The Red Path

by Chris Dows

  ‘See how he runs, a cur hiding in the shadows cast by my holy purity. Come, chosen son of the Blood Father. I will be merciful. You shall be released from your torment, as will your foul brethren.’

  Khârn felt the ground shake. More glass and metal showered down from above as the air erupted with fresh violence. The roar of dark oaths echoed from the walls, and Khârn knew it heralded the arrival of more Chaos forces. Before him, most of the remaining Angels Eradicant and Sisters of Battle stormed towards the main entrance, giving Lozepath more room to wield his deadly energy sword. The firing intensified ahead, stray bolter salvoes ricocheting back and forth around Khârn. He headed towards the very centre of the High Temple and a towering statue to the Emperor. Lozepath bellowed in rage behind him, and Khârn felt himself lifted into the air. His vision was filled with the flank of the golden statue hurtling towards him and he crashed into it chest-first. Khârn felt his left rib plate crack, and his bloody left arm dragged along the front of the effigy as he plunged onto the ornate throne built beneath the golden Emperor’s legs. Another blast came, but Khârn vaulted over the high seat for cover.

  Khârn stepped onto the throne, Gorechild in both hands. In the near distance, Lozepath lurched forwards, the field of iridescence around him pulsating with his heartbeat. Khârn saw the glowing sword come up ready to strike, and he steeled himself to move. Before it could unleash its lethal beam, a volley of bolter fire roared from Lozepath’s left. Several Hounds of Abaddon opened fire as they charged, pumping shell after shell into the Living Saint. Khârn jumped off the throne and ran towards Lozepath, using the distraction to his advantage. The concentration of bolt explosions was unrelenting. Bringing his shield before him, Lozepath deflected the majority of the shots aimed at his body, but many others detonated on his energy field. The aura around the Saint changed colour into a swirling dark brown where the shots found their mark, but Khârn could see Lozepath was already channelling energy into his broadsword. Khârn increased speed and raised Gorechild ready to strike, but the Living Saint had weathered the onslaught. He unleashed a broiling stream of energy from the tip of his sword, the outer edge of the blast catching Khârn on his right arm and hurling him back towards the statue. As he skidded along the floor, Khârn saw the Hounds of Abaddon annihilated in the Living Saint’s furious attack.

  Khârn rolled into a crouch, readying himself for Lozepath’s next attack. For a few seconds, the Living Saint swayed on his feet, the field around him dissipating until it became almost transparent. Khârn could see that he had clearly been weakened by the maelstrom unleashed by the Hounds’ attack, and the blood raced in his veins. For all of Lozepath’s boastful claims of commanding the might of the righteous, there was a limit to it. Khârn would find that boundary, and smash it down.

  The aura returned to its original state with a golden flicker as Lozepath raised his huge sword. This time Khârn was the faster, and dodged the beam that slammed into the base of the Emperor’s effigy behind him, causing it to rock on its foundations. In that split second, Khârn knew how he could use the Saint’s enormous power against him. A fine mist of dust and plascrete billowed up around Khârn and he looked up to the golden figure as Lozepath marched towards him. His face was a shimmering mask of hate, more resolute with every step. The Saint’s blade rose again, brilliant energy coursing down through his arm to store and build within the mighty weapon.

  Vaulting back over the ornately carved high seat, Khârn slashed into the undamaged leg of the golden Emperor, carving a deep gouge across it. The throne exploded behind him as Lozepath unleashed another blast, throwing him through the rocking legs of the effigy to the rear of the statue. Khârn rolled, spinning Gorechild to full speed the second he regained his feet and ran towards the left ankle, breaking Lozepath’s line of sight. With a huge swing, Khârn slammed the chainaxe into the gold-clad leg. The mica-dragon teeth chewed through metal and stone, carving a thick, jagged line all the way through until the massive sculpture shifted. Khârn heard Lozepath scream in rage. The remains of the throne were torn apart in another white-hot blast, but Khârn had already thrown himself over to the right leg of the statue and was rending it apart. With a deafening crack, the effigy began to drop.

  Khârn dodged the spinning chunks of debris flying in all directions from the Living Saint’s raging attack. Leaning his right shoulder into the back of the leg, Khârn bellowed with the effort of pushing. A wrenching snap heralded the golden Emperor’s slow forward movement, and as it succumbed to its own enormous weight the speed increased.

  Holstering Gorechild on his back, he sprinted forwards, leaping off the smashed edge of the plinth and hurling himself at the rear of the statue with all the power he could muster. Khârn took hold of its deeply carved ridges and used them as handholds to scale the toppling idol. As it fell, he could feel tremendous explosions erupting in the front of the sculpture as Lozepath unleashed his power into it. Large chunks spun off the sides and a series of blasts tore ragged holes through the stone, but by now the statue was at an angle shallow enough for Khârn to begin running up its length.

  As he reached the base of the spine, the gold-encrusted arms broke off at the shoulders, dropping onto what remained of the columns and smaller effigies surrounding it, crushing them under their weight. Khârn knew Lozepath would not be foolish enough to let the statue fall on him, but that did not matter. By the time he had jumped over the deep crenulations of the idol’s back, the head was crashing into the High Temple’s outer wall with a thunderous explosion of stone and marble. With his view of the ground obscured, Khârn threw himself at a shimmer in the rising cloud of dust. As he hit the fractured tiles of the High Temple, the golden Emperor’s enormous broken head crashed down inches away from him and came to rest on its side.

  Khârn spotted a pulsating light between the decapitated head and torso. As it brightened, it picked out the dust swirling thickly around the temple’s ruined interior. Readying Gorechild, Khârn crunched over rubble and the dying Sisters, grinding them into the once-pristine floor. Some of the surviving Sisters in the temple had recovered enough to recommence fire, but Khârn ignored their efforts. His full concentration was fixed on the ebbing light. It was losing its intensity. Lozepath’s skull was ready for the taking. The light faded and did not come back. Khârn swore an oath in an ancient tongue. Perhaps Lozepath had been dealt a fatal blow by the falling statue after all.

  Khârn jumped onto the smashed torso of the golden Emperor and peered down onto the crushed floor. Lozepath appeared from nowhere, thrusting upwards with his broadsword and connecting with the inside of Khârn’s thigh armour. Khârn leapt into the air, over the head of Lozepath, and twisted as he fell towards the hollow interior of the statue’s head. Lozepath charged immediately, the sword’s intensity building once again. From his crouched position, Khârn swept outwards with Gorechild, grinding into the side of the pulsating blade. The weight of his strike sent Lozepath spinning off to the right, but the Living Saint used the momentum to his advantage, whirling around in a full circle and sweeping the huge blade towards Khârn’s head with one hand. Gorechild took the blow, but the impact sent shockwaves through Khârn’s arms. Lozepath’s face was twisted in rage, the pain of the impact with Khârn’s chainaxe distorting his noble features. The aura around him was beginning to return, and Khârn knew it would only take a matter of moments for him to regenerate. He had to press home his advantage.

  Khârn jumped forwards from his crouch with a cry of fury. Thrusting the shaft of Gorechild into Lozepath’s shield, he pushed the Living Saint backwards towards the golden Emperor’s broken body. Lozepath leaned forwards and tried to counter the assault, but Khârn’s brute strength was against him. As the Saint brought his sword up, Khârn saw the blade was growing ever brighter. Lozepath seemed to be gathering holy energy from the temple’s structure. Despite the glow not reaching its full brilliance, the Living Saint thrust forwards into Khârn’s unprotected left arm. He fe
lt the flesh burn and crisp with the strike but turned into the blow nonetheless, bringing Gorechild down towards Lozepath’s head with his right hand. The Saint brought his shield up to block the blow, and Khârn could see his aura was regaining its golden colour as his power continued to increase. Gorechild’s teeth penetrated the shield’s glowing field and bit deep into the ceramite with a satisfying shriek. Khârn delighted in watching the chainaxe cleave the glittering aquila emblazoned on it in two.

  Something smashed into the side of Khârn’s head. Blows rained down on him, frantic and furious, and he turned to see a Sister of Battle hammering at his armour with her empty bolter. Spittle and blood were flying from her mouth as she pounded him with the stock of the weapon, her words frenzied and incomprehensible. Khârn kicked out with a curse, hurling her backwards into the gaping hole of the golden Emperor’s head. She hit the rim at neck height and disappeared into the darkness of the hollow, her spine broken with the impact. Khârn turned without further pause to press his attack on Lozepath.

  A burning pain erupted in his upper chest.

  Khârn looked down. The Living Saint’s blade had penetrated the ceramite of his breastplate. Slowly, Khârn raised his head to meet Lozepath’s gaze. He was staring directly into Khârn’s eyes, his face triumphant, and his mouth distorted into a sneer as he twisted the pulsating blade and pushed it deeper still. Khârn felt muscle and sinew slice apart. Sheets of flame tore through the right side of his body.

  Khârn barked a laugh, then grasped the flaming blade with his armoured gauntlet. Lozepath pushed again, but this time the blade did not progress. In his left hand, Khârn revved Gorechild to full speed, all the while staring into the hate-filled face of the Living Saint. The expression on Lozepath’s face changed. Lozepath tried to withdraw the weapon from Khârn’s body, but it would not move. As the Saint closed his eyes, the aura around him began to grow brighter.

  Khârn swept Gorechild down onto the protruding blade in a blur. Sparks flew and he felt his body shudder as the chainaxe ground its way through the glowing sword. Lozepath fell backwards with a look of astonishment on his face, still clutching the handle. Khârn gripped the steel protruding from his chest and pulled it out. Blood oozed from the blackened puncture in his armour, but he paid it no heed. Tossing the now-dull shard to one side in disgust, he advanced on Lozepath, who thrust again with the broken blade.

  The shimmering glow around the Living Saint pulsed brightly, but the light was fluctuating far more rapidly than it had before.

  Khârn struck.

  Gorechild tore through Lozepath’s right shoulder and angled down to the left armpit. Bone and muscle spattered outwards, showering Khârn with a fountain of gore. The Chosen of Khorne brought Gorechild up to his chest and stepped back to watch the Living Saint die. Lozepath’s head and shoulders began to slide forwards with the sound of freshly butchered meat. Before the severed torso could drop to the floor, Khârn brought the chainaxe down in a tight curve, slicing through the neck and separating the head from the dissected body.

  Screams of horror and shouts of fury filled the air, closely followed by a fresh hail of bolter fire. The sound of ricocheting shells drifted away as Khârn lifted Lozepath’s head and stared at it, disgust and disappointment growing inside him. The golden aura had gone, replaced with the pallid skin of a mortal. How could this be the great trophy the Blood God had led him to? Was this wretch’s skull really the prize he had been sent to claim?

  Khârn leant back and lifted the severed head to the sky, roaring to the heavens through the shattered remains of the High Temple’s glass ceiling. In that moment, he knew that Salandraxis had not yet fulfilled the promise given to him.

  Fresh explosions tore into the fallen remains of the golden Emperor, peppering Khârn with spinning fragments of debris. Khârn strode through the destruction towards the fire, readying Gorechild for the inevitable revenge attack from the remains of the Imperial forces. But, despite his vision being clouded by smoke and tongues of flame, he could see that the High Temple’s defenders had their backs to him. Through the gaps between the Sisters of Battle and Angels Eradicant he spotted Black Legion warriors in black-and-red armour. They were swarming towards the rapidly diminishing line of the Emperor’s faithful, tearing into them with savage abandon. Khârn ducked low and broke into a sprint, joining battle against the nearest of the Imperial Space Marines. Raising Gorechild high, he swung into the thigh of an Angel Eradicant, carving through his leg and sending him crashing to the floor. The Hound of Abaddon who had been fighting him charged forwards, striking Khârn directly in the chest. Khârn swung Gorechild at him, gouging the vambrace of his chainsword arm. Instead of retaliating the Hound retreated, shouting into his vox as he did so.

  As more loyalist bodies fell to his left and right, Khârn could see dozens of Black Legionnaires surging towards him, weapons readied but not opening fire. Khârn weighed Gorechild in his hands, preparing it for yet more blood. The longer he waited to attack, the more concentrated their numbers would become – and the more skulls he could take.

  ‘Khârn!’

  The voice was unfiltered by a helmet. Khârn recognised it immediately. Turning behind him, he saw Locq standing on top of the head of the Emperor’s fallen statue, looking down at him with obvious satisfaction. The Hounds of Abaddon were now three deep on every side. Khârn’s grip on Gorechild tightened. Locq took a step towards the edge of the smashed idol, chainsword held loosely in one hand, helmet in the other. It was a brazen gesture. Skirmishes could still be heard within and outside the High Temple, and it would only take a stray shot to take his head off. Or, thought Khârn, a throw of his chainaxe. Khârn’s hands twitched on the weapon and a wave of bolter muzzles rattled closer. Khârn snorted derisively, lowered Gorechild slowly to his side and took off his own helmet to match Locq’s bravado. He would slaughter all those around him in good time, now he had the measure of them.

  ‘Your berzerkers are finished. I had them executed as the honourless scum they are. Many of the Hounds who joined your ranks turned on them. How does it feel to be betrayed, Khârn the Betrayer?’

  Khârn’s bloodlust raged. He cared not for the loss of the warband, nor at whose hands they died. They had served their purpose, allowing him to follow the Red Path and reap a rich harvest for the Blood God. Khârn stepped forwards, but his way was immediately blocked by half a dozen Hounds of Abaddon, their chainswords and chainaxes buzzing inches from his face. He looked to them with a sneer, his voice rich with loathing.

  ‘Still you refuse to understand. I am on the Red Path, shown to me by the Blood God himself. I have no other allegiance than to Khorne. I serve him, and him alone. I shall not dance to the whims of your “Warmaster”, Locq. I will not be your prisoner. You have failed.’

  The contented look on Locq’s face fell away, replaced instead by a dark fury. Locq jumped down from the golden Emperor’s decapitated head and marched forwards, the group of Hounds stepping back to allow him through. Khârn stared into Locq’s eyes. There was a fire there Khârn had not seen before.

  ‘I have no intention of taking you prisoner, Khârn. I will kill you and take your head.’

  Khârn felt a tremendous blow lift him from the floor. A scorching blast of heat rushed across his face, and he instinctively brought his arm up to protect it as he crashed to the floor. The movement tore muscle fibres apart in his upper chest, the pain from Lozepath’s strike exploding through him once again. Raising his head, he could see light pouring in from somewhere to his left, illuminating the rain of dust swirling around the interior of the ruined High Temple. Another thunderous roar echoed from its broken walls, and Hounds of Abaddon spun past him, some intact, some torn asunder. A few yards away, Khârn spotted his helmet. Rolling over to it, he quickly put it on and brought himself up into a crouch, Gorechild purring in his hands. This was not the pure energy of Lozepath’s heavenly fire. This was high-explosive ammunition from a heavy
gun.

  Khârn heard the sound of tank tracks squealing and crunching their way over broken masonry. Jumping to his feet, Khârn caught a glance of a Leman Russ battle tank turning only yards away, its upper surface covered in brick and stone from the hole it had smashed in the High Temple’s wall. The chatter of bolter fire broke out as Angels Eradicant poured forwards past both sides of the tank, firing and hacking at the Hounds of Abaddon who had abandoned their guard around Khârn to engage with the newly arrived loyalist reinforcements. Khârn’s bloodlust surged to a new intensity, and he spun up Gorechild in readiness for a rich harvest.

  The melee intensified within seconds. Khârn threw himself into the clamour, delighting in the fact that no matter what he hit, it would be yet more glory to Khorne. Gorechild tore into armoured flanks, pauldrons and helmets, devouring ceramite and spitting chunks of bloody flesh with abandon. Khârn did not have to search for targets; they were six deep before him, crashing and smashing into each other within the ruins of the High Temple, trampling on bodies and broken effigies in their bloodlust. To his left, Khârn caught a glimpse of the Angels Eradicant leader, clearly wounded but fighting with a ferocity fitting of any berzerker. Khârn rammed his way past a blood-crazed Black Legion warrior, sweeping Gorechild down over the back of his thighs and taking his legs from under him. The Master of the Angels Eradicant would be another great trophy, regardless of his injuries. But then Khârn saw Locq, pinned against the now-crippled Leman Russ and battling an Angel Eradicant only yards away.

  Khârn brought his head down and broke into a sprint. He kept Gorechild before him, using his momentum and sheer force of will to crash through the lines of battling Space Marines. He did not acknowledge the blows of chainswords or detonations of bolts on his armour. His focus was entirely on Locq. Within seconds he had broken through, just in time for the Hound of Abaddon to drive his chainsword through the stomach of the Angel Eradicant. Locq pushed the stricken Space Marine away with his boot, sending his victim crashing to the ground and looking for his next fight.