by Mark Clapham
Anvindr nodded, and as Hoenir punched another Corsair aside with his power fist, Anvindr and Gulbrandr flanked Pranix as they began to run up the hill, Sindri close behind them.
As his brothers fought to buy them time, Anvindr didn’t look back.
The Space Wolf who Rotaka had been exchanging blows with was, to Rotaka’s surprise, missing the top half of his head, an axe crackling with psychic energy having swept horizontally through his skull.
The corpse dropped to the ground and Taemar was screaming into Rotaka’s face. ‘The line has been breached, Rotaka!’ he bellowed. ‘We must stop those Space Wolves.’
Rotaka spun around to see the carnage behind him, and took it in with a glimpse, his mind processing what he saw within a second.
A small faction of Space Wolves were moving up the hill, having breached the Corsairs’ line.
Where they had broken through, another Space Wolf was beating Hulpin to death.
Beating Hulpin to death.
Ignoring Taemar’s orders, Rotaka bellowed with incoherent rage and charged at the Space Wolf who was pounding on fallen Hulpin.
Stupid. As Rotaka ran, a red-headed Space Wolf slammed into him with a power fist, cracking his power armour around the ribs and knocking him to the ground. Rotaka rolled over onto his back, and the power fist would have crushed his skull if Taemar’s axe hadn’t intercepted it, shattering it and leaving the red-haired Space Wolf reeling.
‘Leave them to the others,’ said Taemar, dragging Rotaka to his feet. ‘We need to stop those Space Wolves.’
Rotaka looked. Wuhrsk was exchanging blows with the stocky Space Wolf who had downed Hulpin, and other Corsairs were gathering. Meanwhile, the Space Wolves who had broken through the Red Corsairs’ line were heading up the hill at speed, and Rotaka could see the glowing staff of the inquisitor lighting their way.
Taemar was right. Reluctantly, Rotaka left the last survivors of his squad behind, and began to ascend the hill.
Anvindr had the uncanny sensation that he was not moving towards the fortress on top of the hill so much as the hill was moving towards him. His boots felt like they were passing through air, like a dream of flying. Everything seemed unreal.
Even for a Space Wolf, used to living partially in a world of myth, it was disorienting.
‘Whatever Huron Blackheart is doing up there, it’s disturbing the surrounding reality,’ said Pranix. ‘The psychic plane and reality are blurring. We are moving as much through our will to reach that place as we are physically moving.’
‘And what of our pursuers’ will?’ asked Gulbrandr. ‘Do they simply need to want to catch us up?’
Anvindr glanced back to see two Red Corsairs chasing them. Further down, he could see Tormodr and Hoenir encircled by more Corsairs. He wished he could return to assist them, but he knew what was required of him, of Gulbrandr, of Sindri. Their threads were linked to Pranix’s now.
‘I don’t know,’ said Pranix. ‘But our will seems to be holding out for now.’
As a Cadian, Kretschman was used to being in a dominant position in most battles, but on this battlefield, where Space Marines were fighting Space Marines hand-to-hand, he could do little except try not to get killed.
This was no place for mortals. As the immortals fought, the humans barely registered as distractions, and the ground was littered with dead Tallarns and Lastrati who had been idly torn to pieces or knocked aside by the Red Corsairs. What use could he be, on a battlefield like this?
‘Look around,’ said Kulbard, appearing at Kretschman’s shoulder. ‘There must be something you can do.’
Kretschman looked. He saw, past the fighting Space Marines, a trail of figures moving quickly up the hillside, guided by the white-hot flare of Pranix’s psychically charged staff.
‘They need you,’ said Kulbard. ‘Get up there. This is your last chance to prove useful.’
Then he ran off, ducking between the fighting Space Marines, somehow evading them all.
How was Kretschman supposed to follow? It didn’t make sense. Then he saw one of the surviving Tallarns, riding low on one of those red lizard things, and had an idea how he might catch up.
How do you address a god?
Huron Blackheart was at the centre of the chamber, the energy at the centre of the room flowing through him from floor to ceiling. He was incandescent, his body flowing with light. It was neither psychic energy nor the burn of plasma from a cannon, or any conventional energy. It was something else, a boiling essence of creation. Huron had risen from the ground, and was flexing his form as the energy surged through him. Tendrils of energy reached out from the central column, making contact with the portals floating around the room, re-energising them.
Anto had news for Huron, but did not know how to approach his master.
He walked closer to the core, and the psychic part of Anto, his sorcerous ability to see the touch of Chaos with his mind, could see that the daemonic presence that had threatened to overcome Huron Blackheart was being scoured from his being. The flames of this new energy were burning the malady out from the Tyrant’s flesh. Anto had experience enough of pain, but could not understand how the fire coursing through Huron on a cellular level could be tolerable.
Getting closer, he could see more. The energy within Huron wasn’t just cleansing; it was healing. The most recent wound the Tyrant had sustained, the cut beneath his chin where the Wolf Lord had stabbed him, was beginning to seal, something that should not have been a possibility with Huron’s dead, grey flesh. But then, even behind the blinding light, Anto thought he could see a hint of colour returning to that skin, a hint of… life?
Anto felt a lurch of betrayal. Was Huron intending to rid himself not just of daemonic infection, but of Chaos altogether? Could the great traitor be planning to betray Anto’s own gods, just as he betrayed the Imperium? Looking around, Anto spotted the Hamadrya, a creature of Chaos, hissing at the edge of the chamber, spurned. It knew many things even Anto did not about the Ruinous Powers – did it know that the depths of Huron’s ambition would cause him to strike back against the Dark Gods?
As Anto approached, Huron’s gaze turned upon him. The Tyrant looked down, and both his organic and cybernetic eyes were blank spheres of energy, white hot.
‘You wish to address me?’ said Huron, and there was an unfamiliar tone to his voice.
Ecstatic. Beatific. Benevolent.
This lack of malice froze Anto, and he could not resist answering truthfully. ‘Enemies approach, lord,’ he said.
‘Deal with them,’ said Huron, and Anto took some comfort from the venom in the Tyrant’s voice. ‘When I have remade myself, I will remake these worlds, and more beyond. There will be no place for these dogs in my new kingdom.’
Unsure exactly what Huron meant, but definitely sure he did not want to defy him at this time, Anto turned and marched away to carry out his orders.
Hoenir was the first of them to die, which to Tormodr seemed unjust. Like the others of his pack, Tormodr still saw Hoenir as something of a youth, even though they were, all of them, mature in years.
Tormodr couldn’t help but feel it should have been one of the older Space Wolves in the pack who died first, not Hoenir.
As the Corsairs closed in on the two Space Wolves, Hoenir was hampered by his broken power fist, and while wrestling with a Corsair, another embedded an axe illuminated with psychic energy into his skull.
Hoenir collapsed, his head blackened and smoking.
Which left Tormodr. Elsewhere on the battlefield, it was the Space Wolves who outmatched the Corsairs, who were fighting to keep the higher ground, but here Tormodr was surrounded by half a dozen Corsairs with blades and axes and claws.
‘Right then,’ said Tormodr, cricking his neck and raising his fists. ‘Who’s first?’
Anju Badya didn’t know whether this Kretschman was as much
of a lunatic as he seemed, but the situation they were in was sufficiently sanity testing that she didn’t feel able to write off anything as being too mad.
So, when he asked her to ride him up the hill on Folly, she pulled him up onto the back of her mount, and tried to steer a course. Over open ground, Folly managed to find a break in the Red Corsairs’ line, heading for a seemingly impassable slope, and began to pick its way up the sharp incline with surprising sure-footedness, despite the additional weight.
‘Follow him,’ said Kretschman. Badya had no idea who he meant, as all she could see were the Space Marines running up the trail a short distance away, but as Folly was picking her own route it didn’t make any difference.
So she just hung on, and hoped things would start to make sense again soon.
Valthex was transfixed by the energy source his master had tapped into. Even without his full sensory apparatus, he could see that Huron was capable of controlling the energy with his consciousness. An energy that could shape worlds.
Garreon was watching too, waiting to see what this new development meant for him, no doubt. Anto had withdrawn to the edge of the chamber.
Lord Huron arched his back, his arms and legs stretching and shaking.
‘No… No…’ boomed Huron Blackheart his voice everywhere within the fortress at once. ‘It is too much.’
He lurched inside the column of light, pushing himself forwards, and he emerged from the core still lit from within, his whole body smoking, dropping to the floor and staggering a few steps before falling to his knees. Valthex rushed forwards and was there to halt his fall.
As Valthex grabbed his master by the shoulder, Garreon running up to do the same from the other side, Valthex felt a white-hot sensation within his gauntlets, radiating right through his power armour. It was not a natural heat, and seemed to heal as it burned. Valthex felt the third finger of his hand, crippled in an accident centuries ago, twitch with life for the first time in years.
‘I will not be defeated by this power,’ snarled Huron, his head still hanging down, his expression hidden and unreadable. ‘I have waited too long.’
He slammed the Tyrant’s Claw against the floor, and a release of energy spread out in all directions, throwing Garreon and Valthex away from him and across the chamber.
Further away, Valthex could see Anto rock to one side but hit a stone column, steadying himself without falling.
Kretschman and the Tallarn sergeant, Badya, were almost at the fortress when the earthquake hit, knocking their mount over and causing them to fall off. Badya managed to cling on to her lizard as they both fell, but Kretschman fell on his side on the ground, hard. Thankfully they had moved beyond the most precarious part of the ascent, and Kretschman landed on flat ground rather than rolling back down the hill.
It was like landing on shattered glass, his uniform cut and his flesh gouged in dozens of places, but at least he didn’t break any bones.
Kretschman had been watching Kulbard all the way up the hill, the scout turning back occasionally to gesture to Kretschman to keep following, and Kretschman kept his eyes on Kulbard as he fell.
When the shock wave hit, Kulbard didn’t fall over. He wavered, steadied himself with an outstretched hand resting on thin air, and righted himself.
‘How did you do that?’ said Kretschman, and although he was too far away for Kulbard to hear, the scout turned.
‘Follow me and find out,’ said Kulbard, his voice close to Kretschman’s ear.
Badya was stunned, rolling on the ground nearby. Kretschman ignored her and, bleeding from countless small wounds from his fall, began to follow his friend to the fortress’ entrance, around the curve of the round building.
At the edge of the chamber, Valthex tried to right himself, but the strange energy that had passed to him was coursing through his body, confusing his senses, and he found he could not stand. He could see that Garreon was similarly stricken a short distance away, while Anto was still leaning against a supporting pillar, seemingly ignoring everything around him.
Which left Huron Blackheart crouched down, the floor beneath him having shattered outwards, cracks spreading from where his knuckles had dug into the floor. Rather than having dissipated, the smoke rising from his body seemed thicker, as if the power was still building within him. His shoulders were tensed with effort.
‘I will not be defeated,’ snarled Huron, pushing himself up on one knee, then using the other leg to force himself to stand. His eyes still glowed white-hot as he turned around to face the column of energy at the centre of the chamber.
‘I will master this power,’ Huron said, stepping towards the core. Each step took effort and focus, as if he were walking into a hurricane.
‘This system will be mine,’ he snarled, throwing himself back into the blazing core.
Anvindr, along with Gulbrandr, Sindri and Inquisitor Pranix, were back on their feet within seconds of the shock wave hitting. The inquisitor led the way, running through a doorway filled with solid darkness without hesitation, and the three Space Wolves followed.
‘Witchcraft,’ said Gulbrandr, taking point and passing between the columns that ringed the very edge of the chamber.
Anvindr saw what he meant. What they were greeted with inside was not the work of Chaos, but it was witchcraft of a kind nonetheless: an open, rounded chamber, filled with floating objects, portals and pools of strange energy. It was unnatural, alien, and Anvindr knew he was in the presence of energies that should not exist. The floor was cracked and two Traitor Marines lay prone at opposite sides of the chamber, but it was the figure within the column of light at the centre who drew all their gazes. Anvindr had never seen the Tyrant before, but there was no mistaking his silhouette, the Tyrant’s Claw and the halo of thorn spikes behind his head. Anvindr could see no more as Huron was ablaze with an unnatural light, his claw flexing convulsively, seemingly wrestling with the energies he was consumed by. He was a thing of raw power now, a creature of light.
‘How do we kill that?’ asked Gulbrandr.
‘You don’t,’ said a slurred, cruel voice, and Anvindr was hit by a bolt of psychic energy that burned through his nerve endings and threw him off his feet. The white-hot tendrils of energy crawled over all of them, and Anvindr slammed into Gulbrandr and Sindri as they, along with Pranix, were knocked across the chamber by the blast.
‘You shall not deny my master’s godhood,’ said the figure who emerged from behind a pillar, a Red Corsairs sorcerer who wore a red cloak over his armour and wielded a notched staff.
At the centre of the chamber, Huron convulsed and bellowed in agony.
‘Godhood really doesn’t seem to suit him, Anto,’ said Pranix, pushing himself up with his staff. Sindri had rolled over him as they fell, and one of the inquisitor’s legs seemed to be broken. He winced with agony as he stood.
‘Besides,’ said the inquisitor, slumping on his staff. ‘Don’t you have at least one god already? Are you committing heresy against your own heresy now?’
Then Pranix let his staff drop forwards slightly, and unleashed a blast of psychic energy of his own. Anto raised his own staff to defend himself, and the two currents of psychic power met with an explosive glare between the inquisitor and the sorcerer.
‘Kill Huron Blackheart,’ Pranix shouted to the Space Wolves over the roar of wild energy. ‘I’ll have this one.’
Anvindr nodded to Pranix and they ran towards the centre of the chamber, dodging the whirling tendrils of energy in the air and ducking under the portals that opened out into other worlds, other spaces, only to be blocked as one of the Red Corsairs who had been prone on the floor stepped into their path.
‘Three against one, traitor,’ said Anvindr, raising his chainsword.
‘Not quite,’ said the Corsair, a thin-faced creature with grey, cruel eyes.
There was a howl of agony from Gulbrandr, and A
nvindr turned to see Sindri withdrawing a long, thin blade from the other Space Wolf’s eye socket.
‘I’m sorry, Anvindr,’ said Sindri. ‘But Garreon is remarkably persuasive.’
Kulbard was stuttering like a faulty vid as Kretschman followed him through a doorway of pure night and into the fortress. Inside was a scene that nearly broke Kretschman’s mind altogether, a tableau of sorcerous energies cutting through the air and strange objects floating past. Immediately ahead Kretschman saw Inquisitor Pranix and a Red Corsairs sorcerer in a red robe engaged in some kind of psychic battle, strange energies emanating from their staffs and setting the air ablaze.
The Red Corsairs sorcerer turned to Kretschman as he entered the chamber, Kulbard turning too.
‘There you are, my little toy,’ said the Corsair and Kulbard in unison.
Then Kulbard was gone, as if he had never been there at all, and there was just Anto, because it had always been Anto. And Kretschman remembered, now, being taken away from the fringes of a battle, and the sorcerer looking down on him, and all that being repressed deep, deep, deep…
Then Kretschman’s body exploded in a wave of psychic energy, tearing out of him and blasting Inquisitor Pranix sideways, and Kretschman was falling out of himself as his body burned…
‘Why?’ asked Kretschman. They were in his carriage aboard System Governor Cheng’s private ridge runner, tearing across the dull surface of Trincul.
The figure sitting opposite was Kulbard, and he was not. The figure of Anto was superimposed on him, and it was both Kulbard’s hand and Anto’s huge gauntleted fist that picked up the amasec glass and sipped it, ridiculously in the case of the helmeted Space Marine.
‘You were an experiment,’ said Anto/Kulbard. ‘One of many. A more advanced version of the insektile experiments. But with you the seed was more complex, a sub-personality lurking beneath your own, a sub-personality externalised so that you would appear clean to even a practised psyker.’
‘So Kulbard was just me?’ asked Kretschman.
‘Mostly, yes,’ said Anto/Kulbard, taking another sip. ‘You’re right, this stuff is second rate. Yes, mostly Kulbard was just you, but that sub-personality also had a deeply buried psychic connection to me that I was able to access occasionally, allowing me to syphon off your knowledge, push you in the right direction. We knew your regiment was the main opposition to our plans on the Hollow Worlds, so having you taken back there would allow us access to invaluable military knowledge. We could not have expected you to go so far, though… to get close to the inquisitor! That was beyond our expectations.’
