by Chris Dows
Samzar heard the pilot frantically voxing orders to his crew, but he knew it was too late for them. The entire cargo section was shaking from impacts on all sides as it ploughed its way into the trees, the outer hull squealing as it dragged past the enormous trunks now surrounding it. Samzar tipped over and crashed onto the inner wall as the Thunderhawk lost its left wing. The impact wrenched open the exit hatch before him and, with a crunch, the ship finally hit the ground, tossing Samzar around like a poorly secured piece of equipment. With the rear engine still screaming above him at full throttle, Samzar clawed his way up the inside of the transport and threw himself free of the broken ship. His fall was cushioned by smashed and broken trunks, and as he thumped to the soft earth the ship’s fuel tanks ignited, sending metal and wood spinning overhead in a lethal shower. Samzar did not wait to check for survivors. Somewhere very close there was a battle raging, and he needed to be a part of it.
Lukosz could see that Khârn was trying to carve his way towards the Black Legion leader, but his remaining forces had reformed and were providing an excellent defence for their captain. They had given him enough time to retrieve his helmet, which, given the ferocity of the fighting on the ground and in the air, again reminded Lukosz of what his warband lacked. The ferocity, however, with which his berzerkers were attacking the Hounds was unparalleled. A brilliant flash came from the side and Lukosz looked up to see the second – and last – of their drop-ships take a direct hit on its starboard wing. If Samzar hadn’t been in the first Thunderhawk, he had to be in that one. Tipping onto its side, it accelerated into the ground, disappearing between the dense trees and exploding a few seconds later. To Lukosz, the plume of thick black smoke symbolised two things – the loss of his comrade, and air superiority for Locq’s forces.
The ground erupted all around him as the remaining enemy drop-ship thundered overhead. Locq’s forces began to move towards the trees, closing ranks around the captain. A small group of around half a dozen broke away and ran straight towards Khârn, who threw himself at them with Gorechild. Lukosz ducked and weaved through another barrage of fire, narrowly avoiding the fate of a berzerker who disappeared in a hail of heavy bolter shells. Most of his warband ignored the swooping drop-ship’s withering fire, intent on claiming new trophies for the Blood God.
‘Roderbar! Dispatch air support immediately!’
Static hissed back at Lukosz and he cursed. If the enemy cruiser had engaged the Skulltaker, it was likely Roderbar was out of range or unable to launch more drop-ships. The Thunderhawk made another pass, but this time it did not open fire. Most of the berzerkers had closed in on the Hounds, making it impossible for the Black Legion ship to fire without hitting their own warriors. Some yards away, Khârn was busy engaging three of the original six that had challenged him. Two bodies lay at his feet, their heads separated from their bodies. A third was getting up slowly behind, watching the attack and readying his curved chainsword to drive it into Khârn’s back.
Lukosz threw himself at the Hound, thrusting his own weapon forwards to deflect the attack. Overstretched, he lost his balance and stumbled, the side of his head taking the full impact of his opponent’s knee as it came crashing in. Countless years of combat experience took over. Despite his blurred vision, Lukosz found himself back-to-back with Khârn, parrying the blows with elegant, practised moves in direct contrast to the flamboyant uncontrolled onslaught Khârn was unleashing with Gorechild. Catching the curve of his opponent’s blade, Lukosz turned and barged, shoulder first, into the chest of his opponent, sending him staggering back on the worn rocky surface. Something spun past Lukosz, spraying blood in all directions. Khârn’s opponents were now down to two. Galvanized by the sight, Lukosz’s attacker lunged towards Lukosz’s throat. Lukosz ducked quickly and slashed outwards in a turn, the tip of his chainsword slicing into the right knee of his opponent. Continuing his turn, Lukosz brought his weapon up and then across his chest, but the Hound saw the strike coming and blocked it with his left arm, sacrificing the armour as a shield while he brought his own chainsword down onto Lukosz’s helmet.
Then Lukosz felt himself spinning through the air. He saw snapshots of the Hound being blown in the opposite direction before everything went dark. Something hit him in the back with tremendous force, and he felt himself drop to soft ground. His ears sang and his head spun. All he could hear was the scream of his Butcher’s Nails. Lukosz rolled onto his side and hauled himself to his feet. He had been blown into the forest by an explosion. The Black Legion Thunderhawk roared overhead, triple turbofans making the air behind it shimmer. Recovering his wits, Lukosz started to pick his way back through the trees towards the clearing. With only a few yards to go, the Hound who had nearly claimed his skull stood waiting for him. He was now carrying Lukosz’s weapon as well as his own.
Lukosz began to run forward. The Hound did the same, barging his way into the thick forest, but suddenly he stopped and looked back into the clearing. Turning back again, the Hound seemed unsure what to do. Finally, with a shake of his head and a pointed gesture with Lukosz’s chainsword as if to say ‘next time’, he ran out of Lukosz’s sight. By the time Lukosz stomped back into the smoke-filled clearing, Locq and his forces were nowhere to be seen, giving the drop-ship free rein to strafe the opening.
Lukosz could see Khârn and the rest of the surviving warband firing wildly into the sky, but they all dived for cover as the ship descended on another murderous run. Chunks of armour, flesh and stone spun through the air, hurtling into the forest and clanging off the burning remains of the crashed drop-ships. A pair of berzerkers were too slow to escape the maelstrom from the marauding Thunderhawk and were cut down before they could get to safety. Suddenly, a figure carrying two bolters sprinted into the opening. He was bellowing with rage, pumping shell after shell into the sky. The drop-ship rose and then turned but he stood his ground, screaming in apoplectic fury. When both magazines were emptied he threw the bolters to the ground and drew his pistol, not stopping until that too had been exhausted.
Lukosz smiled to himself. It was Samzar.
The pitch of the transport’s engines changed. Luckily for Samzar, it began to head away. Within seconds Khârn and the rest of the berzerkers returned to the clearing and began to fire after the ship, but it quickly moved out of range. Lukosz picked his way through the bodies of the Hounds scattered around the clearing. At least forty of them lay dead, but Locq was not amongst them. Lukosz still had no idea why Khârn had attacked and initiated the combat, but with the blood only just calming in his veins Lukosz had to admit it did not matter. Looking at the carnage in the clearing, this was a good harvest for the Blood God. Lukosz felt elated; Khârn was indeed meeting his promise. The fifty that had arrived on this moon had shared in the glory, and Lukosz knew now there was more to come. Much of the ruined plaza on which they stood was slick with the blood of their kills. They were all walking on the Red Path.
Lukosz shifted the body of a fallen Hound with his boot to reveal a particularly fine power sword. Stooping to pick it up, he flicked the gore of his fallen brothers away and felt its weight and balance. He did not recognise the symbols inscribed into its blade, but he knew it to be a weapon he could put to excellent use if any of the warband chose to doubt Khârn after this battle. Some miles away, the unmistakable bray of bolter fire drifted on the acrid, burning air. Lukosz walked to the side of Khârn, as did the remaining berzerkers. As one, they looked up to the Black Legion Thunderhawk circling slowly in the distance. It was laying down a ferocious barrage onto the forest below it.
‘They are creating a landing area. Do not let a single one of them leave this planet.’
Khârn did not need to give any more direction. The berzerkers rampaged into the woodland, blasting and carving a path through the densely packed trees with bolter and chainsword.
Khârn stopped next to Lukosz and removed his helmet. Lukosz could see fresh lacerations over the raw red scars covering his
bare skin, blood running freely down his forearm onto Gorechild’s shaft.
‘Where is our air cover, Lukosz?’
Lukosz turned to watch as branches, trunks and leaves flew into the air in a whirlwind of destruction. He was wondering the very same thing himself.
‘I don’t care if we’ve lost the shields to the starboard landing bay. Target their engines again, then go to heading nine-five-six to protect our flank. And get the long-range vox back up!’
Roderbar was purple with the effort of screaming at his bridge crew, who were frantically assessing the damage the Skulltaker had taken from the Malevolent Shade on its last salvo. He knew his ship was a match for its weapons, but his defensive systems left a lot to be desired. All that time away from port was beginning to tell. New damage was compounding the old, and it was getting to the point where he would have to appeal to Khârn himself for essential repairs. Roderbar was loath to do this, because it involved the very real risk of the Chosen of Khorne simply taking another vessel, should he perceive that the Skulltaker had lost its value to him. Despite his great experience, Roderbar knew full well he would not feature in any transfer of personnel.
A groan shuddered through the outer hull, and several consoles on the lower deck burst into flames, the line of servitors burning silently with the cogitators they had operated. Fire-control systems activated to prevent the damage from spreading, and satisfied it was not anything he would miss, Roderbar turned his attention back to unleashing as much punishment on the Malevolent Shade as he had received.
‘Shipmaster, communication with the planet is restored.’
Roderbar established a connection. When, three seconds later, he received Khârn’s blistering reply, he wished he hadn’t.
‘Captain, transmission coming in from the Malevolent Shade. Shipmaster Odervirk is asking to speak with you directly.’
Locq looked to the six survivors of his warband tending to their wounds in quiet contemplation. Six. That meant he had lost forty-four Hounds to Khârn and his band of scum, along with a gunship and its crew. Adding that to the deaths from the White Scars’ attack, he was now down to well under half his original number.
‘Shipmaster. Report.’
The interior speaker crackled into life, betraying panic on the cruiser’s command bridge.
‘Captain, we are continuing to engage the Skulltaker but it has disabled our drive systems. We are attempting repair, but it will take time due to our reduced complement.’
Locq spoke through gritted teeth. The pain from his broken arm was ferocious, and he did not need reminding of his decision to salvage the Wings of the Eagle.
‘Do what you can. We are en route to the Malevolent Shade, approaching at battle velocity. Ready a hangar for our arrival.’
The sound of an explosion rattled out of the speaker, cutting Odervirk off.
‘Lord, there is another transmission coming in.’
The pilot paused before continuing.
‘It is from the Skulltaker. Shall I respond?’
The six Hounds stopped what they were doing and looked over to Locq. Sitting upright as best he could, he gave the command. After a crackle of white noise, a new voice rasped through the speakers.
‘And so you see, Locq, it is as I said. Khorne favours those who are faithful to him – and him alone.’
It was the voice of Khârn. Locq drew in a furious breath to respond, but was cut off before he had opportunity to speak.
‘I shall leave your vessel to drift in space. With luck, you may find some safe haven for what remains of your idolatrous pack of dogs to cower in. We continue to follow the Red Path, to further the glory of Khorne. Tell that to your “Warmaster”.’
Khârn began to laugh. At first it was his voice alone, but it was quickly joined by two, then three, then dozens. The mockery rang around the hold of the Thunderhawk, and Locq bellowed at the pilot to cut the transmission. Other than the rumbling of the engines and the rattle of equipment, a sullen, dangerous silence filled the hold.
Khârn sat cross-legged in his chamber, the smoke from burning incense and a dozen pit fires swirling around his naked form. The heat was intense, but he cared not. The blade with which he flensed the skin from the Hound of Abaddon’s skull moved like an extension of his hand, deftly peeling away the layers of flesh and muscle to expose gleaming, unmarked bone beneath. The battle on the moon had satisfied his bloodlust for the moment and given him many trophies, but more importantly it had given him certainty. Murmuring an incantation with every breath, he stripped away the remaining tissue from the head and held the skull before him. Shadows danced within the nose and eye sockets, and Khârn felt rage suddenly course through his body. His hand tightened on the jawbone and snapped it like a dry twig, throwing splinters of bone into his exposed flesh. His victory had not been complete. It should be the head of Locq he was preparing for the Blood God’s glory.
Khârn took in a deep breath and concentrated on slowing his quickening pulse. Closing his eyes, he called up the vision he had experienced on Haeleon. Confidence in its truth usurped his anger. The Red Path would lead him once again to the Black Legion cur, of that he was certain. Khorne demanded it. Shifting his weight, Khârn opened his eyes and glanced over to Gorechild. He let the skull roll from his grip, clattering as it landed on the pile mounting next to him. Khârn exhaled slowly and began chanting a battle oath in a dark language. He could feel power coursing into his still-healing wounds. Whatever challenges were yet to present themselves, wherever the Blood God deigned to send him, Khârn would be ready.
Chapter Four
Blood Vision
Chapter Master Solucious Gaul was not one to rush, but the speed with which he swept down the passageway of the Light of the Emperor was nearing a charge. Behind him, four of his longest-serving veterans matched the urgency of his pace, their heavily embroidered cloaks swaying in time with that of their leader. The reason for their presence had nothing to do with Gaul’s protection. They were accompanying him in a show of the esteem in which they held their honoured guest, even if he was currently putting the lives of everyone on the ship and, for that matter, the entire fleet, in jeopardy. Passing a third triumvirate of Adepta Sororitas, Gaul clenched his back teeth together and ignored their burning stares. While he had nothing but admiration for their military prowess and appreciated the Living Saint had fought with them for the last five years on his crusade, they simply were not needed on an Angels Eradicant vessel.
Gaul had spent a long time on the Light of the Emperor and knew it nearly as well as the shipmaster, but even he had been surprised at just how different the approach to the chapel now looked. Gone were the tapestries and battle banners celebrating the victories over Chaos by his Chapter, replaced with those narrating the bloody trail of destruction waged by Lozepath during his holy war. The pennants and flags had been embellished with golden frames, an extravagance Gaul found hard to stomach in these times of hardship for the Imperium. Even so, he had to admit it was impressive, albeit typical of what he had come to expect from Lozepath. Those who imagined Living Saints to be humble souls dedicated to the spiritual nourishment and guidance of the Emperor’s faithful servants had clearly not met him. The man, if that was the right description, was anything but self-effacing. As he quick-marched through the corridor, Gaul suspected it was Lozepath’s irrepressible temperament that had led to an emergency call coming through to the Chapter Master from the bridge only minutes before.
Turning a wide corner, Gaul spied the newly embossed doors to the chapel. His path was quickly blocked by yet another heavily armed contingent from the Order of the Divine Perfection. The most senior amongst them regarded the Chapter Master and his fully armed escort coolly, one delicate hand stroking the top of the bolter slung over her right shoulder, the other on a brass-bound tome suspended by a thick golden chain. A network of puckered scars ran across her elegant face, and there wa
s a look of quiet determination that, under normal circumstances, Gaul might have given greater respect to. Right now, she was in his way, and he was in no mood to be delayed.
‘Who begs to enter the ministry of the Living Saint?’
Gaul knew the Sisters well enough to realise they would not expect a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes to beg for anything. The words were deliberately confrontational, but he knew how to conduct this particular dance of etiquette.
‘Chapter Master Solucious Gaul of the Angels Eradicant.’
The Sister Superior looked past Gaul and eyed his four veterans behind him with suspicion. The five other Sisters that fanned out and walked past Gaul to stand by their sides provoked no reaction whatsoever. The Sister Superior could clearly see she was hopelessly outgunned, but it did not cow her.
‘His Celestial Highness is at prayer. Come back later.’
Gaul looked down at the woman, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Behind him he could hear her guard shifting in their elegant black armour, readying themselves for a violent response. Inside the Chapter Master’s head, a clock was counting down. A firefight would solve the impasse, but it would also likely complicate and delay matters. There was a very large contingent of Adepta Sororitas on board, and they would mobilise within seconds of hearing combat. Clasping his hands in front of him, Gaul leaned forwards and dropped his voice.
‘Sister Superior, I understand your devotion to Lozepath. But let me put this as simply as I can. I need to talk with the Saint as a matter of extreme urgency. All attempts to communicate with him inside the chapel have been unsuccessful, and I believe him to be in considerable danger at this very moment.’
Gaul knew the Adepta Sororitas had supreme confidence in their ability to protect their holy charge, but a direct warning such as this from a Chapter Master was something that could not be ignored. Gaul straightened and waited for the reaction he expected. Sure enough, the Sister Superior looked over the closest of her fellow guards, then back to Gaul. Something changed in her eyes.
