by Chris Dows
With an oath to the Blood God, Lukosz jumped off his bike and nodded to Faldocran to follow him. Weapons drawn, they ran down the wide corridor towards the gunnery control station.
As Lukosz was about to step into the station’s cavernous chamber, his vision whited out, a brilliant flash overwhelming his optical filters. For the briefest of moments he got the impression of huge lumbering forms with sand-coloured helmets and scarlet eye-lenses, and then his world erupted in a maelstrom of blue fire.
Khârn crashed to the deck of the ruined airlock the second he passed through the iris maw of the boarding torpedo’s assault hatch. His lungs felt as if they were about to explode, and the impact drove precious air from his body as the grav system pulled him to the floor. The ten Adeptus Astartes warriors in front of him were laying down a barrage of fire towards the smashed doorway before them. They had not immediately noticed his entrance in the airless chamber, and Khârn was not going to give them time to realise their error. Using their armoured bodies as a shield from oncoming fire, Khârn activated Gorechild and ducked low, sweeping the whirling chainaxe across the back of the nearest sand-coloured figure’s knees. The teeth chewed through the ceramite, slicing both legs in half and sending the warrior toppling to the deck. Khârn heard the crackle of his vox and frantic calls between berzerkers who had spotted his appearance from the other end of the corridor as the loyalists turned to face their new attacker. Their sergeant levelled his bolter at Khârn’s head, but a swift parry with Gorechild rendered the weapon useless. Smashing his right pauldron into the assailant, Khârn knocked him into the smoking side of the boarding torpedo as concentrated fire tore into the boarding squad. The sergeant drew a chainsword and brought it up between himself and Khârn. Khârn ducked under his opponent’s defensive strike and smashed his fist into the helmet grille of the Space Marine as he came back up. He was rewarded with the hissing of air from the rupture. Pushing himself away, Khârn swung Gorechild with tremendous speed, carving the top section off his opponent’s pauldron and continuing into the side of the helmet. Blood and bone spat out in all directions, and as the decapitated body fell to the ground it was still shaking from the violence of the blow.
Khârn felt the muffled cry of triumph from the berzerkers reverberate through the deck plating and saw them rush towards the remaining Space Marines, power mauls and axes swinging with uncoordinated fury. Within seconds the boarders were being overwhelmed by warriors in scarlet armour, and with his head now spinning from the dangerous lack of oxygen, Khârn wasted no time in lending his blade to the cause.
With the last of the invaders lying dead on the floor, Khârn left the berzerkers to take their trophies and move on to their next battles. By now Khârn was staggering rather than walking, the effects of asphyxiation taking hold of his oxygen-starved brain. Clattering between the corridor walls, he lumbered towards an emergency airlock that indicated a pressurised section beyond it. He threw himself into the chamber and tore his helmet off as air began to thunder and hiss around him.
Images flashed within Khârn’s mind, the same symbols of wings and lightning that had come in his visitations and during the fight in the pit. The combat in the airlock had been so fast and close-up he had not had time to process the detail of what he had seen, but the configuration on the Space Marines’ pauldrons suddenly crystallised around the dream-like recollections of his visions. They had borne a lightning bolt surrounded by wings on their black pauldrons.
Angels Eradicant.
Khârn took in a deep breath of stale, metallic air and gripped Gorechild with renewed vigour. The swelling in his left arm was beginning to subside, an indication the damage caused by his exposure to the void was already healing rapidly. He may not have found the ship that had sent the message his astropath had intercepted, but the Red Path had led him to fight the Astartes Praeses, the very purest of the loyalist Chapters tasked with defending the space around the Eye of Terror itself. Their heads would make fine trophies indeed!
Khârn’s exultation was cut short by the Skulltaker lurching violently to one side. The battle for the ship was raging, and now more than ever he had to ensure he could continue towards the destiny Khorne had laid out for him. As he replaced his helmet, the cross-chatter of a dozen battles flooded into Khârn’s mind. In his haze, he had not noticed it before. The cacophony was suddenly cut short by Roderbar’s urgent voice.
‘Samzar, Lukosz. We have multiple incursions across all decks. Send reinforcements to the bridge. I am tracking several raiding parties making their way towards this location.’
Static crackled for some seconds, mixed with howls of fury and shouted oaths as battle was joined across the ship. Khârn knew he was close to Roderbar.
‘I am on my way to the bridge, Roderbar. How many ships are attacking us?’
In the background, Khârn heard a series of loud bangs. He heard Roderbar shout orders at his bridge crew before he breathlessly responded.
‘Three Adeptus Astartes vessels, lord. They used the magnetic fields of the asteroid belt we passed last cycle to hide their presence. It was as close to a total surprise as I have ever encountered.’
Khârn began running down the access corridor towards the bow of the Skulltaker, letting the pain from his many fresh injuries fuel his anger.
‘I do not want to hear your pitiful excuses, Roderbar. I want you to fight.’
Two Angels Eradicant appeared at the end of the passageway. As they turned to bring their bolters to bear, Khârn increased speed and launched himself at them, Gorechild held before him like a battering ram. As he smashed into the closest Space Marine, the momentum of his charge sent all three of them sprawling onto the deck and weapons fire spraying in all directions. Khârn rolled over his exposed arm, leaving a smear of dark blood on the deck as he got to his feet and swung his chainaxe into the head of the attacker before him. His helmet was torn asunder, Gorechild digging from scalp to lower jaw, and the second boarder took the opportunity to launch his own attack on Khârn as he heaved to free his weapon from his kill. The Angel Eradicant’s chainsword sliced into the exposed flesh of Khârn’s left arm, forcing him to release Gorechild and allow it to fall with the body in which it was embedded. Khârn took a step forward and lashed out with his left foot, planting it into the midriff of the charging Space Marine and unbalancing his opponent. Khârn scooped up the dead boarder’s bolter, ducked the murderous sweep of the attacking Space Marine’s chainsword and fired point-blank into the ruby-coloured lens of the Angel Eradicant’s right eye. The back of the helmet exploded outwards in a crimson shower, but Khârn still had to throw himself out of the path of the roaring chainsword as the body of the Space Marine fell back onto the deck.
As Khârn worked Gorechild free from the skull of his first trophy, he realised Roderbar was still speaking.
‘…if you will allow it. I have already disabled one of their ships, but the other two vessels are moving to outflank us. The asteroid field will be risky, but if they follow us in it will reduce their capability to launch further assaults. Shall I give the order to enter?’
Khârn slowly ran the fingers of his bare left hand across Gorechild’s teeth, drawing fresh blood. If they stayed in open space, the loyalists would destroy the Skulltaker at range once they realised that their boarding action was doomed to fail. They appeared to lack any concept of the mettle of those favoured by the Blood God. The unpredictability of the asteroids would make bombardment difficult, but posed its own risks in the inevitable strikes from the huge chunks of spinning ice. Regardless of the ship’s present damage, the odds were much better than remaining where they were.
‘Do what you have to do, shipmaster.’
With that, Khârn broke into a run. Gorechild dripped with blood, hungry to take more Angels Eradicant skulls.
Cardinal Pradillo could not quite believe his tired old eyes. Standing at the top of the steps to the central avenue, it looked as if th
e entire planet had come out to greet the Living Saint on his return to Salandraxis. In the far distance, seven Angels Eradicant transports squatted in a tight formation, their weapons raised into the sky as a sign of respect for their passenger. Between the sea of bobbing heads and waving hands stood a thick line of green uniforms. Balacet had cursed and sworn at the number of troops he would have to commit for crowd control, wanting instead to put on an honour guard he hoped would rival the banners and flags of Alecia’s Sisters of Battle. It was one argument Pradillo had been happy to stay out of. He had no interest in the pomp and ceremony before him. He was far more concerned that only three Adeptus Astartes cruisers were drifting in high orbit instead of six. Regardless of Balacet and Alecia’s belief that they could protect the planet, Pradillo felt the reduced number to be ominous.
In the far distance, Pradillo could make out a golden glow and a wave of sound swept the mile or so down the avenue towards him. Tens of thousands cheered at the first sight of their Saint, and Pradillo heard several sharp intakes of breath from the members of the Ecclesiarchy to his left and right. Some of his fellow Adeptus Ministorum clerics had never seen Lozepath with their own eyes, and Pradillo knew full well the prospect of meeting a Living Saint was a life-defining moment. As the Astra Militarum stiffened to attention and the Sisters of Battle turned as one to face him, it made Pradillo feel even more wretched and ungrateful that he still harboured doubts about the safety of the planet.
It took five minutes for the details of Lozepath’s procession to swim into Pradillo’s focus. To the front, the ungainly form of a Dreadnought lumbered forward, weapon arm angled towards the golden carpet along which he strode, claw-like hand raised high and open in a sign of greeting. The man-machine was a fearsome sight, and from his vantage point Pradillo could see the Astra Militarum detail around him pressed into the crowd to give him extra room. Behind the Dreadnought marched a line of Adeptus Astartes veterans on either side, cloaks and banners swaying in time with their movement. He had met the Angels Eradicant only once before, and found them to be respectful of the Ministorum, unlike some of the other Chapters he had encountered over his countless years of service.
Behind their columns followed the Adepta Sororitas, surrounding the raised platform on which Lozepath was being carried towards the High Temple by devoted serfs. Their simple white robes reflected the Living Saint’s shimmering aura, and as he moved past the endless crowds on either side, the faithful citizens dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Taking a faltering breath, Pradillo raised his chin and forced a smile lest Lozepath see his concern. He desperately needed to talk with His Holiness to dispel the deep misgivings he had.
The Dreadnought came to a halt before the steps in a whine of motors and hiss of hydraulics. Pradillo did not recognise the decorations and holy parchments adorning the machine, but felt compelled to bow in respect to these potent symbols of the Emperor’s favour. The Dreadnought hinged forwards slightly in response, then clanked to one side, lowering his arm and coming to a watchful standstill down the avenue. Now revealed, the Adeptus Astartes Chapter Master marched over to join the Dreadnought, his Space Marines breaking off to the left and right of the steps. This left the Sisters of Battle, who moved away from the large palanquin, giving the servants space to gently lower Lozepath to the ground. As his feet touched the surface of the carpet, wails of thanks to the Emperor’s mercy came from the cowed ranks of spectators. Pradillo felt ashamed his faith was not as strong as that of the common man.
All heads bowed as Lozepath adjusted his richly adorned belt and angled his mighty sword behind him. With his eyes averted, Pradillo could still see the glow from the Living Saint’s force field dancing over the armoured figures flanking his progress. Finally, the bottom of Lozepath’s cloak filled Pradillo’s vision, and he grasped his hands together even tighter.
‘Cardinal Astral Pradillo. It pleases me to see you once again.’
Pradillo’s heart thumped in his bony chest. Still averting his gaze, he mustered his failing strength to reply.
‘My joy knows no bounds at your safe return, Your Holiness.’
Lozepath raised his right hand, and despite the tremendous pain in his old bones, Pradillo sank to his knees in order to kiss it, the energy field creating a tickling sensation on his thin lips.
‘The forces of Chaos grow ever closer, Pradillo. Chapter Master Gaul of the honourable Angels Eradicant is convinced I am in grave danger.’
Pradillo released the hand and then struggled to his feet. He could hear some of his junior clerics shuffling behind him, but they had the good sense to remain where they were and not embarrass the cardinal by offering assistance in front of the Living Saint.
‘It is to my eternal shame that I share Lord Gaul’s misgivings, Your Holiness.’
Pradillo could feel Lozepath’s gaze bore into him. There was a steel-cold edge to his voice, something the cardinal had heard before.
‘Is that so? Come, Pradillo. We shall talk inside the High Temple.’
Taking that as a cue to raise his head, Pradillo nodded once and turned, fearing he may betray the doubt coursing through him. He knew Lozepath was wise beyond doubt and would certainly have anticipated Pradillo’s concerns about his own safety and that of the planet. Clearly, this was not the reaction he wanted from his cardinal. Shuffling towards the towering doors of the temple, Pradillo heard Lozepath murmur something to the Sister of Battle closest to him. By the time he had entered the serenity of the High Temple, Lozepath alone was by his side. With a rumble, the doors juddered shut behind them, cutting off the clamour of the crowds and the petal-strewn breeze. Pradillo felt the air become thick with anticipation. The same spirit that had pushed him to speak out against Lozepath’s crusade filled him again – he could remain silent no longer.
‘Your Holiness, I note with some concern that only half the fleet that set out from the Angels Eradicant fortress monastery has arrived. It is not my place to ask why, but our ability to protect you could only have been enhanced by their presence.’
In the soft, filtered light of the High Temple, it was easy for even Pradillo’s weak eyes to see the increasing intensity of the golden light from Lozepath’s body. Pradillo went back over his words in his mind. Surely there was nothing contentious or malicious in them?
‘Ah. A welcome sight.’
Pradillo followed Lozepath’s gaze to the throne nestled beneath the legs of the Emperor’s mighty statue. Try as he might, he could not match the speed of the Living Saint as he swept up the steps to the dais and, passing his sword to a gaggle of hovering cherubs, took his seat. Pradillo’s spirits rose as the Saint took his rightful seat, his dark thoughts receding to the shadows created by his renewed faith. The ornately carved chair intensified in colour now it was occupied once again and Pradillo felt a tear roll down his cheek. Lozepath beckoned the cardinal to approach, and he did so with joy in his heart. Perhaps Salandraxis would be safe after all. Bowing his head at the foot of the steps, he heard Lozepath lean forwards in the throne and whisper to him.
‘I regret, Cardinal Pradillo, that in my absence you have forgotten the power the Emperor has bestowed upon me.’
Pradillo froze. How could he be accused of such a thing, now that his faith had regained its former strength? The voice continued, its tone devoid of any warmth, while the brilliance of the light emanating from the cloaked body continued to increase by the second.
‘I have no need of ships or men. I am all that is needed to combat the forces of Chaos.’
The light was becoming unbearable to witness. Pradillo closed his eyes as Lozepath screamed his next words in fury.
‘I am the wrath of the Emperor! I am His power! You will not doubt me!’
Pradillo felt as if he were on fire. Falling onto the steps, he rolled in agony at Lozepath’s feet, his vision filled with a light so brilliant it rivalled the intensity of the sun. He could smell flesh burning
, and rubbed his hands over his skin in terror. When he got to his face, he realised what had happened. Instead of the familiar sensation of pressure on his eyeballs, there was nothing there but two empty sockets. Pradillo screamed with shock and pain and, just as it had begun, it stopped. Stretching out his hands, he felt his way up the steps until his shaking fingers brushed against the hem of Lozepath’s gown. His body shook with sobs, not from the loss of his sight, but in the knowledge he had been found guilty of his sins and rightly punished.
‘Forgive me, Your Holiness. Forgive me.’
Lozepath did not reply.
Lukosz hurtled back across the wide access passage with a screech of ceramite against metal, a wisp of glowing particles trailing behind him. Faldocran had been thrown even further and hit the ruined hatch they had breached moments ago. Lukosz and Faldocran had been caught in the middle of a teleportation attack, and where they had stood, now several bulky shapes were materialising. Despite the ice-blue vapour still clouding the corridor, Lukosz had seen enough of the attackers to know they were wearing Terminator armour. Lukosz had to get moving.
‘Faldocran! Get up and get your bike down here! Full speed!’
Static crackled for a long second until the veteran finally shouted his acknowledgement over the roar of his bike’s engine. It was screaming at dangerously high revolutions, indicating that Faldocran had understood the insanity that was Lukosz’s plan. Lukosz heard Faldocran’s bike smash into the sides of the corridor and felt the vibration through the deck plates.
‘Lukosz – now!’
Lukosz dropped to one knee, keeping his head low, and felt a violent rush as Faldocran sped right overhead, his bike’s heavy engine block washing Lukosz’s neck with dry heat as it passed. As he got to his feet and started running, Lukosz saw Faldocran roll from his bike and the machine plough into a pair of sand-coloured figures, crushing them against a reinforced bulkhead. Drawing his power sword and bolter, Lukosz sprayed fire as he threw himself towards the gunnery control station and whoever might be foolish enough to stand in his way.
