by Chris Dows
Khârn arrived at the entrance to the bridge access corridor just as the last berzerker fell to the Space Marine. The sandy grey of his armour was streaked with blood, and it was clear that this Angel Eradicant was a skilled fighter. He had taken on six of the warband single-handedly and emerged victorious. Khârn could see the doorway was still closed, but the melta bombs dangling from the veteran Angel Eradicant’s waist would make short work of the bulkhead and give him entrance within seconds. All thoughts of carrying out his mission seemingly fled as he spotted Khârn. Flicking bone and gristle from his lightning-sheathed longsword, the Space Marine took on a defensive pose and awaited Khârn’s charge.
Khârn sprinted forwards and brought Gorechild down in a blur, aiming to chop into the gap between the veteran’s pauldron and helmet, but the Space Marine twisted his body and rammed his shoulder into Khârn’s left arm. Gorechild sliced into the bridge’s door, the mica-dragon teeth squealing against the metal as they tore a ragged line across its surface. The Angel Eradicant brought his power sword’s crackling blade up behind the chainaxe’s handle in an attempt to drive the tip under Khârn’s jawline. Khârn turned his head to the left, but the longsword’s point still caught the underside of the grille and sliced away a chunk of the ceramite before he could push the Space Marine away. Coils of white electricity danced across his vision as the sleek blade broke contact with his helmet. Khârn felt a dull concussion in his left arm as the veteran smashed his fist into his bicep and immediately retaliated with a roar of fury. As Khârn drove his right gauntlet into his foe’s helmet, the Space Marine fell backwards, allowing the Chosen of Khorne the room to swap Gorechild from his bloody left hand to his right. The veteran saw the danger and came back with a lightning-fast thrust of his power sword towards Khârn’s damaged arm, but the angle of his attack was a fraction too wide. Khârn brought Gorechild vertically upwards into the joint between his right cuisse and abdominal armour, tearing into the poorly protected flesh of his inner thigh. Blood fountained out of the wound as the head of the chainaxe ate its way deeper into the Space Marine’s thigh, covering Khârn’s armour and spraying over the ceramite of the Angel Eradicant. Pulling Gorechild towards him, Khârn widened the cut and pulled further upwards into the lower torso of his opponent. By the time the chainaxe had come away, there was not enough muscle and tissue left to keep the leg attached. Completely unbalanced, the veteran fell to the side, and by the time he hit the floor Khârn had separated his head from his body as another worthy tribute to the Blood God.
Khârn took several deep breaths before stepping over the decapitated body and banging on the fortified door with the butt of Gorechild’s handle.
‘Roderbar, open the hatch. I would speak with you.’
Lukosz charged, a wordless battle cry on his ragged lips. Through his tinted tactical overlay, he saw the Angels Eradicant Terminator push the burning wreck of the White Scars bike away from him without effort, stepping out of the huge rupture the collision had created in the far wall of the broad corridor. In one hand he wielded a thunder hammer, and in the other a storm shield, both making the air hum with their powerful charges. Whether it was his shield or his Terminator armour that had saved him from the murderous impact of Faldocran’s bike, Lukosz did not know or care. His Nails were raging at him to take the skull of this loyalist Space Marine, and no amount of protection would get in Lukosz’s way.
Shaking himself back to clarity, Lukosz charged with a roar, pumping shell after shell into the rapidly approaching Angel Eradicant. Somewhere on his flank, Faldocran was locked in his own battle to the death with a clawed warrior. One member of the Terminator squad lay unmoving on the deck, his armour still engulfed in burning fuel, but that left three more to deal with.
The attacking Terminator led with his shield, a tactic Lukosz had experienced in countless boarding actions. Rather than waste his energy striking it with his power sword, he instead threw himself into a forward slide, ramming into one of the Terminator’s legs with both his boots and toppling the veteran onto the deck. With his lighter armour, Lukosz was on his feet first and brought his sword down onto the head of his opponent. He gouged the top of the Terminator’s bulky cowl, but it was a glancing blow. As his momentum took him around, the Angel Eradicant brought his thunder hammer up. Lukosz was too late to avoid contact.
It was like being hit by a Leman Russ tank. All the air left Lukosz’s body and he felt himself flying through the corridor, his ears singing with the deafening concussion unleashed by the Terminator’s power weapon. As he smashed into the ceiling and fell to the deck, warning runes flicked to scarlet. Feeling down his side, Lukosz’s fingers traced a large depression in the ceramite. The force of the energy release had fractured his armour. Whatever damage it had done to his flesh was overridden by a rush of combat stimulants. Staggering to his feet, Lukosz was hit by another blow from behind. Crashing headfirst into the nearby wall, he instinctively rolled and ducked as the thunder hammer from another Terminator smashed into the passageway wall. Lukosz blindly lashed out with his power sword. His blade connected with something, but he was rewarded with yet another hammer blow, this time to the side of his helmet. He dropped to the deck, consciousness seeping from him.
Somewhere distant, Lukosz could hear the Butcher’s Nails keening at him. Shadows moved before him, and then the corridor erupted in staccato flashes of light. Lukosz saw the crackling silhouette of Faldocran being lifted high against a bulkhead, speared by the twin claws of his Terminator opponent, searing lightning bursting into his body and snapping at the air. But then more figures arrived, their own weapons outlined by flashes of repeated fire. One of them was somehow familiar, with a broken horn on its helmet.
Samzar. It was Samzar, come to fight with his old comrade once again.
Lukosz saw the Terminator he had first fought point to the approaching berzerkers and send the remaining veterans of his squad to attack them. The leader looked away from the fight, cocking his head as if listening to some silent command, and Lukosz realised the Terminator now had clear passage to the gunnery control station. Staggering to his feet, Lukosz coughed and blood exploded from his mouth into his helmet. He could barely breathe, and knew he had been badly wounded. That was immaterial. He could not allow the Terminator to fulfil his mission. More than that, he still had a trophy to claim.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’ he rasped.
Lukosz threw himself at the Angels Eradicant veteran. The Terminator turned, smashing his storm shield into the side of Lukosz’s head and bringing his thunder hammer crashing down onto his pauldron. Swatted to the floor by the concussive force, Lukosz felt his rib plates come apart. Lukosz snorted at the pain in disgust. The Terminator did not stop to finish Lukosz off, instead turning and heading towards his target, a sudden urgency in his stride. Through a haze of red Lukosz thrust his power sword forwards between the Terminator’s boot and greave. The Angel Eradicant looked down and behind, but as he turned to defend himself Lukosz pushed the blade further, slicing through the ankle. With a cry of rage the veteran swung his thunder hammer. Lukosz summoned his remaining strength, withdrew his sword and lunged upwards – not to block the blow, but to drive his blade deep into the Terminator’s abdominal armour, straight up into his primary heart.
Lukosz opened his eyes. A shadow moved over him, a silhouette of an armoured figure. Looking down, he could see a smoking crater where his chest armour had once been. Beyond that, he could not see his legs. The shadow moved back, reached down and removed Lukosz’s helmet. As he blinked away the blood obscuring his view, the dark figure resolved itself into Samzar. Lukosz looked up into the desolate, haunted eyes of his brother in arms, and reached out a hand. He tried to clear the confusion in his head.
‘Brother… all is not lost. Honour and glory still await us. But beware you do not follow the wrong path.’
Lukosz could feel himself slipping into darkness. Taking hold of Samzar’s vambrace, he pulled
him closer. A flicker of understanding flashed across his fellow World Eater’s face, and then Samzar nodded, his expression grim. Finally his eyes focussed on a point behind Lukosz, on a place only Samzar could see.
‘As long as the blood flows, nothing else matters to Khorne.’
All semblance of the man Lukosz had once known disappeared in that sentence. Despair overwhelmed him and he released his grip, falling to the deck of the Skulltaker as Samzar started up his chainsword. The last words Lukosz would ever hear were from a brother become a stranger.
‘Your skull will make a fitting trophy for the Blood God.’
Khârn listened to Samzar’s garbled report with mounting anger. The boarders had been wiped out before they could destroy any sensitive part of the ship, but the warband’s losses had been very heavy. Before he could respond, Roderbar turned in his command throne to face Khârn, his face ashen.
‘The two Adeptus Astartes vessels are clearing a path through the asteroid field. They will be able to launch more attack vessels within minutes.’
Khârn looked to the tactical display before him and clenched his fists. This change of approach would surely be their undoing. And yet, the Red Path had brought them here. The Blood God did not want them to die like this.
‘Then we shall use our own gunships and take the fight to them. They will not expect that.’
Khârn moved over to the internal vox and flicked the switch, ready to give the order.
‘Lord.’
Despite the sheen of sweat covering his rotund face, Roderbar spoke with calm and authority.
‘The last reports I received from the hangar decks were not good. We have lost many of our Thunderhawks. I do not think we are able to mount a counter-attack.’
Khârn’s bloodlust began to rise once again.
‘So be it. We will meet the Adeptus Astartes forces here, no matter how great they might be, and slaughter them all.’
‘Wait.’
Roderbar was staring at one of his few undamaged screens.
‘Their bombardment has stopped. They… are being fired upon.’
Khârn stepped back towards the shipmaster. What trickery was this?
‘By whom?’
Khârn raised Gorechild and pointed it at Roderbar’s head. Without blinking, the shipmaster pointed down to a blue light winking just below his bloody hand.
‘There is an emergency communication coming in. Shall I…’
Khârn growled at the stupidity of the question. Roderbar flicked a switch, and a speaker crackled into life.
‘This is Captain Locq of the Hounds of Abaddon. I am engaging the Angels Eradicant fleet and will destroy it momentarily. I will board your vessel as soon as this has been achieved.’
Khârn looked at Roderbar. The shipmaster was trying to hide his astonishment and failing.
‘Any attempt by you to flee, open fire on my fleet or prevent access to your ship by my warriors will result in your immediate destruction. I await confirmation of your agreement to these terms. They are non-negotiable.’
Khârn looked around the bridge. Smoke belched from ruined cogitators, parts of servitors were strewn between burning consoles and the entire ship groaned as if it were in pain. Blood raging, he bellowed an oath and slammed Gorechild into the briefing table, cleaving it in two. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes and saw the image of the blood river flowing before him. Turning to Roderbar, he nodded once.
With a grunt, the shipmaster reached up and pulled down his vox transmitter to respond.
Chapter Six
Disciples of Khârn
It was difficult for Locq not to smile. He was about to succeed in his mission, and would use it to press home his value to Abaddon, to present himself a worthy equal – or even successor – to Urkanthos. When the two additional ships sent by the Lord Purgator to join the Malevolent Shade had arrived alongside the captured and desecrated Wings of the Eagle, Locq had seen it as a clear reminder of Urkanthos’ superiority. He had not gone so far as to have him replaced as commander, which was perhaps surprising given Locq’s heavy losses during the White Scars attack and the costly encounter on the abandoned moon. Urkanthos’ reasons were not known to Locq and he knew there was nothing to be gained in trying to divine them. The Chaos Lord had been right to say any failure on Locq’s part would end his own service to Abaddon. What Locq had to do was make sure that the glory of victory reflected solely on him.
And so, as Locq stood on the blackened hangar deck of the Skulltaker, he felt supremely confident. Of course, it would have been easy for Khârn to raise that enormous chainaxe of his and charge at the boarding party, but with the numerical superiority Locq held both out in space and here on this wrecked ship, the berzerker would be doomed to failure. With his helmet removed, it was clear to Locq that Khârn was struggling to contain himself, but given the number of guns currently trained on the Chosen of Khorne, the captain felt sure he would be far more willing to listen to his terms this time around.
‘Once again, Khârn, I bring a message from the great Warmaster Abaddon.’
Khârn did nothing more than glower at him. To his left, a berzerker growled something. Locq recognised him from the battle on the moon or, at least, the helmet with the broken horn he rested on one arm. A dozen of his motley warband stood in a ragged line behind their leader, but all had the good sense to keep their weapons trained towards the deck. Locq knew there were scores more throughout the smashed vessel, but he had informed the Skulltaker’s shipmaster that if any more than a dozen turned up to greet them, their ship would be annihilated. Locq had selected fifty Hounds to accompany him; he wanted odds of at least four-to-one just in case Khârn decided to sacrifice himself and everyone else to the Blood God. Growling over the whirring chainswords behind him, Locq continued, relishing every word.
‘He commands you to his presence, and you will heed the call.’
Khârn shifted his weight slightly and looked past Locq to his contingent. His face remained impassive, which was more than could be said of his second. The champion with the half-horned helmet was twitching as if he had been hit with a bolt of energy.
‘We both know, captain, that if you do not… persuade me, you will die for your miserable failure,’ Khârn snarled.
Locq had lost control the first time he had faced Khârn. This time, he was not allowing the berzerker’s words to affect him. Locq had the upper hand in every way.
‘Your words neither impress nor cow me, Khârn. I am tasked with bringing you to the Warmaster, that is true. But it is a great honour to be charged with such a responsibility, although I must confess I do not understand why Abaddon would take even the smallest interest in a wretch like you.’
Locq revelled in the fire burning in Khârn’s eyes. Locq’s gaze flicked to the blood-soaked bandages covering Khârn’s left arm, which were tightening as the cable-thick muscles beneath them tensed. When Khârn replied, his voice was low and threatening.
‘I fight for no one other than the Blood God. I follow nothing but the Red Path.’
Locq had hoped Khârn would resort to his absolute devotion to Khorne. He had heard whispers of this ‘Red Path’ amongst the Hounds. Locq wanted to make Khârn pay with his head for the dishonour he had heaped upon him, but it might just be satisfaction enough to see him acquiesce to Locq’s demands in front of his own warriors. He, too, should taste the bitterness of degradation.
‘What if I were to tell you that Abaddon is showing you this Red Path, Khârn?’
Locq did not understand how Khârn’s hand had clasped around his throat so quickly. He felt his boots leave the floor and he suddenly found he could not breathe or speak. Furious warnings were shouted. Bolter muzzles and chainswords appeared from all directions in his peripheral vision, but right in the middle of his focus snarled the face of Khârn, spitting words at him.
‘You dar
e suggest Abaddon is in charge of my fate? You know nothing of the Red Path. Nothing!’
Locq took hold of Khârn’s wrist and tried to pull it away. It would not move. Four gun barrels were hastily pressed into Khârn’s skull. Locq’s world was going dark when Khârn’s hand at last withdrew. Locq fell to the floor and, as he recovered, Khârn spat at his feet. The Hounds kept their weapons mere inches away from the Chosen of Khorne, but Locq could see that he did not even notice them. Khârn’s reaction proved that his words had provoked just the turmoil he had hoped for. Now was the time to press home his advantage.
‘If this path of yours exists, you are stumbling along it like a blind fool. Do you know why the Angels Eradicant were attacking you?’
Locq rasped and panted as he rose to his feet. Behind Khârn, berzerkers looked to each other over their raised weapons. Locq held his hands up and then lowered them. At first nothing happened, but when he turned and stared at his guard, they reluctantly stood down. Turning back, Locq could see that he finally had Khârn’s attention.
‘I intercepted the same astropathic transmission you did. But unlike you, I know exactly who it was sent to. The three Imperial vessels were protecting another ship, the Light of the Emperor, buying it time to reach its destination.’
As Locq’s voice returned to full strength, so did his resolve. Khârn continued to eye him dangerously.
‘A destination it has since reached. So you see, Khârn, perhaps the Warmaster is defining the Red Path for you after all.’
Khârn’s reply was full of dangerous intent, but there was something else Locq thought he could hear beneath it. Curiosity.
‘Where is this destination, Locq? Speak, before I take your skull.’
Locq rubbed at his neck and raised his chin. His mouth split to show a predator’s grin.
