Adept Koriel Zeth closed her eyes at the sight of the fire in the sky, knowing exactly what it represented and feeling the human portion of her body fill with sadness. She focused the Chamber of Vesta's viewing screens to the north and increased the magnification to maximum, knowing what she would see, but dreading it all the same.
All along Ipluvien Maximal's reactor chain of Ulysses Fossae, a score of fiery mushroom clouds climbed skyward. A blast wave of unimaginable force flattened the landscape for hundreds of kilometres bare of life, and the following firestorm would turn the Martian desert to irradiated glass for ten thousand years.
'Goodbye, Ipluvien,' said Zeth, before turning her attention to the unfolding conflict around her own forge, the burnished plates showing such ferocious scenes of battle that even she could scarce believe such slaughter was happening on Mars.
The charge of the Knights of Taranis had cleaved a bloody path through the attackers on the causeway, but their numbers were dwindling fast. Another two Knights had gone down, leaving only Verticorda, Caturix and three warriors.
Every second brought them closer to Melgator's pavilion, but she had no idea whether they would reach it alive. Even if they did, there would be no escape from the heart of the enemy army. Legio Tempestus were fighting a battle that would enter the annals of their histories as one of their most noble, were there any left alive to record it, and her own warriors had fought harder than she could ever have wished.
Kelbor-Hal's minions would suffer greatly to take the Magma City, and unless Zeth acted now, they would take it, that was certain. And not just the Magma City, but the rest of Mars would soon be in the thrall of those loyal to the Fabricator General.
The time had come to follow Ipluvien Maximal's noble action.
Zeth turned from the screens and walked towards the wide shaft that descended into the depths of her forge, bathing in the heat and waves of energy that rippled upwards from the magma far below.
A primitive-looking servitor swathed in a hooded robe followed her, its crudity quite at odds with the sophistication of the chamber. The anonymous cyborg creature took up position alongside Zeth as a dozen slender silver columns rose from the floor around the shaft.
Each of the columns was topped with an intricate arrangement of plugs and Zeth stepped into the middle of them. She reached out and slipped her hands into the biometric readers atop two of the columns, extruding a series of mechadendrites from the length of her spine.
These waved through the air and made contact with the remaining columns, and she began exloading a series of macroinstructions into the noospheric network of the Magma City. A glowing schematic of her forge flickered into life before her, invisible to anyone not noospherically modified.
'I hope Kane managed to rescue at least a portion of his noospheric network from Mondus Occulum,' she whispered to herself. 'It would be a shame for my technology to be forgotten in this sordid civil war.'
'Even facing destruction you are vain,' said a voice behind her.
Zeth turned, unsurprised to see the sinuous form of Melgator's tech-priest assassin slithering through the air behind her.
'I had a feeling I'd be seeing you again,' said Zeth.
'The Cydonian Sisterhood do not forget those who insult us,' said Remiare.
'I'd ask how you got in here, but I have a feeling it won't matter.'
'No,' agreed Remiare. 'It will not.'
The assassin skimmed slowly over the floor of the chamber towards Zeth, drawing a pair of exquisite golden pistols from her thigh sheaths.
'My employer wishes this city captured intact,' said Remiare, inloading to the noospheric map floating before Zeth. 'So you need to stop what you are doing.'
'I'm not going to do that,' stated Zeth.
'I wasn't asking,' said Remiare, and shot Zeth twice in the chest.
Lord Commander Verticorda felt the pain of a dozen wounds through the Manifold of Ares Lictor. His shields were gone and his carapace was cracked in multiple locations. He could barely feel his left arm and the knee joint that had been healed two centuries ago by the touch of the Emperor ached with psycho-stigmatic pain.
All around him he could see the red-lit legions of his enemy surrounding him. Weapons fire spanked from his disintegrating carapace and his fear was not that he was going to die, but that a machine touched by the hand of the Omnissiah would fall into the hands of his enemies.
To his left he saw a group of dark-robed skitarii on one of the causeway's overhanging platforms aim a battery of quad-barrelled guns. He turned his right cannon on them, letting Ares Lictor target them. He felt the thrill of acquisition course down his arm and opened fire, the hurricane of shells obliterating the platform and turning the guns and their operators into an expanding cloud of shredded meat and metal.
Alongside him, Caturix crushed and sliced into the enemy host with his cannon and laser lance, his fury carrying him forward where Verticorda lived by his preternatural skill. The other Knights that still lived were the best of the order, the most sublime warriors he had fought alongside: Yelsic, Agamon and Old Stator.
Ahead, Verticorda saw the black pavilion where the architect of this confrontation watched the honourable Knights of Taranis dying for his amusement. The standard of Melgator, a golden chain upon a crimson field, flew above the pavilion and though a host of warriors and black machines stood between them, Verticorda vowed he would not be brought low while such an ignoble individual still lived.
More gunfire hammered the Knights, and Agamon was undone, the final strength of his shields torn away by the heedless sacrifice of scores of suicidal warriors rushing close and detonating explosive petards against his armour.
Old Stator died next, the preceptor clearing a path for the masters of his order with a gloriously heroic dash towards the black pavilion, his twin blades extended to either side of him as he charged. Running low, the Knight took a direct hit to the cockpit and crashed to the ground.
The last three Knights blazed through the path won by Stator's death, and Verticorda killed and killed as he drew upon the spirits of all the lord commanders who had ridden into battle within Ares Lictor.
On one side, Caturix rode tall, though his mount was on the verge of destruction, while on the other, Yelsic, his companion from the day the Emperor first set foot on Olympus Mons, still carried the Taranis banner high.
'The bastard's running!' shouted Verticorda, seeing Melgator's golden chain banner moving.
'What did you expect?' retorted Caturix. 'He's no warrior. He's nothing but a coward.'
'He won't escape us,' vowed Yelsic.
'No, he damn well won't,' agreed Caturix.
Fresh impacts slammed into Ares Lictor, and Verticorda cried out, feeling the pain of his wounds surging bright and hot within his aged frame. Even as fresh wounds appeared on his body, he felt a sustaining power flow from the Manifold to hold him together, a gestalt legacy of heroism and honour that stretched back to his mount's birth.
The presence of Ares Lictor's former masters poured into Verticorda, eager to accompany him in its last moments.
All he could see through the canopy window were enemies, their twisted visages daemonic in the searing glow of the magma. This truly was a ride into hell, and these were its warped denizens.
'There he is!' bellowed Caturix, and Verticorda saw the shield-palanquin of Melgator surrounded by a cohort of brutal, ogre-like skitarii armed with fearsome beam weapons and flame lances.
The three Knights smashed through the cordon of enemy warriors between them and Melgator's retinue, their armour torn, trailing fire and spraying vital fluids. None would ever ride again, but with their final breath of life they would slay this last foe.
Verticorda shot down a dozen skitarii, and then felt the agony of sweeping beams of cutting light sawing through the armour of his right arm as though it was as insubstantial as smoke. He screamed in pain, his entire body spasming as the weapon arm was shorn from its mount.
Blood fill
ed his throat and his vision greyed, but once again he felt the ghostly presences of his predecessors. Their ancient fury and fire was undimmed by the passage of years, and their will gave him the strength to carry on. Yet even with the sustaining power of the Manifold, Verticorda could feel his life slipping away from him.
Yelsic's machine took the full brunt of a volley of flame lance fire, his carapace wreathed in crackling purple flames from a dozen hits. Concussive impacts of grenades blew out his torso section, and the shorn halves of his stricken Knight exploded as it skidded into the mass of skitarii.
'Into them!' cried Caturix, seeing the gap Yelsic's death had created.
Acting on centuries of instinct, Verticorda followed Caturix into the scattered mob of skitarii, seeing the fur-robed form of Melgator whipping his shield bearers to carry him away from the rampaging Knights.
With the last of his energy, Verticorda shouted, 'I cast the lightning of Taranis at thee!' and together, he and Caturix opened fire. Thunderous impacts strafed the ground and blazed a devastating path through the skitarii towards Melgator.
A haze of shimmering blue light erupted around the ambassador, a personal void, but such a device was designed to protect its bearer for short periods of time and against the weapons of an assassin, not those carried by war machines as fearsome as Knights.
In seconds the capacity of Melgator's voids was overloaded, and the resulting explosion hurled him through the air. The ambassador didn't even have time to hit the ground before the sustained fire of the Knights obliterated his body in a fraction of a second.
With Melgator's destruction, Verticorda felt the presence of his mount's former riders fade back into the Manifold. The pain of his wounds returned tenfold and he cried out as he felt yet more impacts on his armour.
A missile exploded his knee, the one the Emperor had touched, and Ares Lictor fell. The carapace slammed into the ground and the glass of his cockpit shattered into fragments. Verticorda tasted blood, but felt no pain as he sensed the Manifold open up before him.
His last living memory was hearing Caturix's voice shouting his defiance to the end.
As Verticorda died, he was smiling, and the spirit of Ares Lictor welcomed him.
3.06
Blood and warnings filled the liquid before Cavalerio, telling him of shield ignition failures, reactor bleeds and a hundred other signs that his engine was suffering. Red droplets flecked the amniotic jelly, oozing from psychostigmatic wounds on his shoulders and torso, and bleeding from his nose.
He registered the deaths of three of his engines, but forced himself to concentrate on his own fight. Ahead of him, three Warlords advanced before the might of the Imperator, Aquila Ignis. The soaring creation had not yet deigned to open fire.
'My princeps?' asked Kuyper, bleeding from the side of his head where a panel had blown out next to him, taking the secondary reactor monitors with it.
'Nothing,' said Cavalerio. 'You have a solution to those Warlords on the right?'
'Yes, Stormlord,' confirmed Kuyper. 'All missiles locked in.'
'Then you may fire at your discretion, Moderati Kuyper,' ordered Cavalerio, before addressing his sensori. 'Where's that Reaver on our right?'
'In the silos a kilometre north of us,' reported Palus. 'It's fighting Metallus Cebrenia, but it's the one to our left we need to worry about. Vulpus Rex and Arcadia Fortis are gone.'
'Sharaq can handle himself,' said Cavalerio, 'and Tharsis Hastatus will deal with the bastard on our left.'
'Princeps Suzak also has a Warlord to deal with,' Kuyper reminded him.
'He's come through tougher fights,' insisted Cavalerio. 'I shouldn't need to remind you all that we are Legio Tempestus, we fear nothing!'
His bold words invigorated the crew, and he felt the delicious shudder of release as the missile pods on his carapace surged from their launchers. At the same time, a sustained barrage of turbo lasers hammered the Warlord on the right, while repeated blasts from his volcano cannon punched the Warlord in the centre.
His enemies were giving as good as they got, and each shot Deus Tempestus unleashed was answered with two in reply, but Cavalerio had an advantage the Mortis engines did not. He was linked through the amniotic suspension to the very heart of his machine, and though the immediacy of connection allowed him only a fractional advantage, for a princeps of the Stormlord's skill, it was the only advantage he needed.
The engine drivers of Mortis were good, for no one ever ascended to the princeps chair of a Warlord who had not proved himself a hundred times or more, but they were as fledglings compared to the skill of Indias Cavalerio.
With precise evasions and instinctual anticipation of his enemies' thoughts and tactics, Cavalerio had avoided a weight of fire that would have seen a lesser princeps destroyed thrice over. Deus Tempestus was wounded, but she strode through the storm of enemy fire without fear and with the banner of Legio Tempestus borne proudly aloft.
'Target's shield strength failing,' reported Palus. 'The turbos have got him!'
'Multiple missile impacts scored!' shouted Kuyper. 'She's burning!'
'Bring us about, Lacus,' cried Cavalerio. 'Volcano cannon on rightmost Warlord. A three-pulse volley if you please.'
'Yes, my princeps,' replied his steersman, and Cavalerio felt the ancient machine respond, its vast and complex manoeuvring systems reacting with the speed of a brand new engine. Cavalerio felt the heat build as the monstrously powerful cannon on his left arm powered up.
He saw the stricken Warlord slow and relished the fear its princeps must be feeling to be so achingly vulnerable. With no shields and his engine burning, his fight was over.
'No, that won't do you any good,' chuckled Cavalerio as the volcano cannon fired and struck the Warlord's shields dead on, battering the last of its protection away. The first blast was immediately followed by two more, and the Warlord's upper carapace vanished in a thermonuclear blast as its reactor detonated.
'Centre Warlord's shields failing!' shouted Palus. 'It was too close to the explosion!'
'All stop,' ordered Cavalerio. 'Reverse left step and bring us back about, Lacus. Divert all shield power to volcano cannon, I want to make this shot count!'
His crew hastened to obey his commands, and Cavalerio felt the groaning strain of metal all around him as he pushed his engine to the limits of its endurance. A moment of doubt flickered across his mind as he remembered doing the same thing to Victorix Magna, but he pushed that thought aside.
A flurry of impacts struck his torso and carapace, and Cavalerio grunted in pain, his flesh convulsing in sympathy with his wounded engine. He felt the damage to Deus Tempestus, but shook off the pain. If his engine was paying the price for his tactics, then so too would he.
'Gun charged, my princeps,' reported Kuyper. 'Solution locked.'
Cavalerio snatched control of the weapon from his engine's gun-servitor. 'Firing!'
Once again the volcano cannon unleashed its deadly fire, the searing bolt of destruction enhanced with all the power Cavalerio could give it.
The enemy Warlord's shields absorbed the first microsecond of the impact, but collapsed with an explosive detonation that tore the upper tiers of its armour away like paper in a storm. Cavalerio kept his aim steady as the fire built in his arm to a raging, searing sensation, and the enemy Warlord vanished as his fire burned through its hull and sliced it almost in two.
The crew of Deus Tempestus cheered as the Warlord broke in two at the waist, its legs left standing as its torso and upper carapace crashed to the ground in a flaming arc of molten metal.
Cavalerio let out a shudder of release as he watched the Warlord die. It had been a terrible risk altering the shield strength to empower the volcano cannon, but it had paid off and now the odds were more even.
Then the Aquila Ignis opened fire.
Adept Zeth
tried to remain standing, but the pain in her chest was too great. Her legs gave way beneath her and she slumped to her knees, blood streaming down her chest and back from where Remiare's projectiles had pierced her armour and body.
She looked down at her breastplate, seeing the void projector still intact on her chest, then looked up in surprise. Remiare smiled and spun the pistols to face her, relishing Zeth's look of confusion.
'I suppose you're wondering why your personal void didn't save you,' said the assassin as she skimmed over the ground, circling the ring of steel columns that surrounded Zeth. 'These rounds are hand-crafted in the null-shielded forges of Adept Prenzlaur, and utilise technology similar to that found in the warp missiles used by Titans.'
'Actually,' said Zeth, coughing a wad of blood into her mask, 'I was wondering how long it would take for the noospheric trip-code I've been broadcasting to affect you.'
Zeth saw Remiare's surprise in her biometrics and laughed. 'You think you are so clever, assassin, but I am a high adept of the Mechanicum! Nobody's cleverer than me.'
Remiare cocked her head to one side, analysing the connection between her and Zeth on the noosphere.
'No!' she cried, seeing the exquisitely elegant code worked into the data packets passing into her augmetics, which was even now silently and secretly shutting them down.
'Too late,' hissed Zeth as Remiare's magno-gravitic thrusters cut out and the assassin dropped to the floor of the chamber with a heavy thump. Remiare's knees buckled as she landed, unused to feeling herself on the ground with such a weight of useless dead metal on the ends of her legs.
'Right now your enhanced metabolism is trying to reboot your systems, but it won't do you any good,' said Zeth, using the extruded mechadendrites that were still hooked into the steel columns to haul herself to her feet. 'It's already too late for you.'
Zeth fought to control her breathing as her augmented nervous system assessed the damage to her body. One of Remiare's bullets had severed her spinal cord and she could feel nothing below the waist, but her metallic limbs were more than capable of supporting her for long enough to finish what she had begun. Pain-balms and stimulant drugs flooded her body to keep her conscious and she smiled as the agony of her chest wounds faded.
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