by George Mann
It was Cordae who saw them first. He caught Koryn’s attention with a series of complex hand gestures – the silent language of the Raven Guard – and Koryn glanced over in the direction the Chaplain had indicated.
In the centre of the courtyard stood a huge stone column, supporting a towering statue of a Space Marine, rendered in gleaming white marble that was now discoloured from its exposure to the foul emissions of the Chaos army. The figure stood in silent repose, the pommel of a sword clasped in both hands, the tip of the blade resting by its feet. Its armour was ancient and its expression was one of quiet disdain, as if the long dead hero – an Ultramarine – was looking down upon what had become of Fortane’s World with barely concealed disgust. What caught Koryn’s attention, however, were the six dangling figures that hung from the plinth upon which the statue stood.
The dead Raven Guard had been strung up on chains by their throats and hoisted up on makeshift pulleys for the entertainment of the traitors, to provide them with something to jeer at, or – judging by the state of his brothers’ shattered armour – to use as target practice. Koryn felt his stomach turn. Anger flared behind his obsidian eyes. The sheer dishonour of it…
‘In the name of the Emperor!’ growled Argis over the vox, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. ‘It’s Syrion.’
Koryn felt his spirits sinking. He had hoped that Syrion and his squad were still somewhere out there on the battlefield, that they would take their cue from the explosion and use the opportunity to sneak inside the bastion, just as Koryn had. Clearly, that was not the case. They must have been captured and executed shortly after their arrival, brought here to be displayed like vile trophies.
Koryn glanced at his brothers, who stood to either side of him, clinging to the shadows. He could see that they were spoiling for a fight. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and dangerous. ‘Stay your hands, brothers. We engage the enemy only when necessary. We will not win this day with our weapons but with our minds. Stealth and strategy will lead us to victory. Remember your duty. Remember we are Raven Guard.’
‘But, captain…’ said Avias, his voice a mere breath. ‘Their progenoid glands. Their corvia…’
‘We have no choice, Avias. The risk is too great. We must honour their spirits in other ways, now, by seeing this mission through to the end. Syrion and our brothers died for a purpose. Let us make that purpose our own, our only thought. Let us avenge them by locating the control room and destroying the enemy’s grip on this planet.’
‘It is not as if any one of us is likely to return to Kiavahr to honour our dead,’ said Cordae, quietly, ‘Or as if we ourselves will be honoured according to our customs. But I urge you, brothers, to put your faith in the words of your captain. They are wise and true.’
Koryn glanced over at Cordae, unable to read the Chaplain’s intentions from his words. He had sounded sincere, but given his earlier remarks, Koryn was unsure.
Whatever the case, it would wait. Either that, or it would go unresolved should they both die here on Fortane’s World. It mattered little, provided it did not interfere with the mission.
Koryn glanced back at the swaying forms of his six brothers, dangling high above them, twisting slowly on the ends of their ropes. He could not allow it to break their spirits. That was the enemy’s purpose, and Koryn would not allow them even that small victory. Now was the time for action. They could mourn their dead later, if they survived.
He was just about to give the order to cut the vox-link and move out when everything changed. There was a sudden, disorientating alteration in the light. One moment the courtyard was overcast and dreary – a result of the unnatural darkness that the enemy psykers had drawn across the planet like a black shroud – the next, sunlight was streaking in from above, showering everything in radiant brilliance. It lanced through the darkness in great columns, pooling on the ground and burning away the gloom. Koryn heard men scream in agony as the light burned their flesh, and saw some of their faces blister and bubble as they collapsed to their knees, their eyes boiling in their sockets.
He glanced up but saw only the massive geological umbrella overhead. The light was clearly as unnatural as the darkness had been. He realised immediately what had happened: Theseon.
‘Quickly,’ said Koryn, urging the others to move. ‘This light might disorientate them for a short while, but it will impede us and risk our cover. We must get inside the control hub immediately.’ He cut the vox-link and set out, not bothering to wait for affirmation from his brothers.
They traced the inner wall of the bastion for what seemed like an age, circling the courtyard and pausing frequently to avoid any unnecessary attention from the guards. Thankfully, the small patrols of militia seemed more concerned with the sudden, searing light and the bad omen it represented, or avoiding being press-ganged into protecting the main breach, than paying any real attention to what might be lurking in the shadows.
The situation changed, however, when they finally located the entrance to the control complex at the centre of the courtyard. Not only would they have to cross the space in the false daylight, but three Death Guard were standing in the open mouth of the entranceway, and appeared both intelligent and alert.
Unlike the Plague Marines who Koryn had slain earlier, these traitorous Space Marines had not yet succumbed fully to the blight. They showed obvious signs of corruption and mutation – horns, weeping sores and pale, pox-ridden skin – but they did not yet have the massive bulk or distended bellies of their kin. Their mouths had been replaced by corroded vents, a trait, Koryn realised, of the followers of Empyrion’s Blight, and poisonous gases leaked from twin funnels on their backs.
Koryn knew that to attack them openly would draw too much attention, possibly even bringing the entire bastion down upon them. They needed a distraction.
Reaching for his belt, Koryn grabbed a fistful of corvia and tugged them free, snapping the fine chains from which they hung. Cordae reached out and clasped a hand over Koryn’s, shaking his head as he realised what the captain was about to do, but Koryn pulled away, knowing it was their best hope. There was nothing else, save for unspent explosives from their attack on the bastion wall, that they could use to draw the attention of the three Death Guard.
Koryn signalled for Avias, Corvaan and Argis to make themselves ready, and then, creeping back along the wall a few metres until he was level with a heap of empty ammunition crates, darted forwards in a dark blur. He skittered to a halt behind the pile of crates, breathing rapidly, half expecting to be showered in a hail of bolter-fire. The moment stretched. Nothing. He hadn’t been seen.
Koryn peered around the edge of the crates. The three Death Guard still stood silently, their bolters at the ready. He couldn’t risk them loosing off a single shot – even that would likely draw too much attention.
Weighing up the bundle of bird skulls in his fist, Koryn brought his arm back, and then pitched them into the air so that they clattered to the ground just a few metres to the left of where the Death Guard were standing. As one, the three traitors turned to look at what had made the sound, swinging their weapons around nervously.
‘Wha–’ one of them began, but was cut short by the combat knife that slit his throat all the way back to the spine. He crumpled in the arms of Argis, simultaneously with his two vile kin, and the three Raven Guard dragged the corpses hastily into the shadowy entrance of the control hub.
Seconds later, the others joined them. Koryn brought up the rear with one final glance back at the milling Chaos forces, a smile of grim satisfaction on his lips.
Argis and the others were already secreting the three corpses in an alcove a little further along the passageway.
The passageway itself was plain and functional, forgoing the elaborate decorations of most other Imperial strongholds that Koryn had encountered in his time. Evidence of the traitors was everywhere: a foul-smelling liquid sluiced across the
floor, a sickening amalgam of blood, bile and excrement. The walls, too, were draped in great sheets of flayed human flesh, and daubed with livid red tributes to the dark gods. Shimmering mucus dripped from every surface, festering with ripe toxins and disease.
Koryn tried to ignore the trailing strings of slime that attached themselves to his pauldrons as he brushed against the walls, making his way along the passage to stand beside Grayvus, who had just finished pushing one of the Death Guard corpses into a shadowy recess. ‘You have the schematic?’ he asked.
Grayvus unclipped the auspex from his belt and flicked it on. A diagram of the bastion’s layout appeared on the screen a moment later. ‘Yes, captain.’
‘Then lead on, Grayvus,’ said Koryn. ‘Find this damn control room and allow us to get this godforsaken mission over and done with. It’s time to put an end to the designs of Empyrion’s Blight on Fortane’s World.’
‘Gladly, captain,’ replied Grayvus, motioning for the others to follow behind him as he set off along the corridor, heading into the darkness.
Any traitors who happened across their path as they crept through the dripping tunnels met with a swift and soundless end. They were numerous, but mostly alone or in small squads of three, and therefore easily despatched. The Raven Guard had the element of surprise on their side, and in most instances the enemy did not even know what was happening before they were laying in a heap upon the slick flagstones, their throats torn out to prevent them from screaming for help.
The Raven Guard soon became adept at finding nooks and alcoves in which to hide the bodies before moving on, so as not to give away their presence in the complex by the trail of death they were leaving in their wake. Anyone truly paying attention would find them, of course, but Koryn planned to have reached the control room and opened the gun ports in the carapace long before they were discovered.
The passageways, however, seemed to make little sense, veering off at weird angles or forcing the Space Marines to double back on themselves. The Death Guard had clearly remodelled the bastion to better suit their needs, although Koryn could not fathom what those needs might be. He decided it was better not to even try. To attempt to understand the ways of Chaos was to lose oneself to its corrupting power. The enemy were the enemy. That was all he needed to understand. At least for now.
He realised the passageway ahead was narrowing, and signalled for his brothers to stop. He edged along the wall to where Grayvus was inspecting his auspex again. The screen showed they were standing in a large, open room, but instead they were hemmed in by walls on either side, and the passage was growing narrower with every step. A few metres ahead he sensed movement, and motioned to Grayvus to step back. Grayvus silently clipped his auspex back onto his belt and slid into the shadows, his weapon at the ready.
‘Help me…’ The voice was thin and reedy, and human. ‘I know you’re there. Help me.’
Koryn saw Korsae glance at him from across the passageway, and shook his head. It was probably a trap.
‘Help me!’ the voice pleaded pathetically, increasing in volume. They would have to do something, otherwise whatever it was calling out to them risked giving away their position.
Koryn eased himself away from the wall, feeling the clinging flesh and mucus ripple beneath him as he pulled free of its embrace. He suppressed a shudder. Edging along the tunnel, he passed Grayvus, who peered after him into the darkness, clearly preparing himself to fend off an enemy attack.
It was dark here and Koryn had to allow his eyes a moment to fully adjust to the gloom. When they did, the sight that resolved before him almost turned his stomach. The passageway ended in a dead end, which – for a moment – puzzled Koryn as he attempted to identify its purpose. Then, a few seconds later, it dawned on him. The tunnel was a body farm.
This was where the Death Guard forced their human disciples to sacrifice themselves to their cause, to give themselves utterly to the plague, becoming incubators for disease. Naked human corpses were heaped upon the floor or piled against the walls, rapidly decomposing and festering with writhing maggots. Flies buzzed incessantly, disturbed by Koryn’s movements.
Worst of all, some of the bodies had fused into the walls, their flesh binding with the fleshy morass to form huge, gelatinous dioramas. Arms, legs and faces jutted out from every angle, and to his horror Koryn realised that one of the limbs – a forearm – was actually moving.
The arm belonged to a man – or at least, what was left of him – who appeared to have slumped against the wall and simply melted into it. Half of his torso and one leg had been subsumed, but his head was still held at an awkward angle. He was staring directly at Koryn now, one eye swollen shut, the other blinking rapidly, as if in desperation. ‘Help me…’ the man repeated, solemnly.
‘I will,’ said Koryn, stepping forwards and sliding his lightning talons through the man’s face. The body twitched and shuddered, and then was still.
‘Shall I burn it, captain?’ said Kayae, coming up behind him, flamer in hand.
‘No,’ said Koryn. ‘We must press on. The Navy will level this entire bastion when we open the gun emplacements. It’ll keep.’
‘Yes, captain,’ replied Kayae. He turned and walked back to join the others.
Koryn was just about to give the order to move on, to try to find a way to circumvent the dead end, when he heard Avias hiss ‘Incoming!’ over the vox.
He sprang forwards in time to see Avias swamped by a swarm of strange, rat-sized creatures. They were green-skinned and covered in weeping buboes, with long, worm-like tails and twin heads, each crested in a short, bony horn. Each head bore a single, milky eye and a fang-rimmed mouth that dripped acidic saliva.
There were hundreds of the beasts, a writhing carpet of them, and they scuttled up and over Avias’s armour, gnawing at the ceramite, their corrosive spittle pitting and scarring it as they chewed.
Avias dragged at them frantically, wrenching them off, but more simply took their place. Cayaan opened fire, chewing up scores of them with his bolter, but making hardly a dent in their number.
‘Burn them!’ called Koryn, kicking at three of the creatures as they darted around his feet, snapping their jaws.
Kayae stepped forwards, igniting his flamer. He squeezed the trigger, squirting a spray of super-heated promethium into the twittering morass. They howled and squealed as they burst into flames, crackling and hissing as their flesh charred. Kayae played the nozzle of his flamer back and forth, blanketing the creatures. Avias was still struggling to get the things off him, and Koryn stepped forwards, intent on coming to his aid.
He lurched back suddenly, however, when a burning jet shot past his face, missing his head by millimetres. He spun around to see Kayae lurch backwards, one of the creatures attached to his throat. It had eaten its way through his gorget as he had been intent on dousing the main swarm with his flamer. Kayae stumbled and fell against the wall, one hand going involuntarily to his throat. The flamer, still spraying searing flame, twisted in his grip, drenching Avias in its orange embrace.
Avias howled in agony as the promethium took hold, licking hungrily at his damaged armour, finding its way into the joints and the holes inflicted by the daemon creatures. He struggled forwards a few steps, his arms outstretched, and then toppled over, a burning heap upon the floor.
Kayae had now slid to the ground too, slumped against the wall, his throat a mess of chewed-out flesh and vocal cords.
The remaining seven Raven Guard stood for a moment in stunned silence.
After a few seconds had passed, Grayvus cautiously approached Kayae’s corpse and carefully removed his dead finger from the trigger of the flamer. The flame sputtered and died, smoke trailing from its red-hot nozzle.
On the ground, Avias’s corpse continued to blaze amongst the smouldering remains of the bestial swarm.
Cordae moved to the other end of the corridor, back from wher
e they had come. ‘It’s still clear,’ he said quietly over the vox, ‘But not for long. We need to locate the control room before they realise what’s happened here.’
‘Shall I harvest their gene-seed, captain?’ said Corvaan, his tone respectful.
Koryn glanced again at the corpses of his two brothers. Avias was still smouldering, his corvia blackened and charred, flames licking at the joints between the partially melted ceramite plates. Koryn’s hearts ached to see such loss. But he knew what he had to do. ‘No, Corvaan. If we survive this, we will come back for our fallen kin. But Cordae is correct. We must move, now, before it is too late.’
Corvaan gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, his beaked helm dipping fractionally, and then turned and followed after the Chaplain.
‘Grayvus?’ said Koryn.
‘Yes, captain?’
‘Get us to that control room. We’re running out of time.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Grayvus, consulting the readout of his auspex. ‘According to the schematics it should be here. We should be right on top of it.’
Koryn glanced at the softly glowing display over his brother’s shoulder. Sure enough, the faint green blip that indicated their position was hovering in the outline of the passageway beside the entrance to the main control hub.
Something was clearly wrong. They had traced their way here through innumerable corridors, each of them near identical save for more of the mutated remains of humans who had been subsumed by the walls, creating a crazed jigsaw of body parts and rotting meat; a grotesque, decorative patchwork.
‘The Chaos forces have warped the very fabric of the building,’ said Cordae in disgust. ‘They work to confuse us, to prevent us from reaching our target. These tunnels were a maze even before the Death Guard brought their unholy pestilence to Fortane’s World. Now they are near unfathomable.’
‘No,’ said Koryn, absently. ‘Something’s not right.’ He had an instinctive feeling that there was more to their situation than first appeared. What if the map was right, and it was simply their perception that was wrong?
