by Chris Dows
He would not have to wait long.
‘Locq!’
Khârn screamed the name. Through the raging noise of combat, Locq turned towards him. There was no hesitation, no boastful claims or posturing this time. The Hound of Abaddon raised his chainsword and sprinted to meet Khârn. Leaping into the air for extra momentum, Locq brought his buzzing weapon down towards Khârn’s head. Khârn brought Gorechild up to meet the challenge, but had to quickly alter the angle of his chainaxe as Locq skilfully twisted the churning blade towards Khârn’s left arm. The chainsword skidded across the flat of Gorechild’s head, and Locq shifted his weight to continue the movement down the shaft towards the exposed fingers on Khârn’s left hand. The Chosen of Khorne responded by twisting his wrist, sweeping Locq’s chainsword out and just over the knuckles of his fist. Khârn felt Locq’s boot crash into his knee. On the blood-slick floor of the High Temple, Khârn’s left foot slid back with the force of the blow, pain lancing up his leg from an old injury that had not yet fully healed. Locq seized his chance to spin and chop into Khârn’s right thigh. Khârn tossed Gorechild to his other hand just as the chainsword blade began to bite into his cuisse. He brought the ancient axe straight down with a thumping blow, not onto the blade but onto Locq’s gauntlet.
Gorechild chewed greedily through ceramite and bone. Locq’s hand and chainsword fell to the floor, the chain still spinning at full throttle. Khârn kicked it to one side to stop Locq from picking it up with his other hand, but the Hounds captain was already advancing. With a bellow of anger, Locq smashed his remaining fist into Khârn’s head.
Khârn shook off the blow and brought Gorechild down onto Locq’s right pauldron with both hands, his own oath to the Blood God on his lips. Such was the fury with which Khârn struck, the chainaxe tore a straight line down into the breastplate. Khârn twisted the handle clockwise, altering the path of the whirling teeth to the left. Locq reached down and tried to stop the blade from exiting his body, but it was too late. His right arm and a good part of his torso slid away and dropped to the floor. For some seconds he stood and faced Khârn, seemingly oblivious to the organs spilling out of his ruined flank. He tried to say something, but Khârn was not listening. He swung Gorechild once above his head and drove it into the exposed side beneath Locq’s chin. Locq’s severed head spun with the force of the blow and hit the ground as his lifeless torso folded and collapsed onto itself.
As the battle raged between the diminishing Angels Eradicant forces and the Black Legion warband, Khârn stooped to retrieve his trophy. He looked at the severed head for a moment, then quickly threaded one of Gorechild’s chains through the jaw and let it dangle with the others Salandraxis had given him that day. Khârn rose to his feet. The Blood Father might look favourably upon him for his harvest, but Khârn’s bloodlust was not yet sated.
Through the milling bodies, Khârn spotted the heavily injured Master of the Angels Eradicant once again. When the closest veterans around him became aware of Khârn’s intention, the Space Marines began falling back towards their leader, heading not for the entrance they had created with the Leman Russ tank but the main doors. The Hounds of Abaddon followed, keen to rout the Imperial forces. Khârn launched himself at the nearest Black Legion warrior. The combat was brief and unsatisfying; Khârn eviscerated the Hound in a matter of seconds and headed out to the temple’s main entrance in pursuit of the retreating Space Marines.
Khârn was only a few steps away from the gaping doorway when he was blown back into the temple by a massive shock wave. He landed on his back and careened off fallen masonry and pieces of broken statue, finally coming to a halt several yards away from the exit. Khârn cycled through his helmet’s visual modes with an impatient grunt as he got up. He had been blown up enough times for one battle. Through the smoke and dust, he could see Locq’s forces were being decimated by las-fire and heavy bolters outside the temple. Through the shattered remains of the glass roof, Khârn saw Imperial attack ships swoop and fire, raining down destruction on all those who had followed the Angels Eradicant into the open.
Khârn grinned as he decided it was time to take his fury to these new reinforcements. He would not leave Salandraxis while any of them still drew breath.
The firestorm Khârn ran into was without equal. At least two dozen Imperial ships were firing down onto the steps and the approach to the temple. Down below, fresh Astra Militarum troops swarmed out of transports to engage with the Khornate Black Legionnaires that had managed to survive the murderous fire from above. The troops were ill-matched to their power-armoured foe, but the discipline with which they threw themselves at Locq’s forces was commendable. What few Angels Eradicant had survived their attack on the High Temple appeared from the flanks, still led by their crippled leader. If he was strong enough to stand and fight despite his injuries, he would be claimed for the Blood Father. Khârn ran towards him, dodging explosions and ducking beneath chattering bolter fire from every direction. He had not seen a single berzerker for some time, but it troubled him not.
Khârn did not need anyone by his side to fight for the glory of the Blood God. His heart soared. The vision was fulfilling itself and the entire planet would be his to befoul. Salandraxis was drowning in blood, and the Chosen of Khorne would be solely responsible for the planet’s desecration.
A brilliant light filled the sky, followed by the report of a huge explosion. Khârn looked up to see missiles streaking towards the Imperial ships from the left and right, catching them completely unawares in a deadly crossfire. In the blink of an eye, four Vendetta gunships erupted into balls of flame. Another wave of rockets tore through the sky, annihilating more ships as they desperately tried to evade each other and the debris slicing through the air. Burning chunks of metal fell to the ground, hitting Imperial and Black Legion troops alike. Within seconds, the Imperial infantry companies began to scatter in an attempt to evade the gunships crashing around them.
Fire poured into the Imperial relief force from wave upon wave of Black Legion Thunderhawks, and within seconds the air was thick with them. The surviving Hounds from Locq’s warband took the opportunity to surround the beleaguered Angels Eradicant Chapter Master. Before Khârn could reach the melee, the sand-coloured figure had disappeared under a flurry of strikes from chainswords and chainaxes. Infuriated at the loss of his trophy, Khârn readied Gorechild to take the attackers’ heads instead. Within yards of the group, who were turning in readiness for his charge, the temple square’s marble erupted in fire at his feet. Khârn turned to avoid the volley, only for another one to be unleashed before him.
Bellowing in rage, Khârn looked up to see a Black Legion Thunderhawk hovering menacingly before him. Twelve heavily armed transports rumbled overhead, split into groups of three and descended onto the burning citadel with shrieking engines. The lead group formed into a chevron and turned to face Khârn as they landed on the smouldering plaza, clearing the ground beneath them with their weapons until they came to a grinding rest a short distance from his position.
Black Legion warriors swarmed towards him from the landed ships, surrounding Khârn in a sea of bodies and blocking his escape. There must have been twenty times the number of Locq’s forces. The gunship that had fired on him still hovered in the air, keeping its dorsal turrets trained on Khârn. As the assault ramp opened in the lead transport before him, the Thunderhawk powered up its engines and banked away, maintaining its aim as it withdrew. Rolling his powerful shoulders, Khârn readied Gorechild for an attack. However, instead of rushing him from all sides as he expected, the Black Legionnaires in front of him stepped back to form a clearing towards his position.
A dozen warriors in Terminator armour emerged in two columns of six, their massive bolters raised and trained on Khârn as they marched towards him. Coming to a halt at regular intervals between the ship and Khârn, all but the closest two turned to face each other as an honour guard for the towering figure exiting the transport. The
nearest Terminators took aim at Khârn’s head and stood, unmoving, as the smoke of a thousand fires swirled around the black-armoured figure striding closer. Its deathly white head looked straight forwards, red burning eyes fixing Khârn with their gaze. A claw-like right hand opened and closed in readiness, twin bolters built into its upper casing. Khârn had seen the gauntlet wielded by Horus himself in an age forgotten. In its left hand the figure held an enormous sword, the surface of the barbed blade shifting like a malevolent fluid. It was the daemon blade Drach’nyen.
The hundreds of Black Legionnaires bowed as their Warmaster passed. Khârn brought Gorechild up closer to his chest, eliciting the rattle of weapons all around him. Despite the furious pumping of his hearts, a strange calm descended over Khârn.
Abaddon the Despoiler came to a halt barely four yards away from Khârn. The towering Warmaster of Chaos looked him up and down, scrutinising and sizing him up. When he saw Locq’s severed head dangling from the chain around his waist, Abaddon’s lips parted in a facsimile of a smile. The furious scarlet eyes flicked back to Khârn’s, and he rested his broadsword on the ground, runnels of blood flowing past its gleaming tip through the cracks in the plaza. At that signal, his Terminators closed ranks, blocking the path to the transport behind him while the other Black Legionnaires moved to surround them. Khârn could no longer see how deep their ranks were. One or one thousand, it mattered not.
‘So, the Chosen of Khorne finally stands before me.’
Abaddon twisted the title into a thrust of contempt. Khârn snarled an oath below his breath.
‘It would be best for you to remember why I am named so, Warmaster. The Red Path has led me here. I have come at the will of the Blood Father, not your request.’
Khârn was pleased to see the anger rise in Abaddon’s face. Taking a step forward, the Warmaster levelled his daemon sword at Khârn’s head.
‘And it would be best for you to remember that I, too, have the favour of Khorne.’
Abaddon advanced closer. Khârn shifted his grip on Gorechild. The Terminators brought their weapons to readiness in a flash of metal.
‘I have the blessings of all the gods. The powers I command are beyond your comprehension.’
Now, finally, he understood why the Red Path had brought him to this place. All of the skulls he had taken on the Red Path up to this point, even the Living Saint’s, had been nothing but a precursor to this moment.
‘Whether you have the blessings of all the daemons in the warp or not, the Blood God commands a great trophy. I shall not bend my knee to you, Abaddon. I shall not serve. I am here for a different purpose.’
Abaddon swept his daemon sword outward in an elaborate arc, then brought its tip straight in line with the centre of Khârn’s forehead again. His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted as he spat his next words.
‘As am I, berzerker. You spat on my offering. I should take your head as payment and wear it as a trophy.’
Khârn saw the rage behind Abaddon’s eyes. Nothing would give the Warmaster greater pleasure than to take his head, and nothing would satisfy Khârn more than to see him try. For several long seconds the Despoiler stared at him, oblivious to the fires licking into the darkening sky and the scream of war machines overhead. The massed ranks of Black Legionnaires stood immobile around them. Khârn wondered if they could understand the power they beheld at this moment. Two lords of darkness, chosen of the gods. Very soon, there would only be one.
Abaddon tightened his grip on Drach’nyen and Khârn readied himself for the attack. It did not come. Instead, Abaddon took in a breath and exhaled slowly.
‘That is not the destiny I have decreed for you. You shall follow me, Khârn the Betrayer. It is my will, and that of Khorne.’
Rage swept over Khârn at this insult to the Blood Father. Throwing himself forward, he brought Gorechild up to full speed and swung it in a wide arc towards Abaddon’s right flank.
In the blink of an eye, Abaddon turned towards the attack, bringing up his gauntlet and curling the talons into a fist. The lightning-streaked blow was so fast and powerful it pushed Gorechild away and spun Khârn to the left into a wall of black power armour. Khârn brought Gorechild up once again, ready to engage the warriors, but they stepped back at some unseen command, giving him space to turn. A flash of dull metal caught Khârn’s eye and he ducked, but the flat of Abaddon’s blade smashed into the side of his helmet and sent him reeling, crashing into a number of Black Legionnaires. Khârn’s head sang with the impact, but his body knew what to do to regain his balance. He swung his chainaxe behind him as he recovered and was rewarded with the sensation of Gorechild chewing through weapons and armour. When he raised it to block the next blow from Abaddon, it was covered in the blood of his legionnaires.
Abaddon raised his sword and aimed it once again towards Khârn’s head. Khârn brought Gorechild up, but instead of angling to the right, he flicked it around in his wrist, ducking to evade the sweeping blow from Abaddon’s gauntlet and driving the chainaxe into the leg of the Despoiler. Khârn knew that trying to attack Abaddon’s head in its deep cowl was pointless, no matter how exposed it seemed without a helmet, so he would instead cripple him limb by limb. Angling the next blow downwards, Gorechild’s teeth bit into the thick ceramite of Abaddon’s cuisse. The mica-dragon teeth gouged their way into the dense armour, sinking the axe head deep into Abaddon’s left knee. The Despoiler bellowed in fury.
Khârn saw the daemon sword flashing down towards his arm. Letting go of Gorechild’s haft, Khârn rolled away, kicking out at Abaddon’s right leg. Springing to his feet, Khârn had hoped Abaddon would be unbalanced enough for him to charge him to the ground, but the Warmaster was standing fast. Khârn attacked regardless, ducking underneath the sword and throwing all of his weight into Abaddon’s midriff.
Abaddon’s towering form was forced backwards momentarily, but he swiftly regained his footing and struck at Khârn with his sword. This time, it was not with the flat of the blade. Khârn knew Drach’nyen would slice through the ceramite of his helmet, so he threw himself to the side, just avoiding the swing of the weapon as it cut through the tassels on his headpiece. Khârn rolled onto his feet just as Abaddon dislodged Gorechild from his leg with a blow from his daemon sword’s pommel. The axe clattered away across the blood-covered marble and Khârn threw himself after it. As he rose and turned, he realised he had exposed his left arm to Abaddon’s talon. He felt a crushing grip encircle his chain-wrapped forearm and the world began to spin as Abaddon wheeled Khârn around. The features of the Black Legionnaires surrounding him became a blur, and then he felt himself flying through the air. Khârn braced himself for the impact with the ground, but something slammed into his back, driving the air explosively from his body. Below him the ground rushed up, and as he hit it, a veil of scarlet and brown danced across his vision.
Khârn shook his head violently and staggered to his feet. Some yards away, Abaddon was charging towards him, the Terminators creating a corridor for him to pass through. Looking up, Khârn realised he had been thrown all the way to Abaddon’s drop-ship. Khârn’s bloodlust reached its highest pitch. At last, this was a worthy fight. He sprinted forwards, battle stimulants numbing the searing pain coming from his dislocated left arm. Gorechild screamed for blood in his good hand, its teeth spitting dried blood and ceramite as they spun. Khârn could see blood congealing around the wound he had made in Abaddon’s leg. With only a few strides separating them, Khârn jumped into the air and brought Gorechild above his head before hammering it down towards the Warmaster. The teeth glanced off Abaddon’s sword and onto his pauldron, gnawing a ragged groove into the armour. As Khârn was knocked backwards by Abaddon’s bone-cracking punch, he was sure the swirling patterns within the sword’s blade took on the look of agonised faces.
Khârn smashed into the wall of Black Legionnaires, flattening two and sending others tumbling towards the gunship before being pushed b
ack into the open by one of Abaddon’s Terminators. The Warmaster was on him in an instant, and Khârn ducked just as the huge broadsword sliced above his head, splitting one of the vanes of his helmet. Khârn heard the mighty weapon thud into several Black Legion warriors, but Abaddon’s rage had overtaken him. Khârn rammed himself into the Despoiler once again, but the Warmaster slammed the pommel of Drach’nyen into his stomach. Khârn was lifted from the ground with the servo-powered blow, and his fused ribcage fractured fully. He brought his boot down as hard as he could onto Abaddon’s injured knee, and was rewarded with a grunt of pain. Dropping to the ground, Khârn saw Abaddon’s right leg come towards him too late to avoid the blow. The impact sent him skidding along the ruined plaza’s stones and clanging into the Thunderhawk’s cargo pod. Abaddon glowered at him and swung his daemon sword with a cry of rage. Khârn brought Gorechild up to meet the furious blow, and it took all of his strength to prevent the blade from cleaving his skull.
Abaddon shifted his weight as he leaned in, and Khârn saw his chance. He kicked at the wounded leg with all his might. Abaddon stepped back to avoid the blow, allowing Khârn to heave the daemon sword out of the way and roll to his feet. Lunging with Gorechild, he thrust the leading corner of the whirring blade into the skull device emblazoned on Abaddon’s midriff. Abaddon lashed out with his right hand. Khârn moved fast enough to avoid full contact with the lethal talons, power arcing from the tips of the claws into his exposed skin. Even so, pain nearly overwhelmed him, and as he moved away Abaddon thrust forwards with Drach’nyen. The tip sliced its way through Khârn’s vambrace. Instead of agony, the coldness of the void swept through his forearm, the edge of the cut sizzling darkly. Khârn pulled Gorechild free and spun away, but Abaddon pursued him with a turn of his own. His sword sliced into the top of Khârn’s fractured chest armour and he felt hot blood well up through the freezing numbness somewhere below his neck.
