks of fallen masonry with their mighty fists and hurled them at the loyalists holding the barricades against which so many of their foes had died only a short while before.

Everything was swirling madness, horror and destruction, with Eidolon at the centre of it, swinging his hammer and killing all who came near him as he led his perfect warriors deeper into the heart of the defences.

L
UC
S
EDIRAE, WITH
his blond hair and smirking grin, looked completely out of place among the rusting industrial spires of the Choral City. Beside him, Serghar Targost, Captain of the Seventh Company, seemed far more at home, his older, darker skin and heavy fur cloak more in keeping with a murdered world.

Sedirae stood on top of a rusting slab of fallen machinery before thousands of Sons of Horus arrayed for war. War paint was fresh on their breastplates and new banners dedicated to the warrior lodges flapped in the wind.

‘Sons of Horus!’ bellowed Sedirae, his voice brimming with the confidence that came to him so easily. ‘For too long we have waited for our brother Legions to open the gate for us so we can put the doubters and the feeble-minded to the sword! At last, the hour has come! Lord Commander Eidolon has broken the siege and the time has come to show the Legions how the Sons of Horus fight!’

The warriors cheered and the lodge banners were raised high, displaying the facets of the beliefs underpinning the lodge philosophies. A brazen claw reached down from the sky to crush a world in its fist, a black star shone eight rays of death upon a horde of enemies and a great winged beast with two heads stood resplendent on a mountain of corpses.

Images from beyond, conjured by the words of Davinite priests who could look into the warp, they displayed the Sons of Horus’s allegiance to the powers their Warmaster embraced.

‘The enemy is in disarray,’ shouted Sedirae over the cheering. ‘We will fall upon them and sweep them away. You know your duties, Sons of Horus, and you all know that the paths you have followed have led you towards this day. For here we destroy the last vestiges of the old Crusade, and march towards the future!’

Sedirae’s confidence was infectious and he knew they were ready.

Targost stepped forward and raised his hands. He bore the rank of lodge captain himself, privy to the secrets of the Davinite ways and as much a holy man as a commander. He opened his mouth and unleashed a stream of brutal syllables, guttural and dark, the tongue of Davin wrought into a prayer of victory and blood.

The Sons of Horus answered the prayer, their voices raised in a relentless chant that echoed around the dead spires of the Choral City.

And when the prayers were done, the Sons of Horus marched to war.

F
IRE STORMED AROUND
Tarvitz. Emperor’s Children Terminators raked the central dome with fire and the sounds of battle hand-to-hand combat came from the shattered gallery. Tarvitz ducked and ran as bolter fire kicked up fragments around him, sliding into cover beside Brother Solathen of Squad Nasicae. Solathen and about thirty loyalist Emperor’s Children were pinned down behind a great fallen column, a few Luna Wolves among them.

‘What in the Emperor’s name happened?’ shouted Tarvitz. ‘How did they get in?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ replied Solathen. ‘They came from the east.’

‘We should have had some warning,’ said Tarvitz. ‘That’s Lucius’s sector. Have you seen him at all?’

‘Lucius?’ asked Solathen. ‘No, he must have fallen.’

Tarvitz shook his head. ‘Not likely. I have to find him.’

‘We can’t hold out here,’ said Solathen. ‘We have to pull back and we won’t be able to wait for you.’

Tarvitz nodded, but knew that he had to try and find Lucius, even if it was just to recover his body. He doubted Lucius could ever really die, but knew that, amid this carnage, anything was possible.

‘Very well,’ said Tarvitz. ‘Go. Fall back in good order to the inner domes and the temple, there are barricades there. Go! And don’t wait for me!’

He put his head briefly over the pillar and fired his bolter, kicking a burst of shots towards Eidolon’s Emperor’s Children swarming all over the far side of the dome. More covering fire sprayed from his warriors’ guns as they began falling back by squads.

The dome between him and his goal was littered with bodies, some of them chewed into unrecognisable sprays of torn flesh. He waited until his warriors had put enough distance between them and the enemy and broke from cover.

Bolter shots tore up the ground beside him and he rolled into the cover of a fallen pillar, crawling as fast as he could to reach the passageway that led from the dome and curved around its columned circumference towards the east wing of the Precentor’s Palace.

Lucius was somewhere in these ruins and Tarvitz had to find him.

L
OKEN DUCKED AND
threw himself to the floor, skidding along the fire-blackened tiles of the plaza. The palace loomed above him, whirling as Loken spun on his back and fired up at the closest World Eater. One shot caught the warrior in the leg and he collapsed in a roaring heap. Torgaddon leapt upon him, plunging his sword into the traitor’s back.

Loken climbed to his feet as more fire stuttered across the plaza. He tried to get a bearing on the enemy among the heaps of the dead and the jagged slabs of marble sticking up from the edges of shell craters, but it was impossible.

The plaza between the chaos of the palace and the dark mass of the city was infested with World Eaters, charging forwards to exploit the breach made by the Emperor’s Children.

‘There’s a whole squad out here,’ said Torgaddon, wrenching his sword from the World Eater. ‘We’re right in the middle of them.’

‘Then we keep going,’ said Loken.

Back on his feet, he reloaded his bolter as they hurried through the wreckage and charnel heaps, scanning the darkness for movement. Torgaddon kept close behind him, sweeping his bolter between chunks of tiling or fallen masonry. Fire snapped around them and the sounds of battle coming from the palace became ever more terrible, the war-cries and explosions tearing through the violent night.

‘Down!’ yelled Torgaddon as a burst of plasma fire lanced from the darkness. Loken threw himself to the ground as the searing bolt flashed past him and bored a hole in a slab of fallen stone behind him. A dark shape came at him and Loken saw the flash of a blade, bringing his bolter up in an instinctive block. He felt chainblade teeth grinding against the metal of his gun and kicked out at his attacker’s groin.

The World Eater pivoted away from the blow easily, turning to smash Torgaddon to the ground with the butt of his chainaxe. Torgaddon’s attack gave Loken a chance to regain his feet and he threw aside the ruined bolter to draw his own sword.

Torgaddon wrestled with another World Eater on the ground, but his friend would have to fend for himself as Loken saw that his opponent was a captain, and not just any captain, but one of the World Eaters’ best.

‘Kharn!’ said Loken as the warrior attacked.

Kharn paused in his attack and, for the briefest moment, Loken saw the noble warrior he had spoken with in the Museum of Conquest, before something else swamped it again – something that twisted Kharn’s face with hatred.

That second was enough for Loken, allowing him to dodge back behind a fan of broken stone jutting from the edge of crater. Bullets still carved through the air and somewhere beyond his sight, Torgaddon was fighting his own battle, but Loken could not worry about that now.

‘What happened, Kharn?’ cried Loken. ‘What did they turn you into?’

Kharn screamed an incoherent bellow of rage and leapt towards him with his axe held high. Loken braced his stance and brought his blade up to catch Kharn’s axe as it slashed towards him and the two warriors clashed in a desperate battle of strength

‘Kharn…’ said Loken through gritted teeth as the World Eater forced the chainaxe’s whirling teeth towards his face. ‘This is not the man I knew! What have you become?’

As their eyes met, Loken saw Kharn’s soul and despaired. He saw the warrior who had sworn oaths of brotherhood and pledged himself to the Crusade as he himself had done, the warrior who had seen the terrors and tragedies of the Crusade as well as its victories. And he saw the dark madness that had swamped that in bloodshed and betrayals yet to be enacted.

‘I am the Eightfold Path,’ snapped Kharn, his every words punctuated by a froth of blood.

‘No!’ shouted Loken, pushing the World Eater away. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

‘It does,’ said Kharn. ‘There is no way off the Path. We must always go further.’

The humanity drained from Kharn’s face and Loken knew that the World Eater was truly gone and that only in death would this battle end.

Loken backed away, fending off a flurry of blows from Kharn’s axe, until he was forced back against a slab of rubble. His foe’s axe buried itself in the stone beside him and Loken slammed the pommel of his sword into Kharn’s head. Kharn rode the blow and smashed his forehead into Loken’s face, grabbing his sword arm and wrestling him to the ground.

They struggled in the mud like animals, Kharn trying to grind Loken’s face into the shattered stone and Loken trying to throw him off. Loken rolled onto his back as he heard the rumble of an engine like an earthquake and the glare of floodlights stabbed out and threw Kharn’s outline into silhouette.

Knowing what was coming, Loken hammered his fist into Kharn’s face over and over again, pushing him upright with a hand clasped around his neck. The World Eater struggled in Loken’s grip as the light grew stronger and the roaring form of a Land Raider crested the ridge of rubble behind them like a monster rising from the deep.

Loken felt the huge impact as the Land Raider’s dozer blade slammed into Kharn, the sharpened prongs at its base punching through the World Eater’s chest. He released Kharn’s body and rolled to the edge of the crater as the Land Raider rose up, carrying the struggling Kharn with it. The mighty tank crashed back down and Loken pressed his body into the mud as it ground over him, the roaring of its engine passing inches above him.

Then it was over, the tank rumbled onwards, carrying the impaled World Eater before it like some gory trophy. Tanks were all around him, the Eye of Horus glaring from their armoured hulls, and Loken recognized the livery they were painted in. The Sons of Horus.

For a moment, Loken just stared at the force surging towards the palace. Gunfire flared as they drove towards their prize.

A hand reached down and grabbed Loken, dragging him, battered and bloody, into cover from the guns of the tanks. He looked up and saw Torgaddon, similarly mauled by the encounter with the World Eaters.

Torgaddon nodded in the direction of the Land Raider. ‘Was that—?’

‘Kharn,’ nodded Loken. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Dead?’

‘Maybe, I don’t know.’

Torgaddon looked up at the Sons of Horus speartip driving for the palace. ‘I think even Tarvitz might have trouble holding the palace now.’

‘Then we’ll have to hurry.’

‘Yes. Stay low and let’s keep out of any more trouble,’ said Torgaddon, ‘unless Abaddon and Little Horus aren’t challenging enough on their own.’

‘Saul will make them pay for every piece of rubble they capture,’ said Loken, pulling himself painfully to his feet. Kharn had hurt him, but not so much that he couldn’t fight. ‘For his sake, let’s make that count for something.’