Shield of Baal: Deathstorm

by Josh Reynolds

  ‘We do what we must, brother, for the good of the Chapter,’ Karlaen said, placing the now-silent servitor head back on his belt. He looked up, gauging the time. The chronometer in his eye ticked over. It was just past midnight. It had taken him longer to filter the information contained in the head than he had thought.

  The dull crump of distant explosions told him that the battle for Phodia was not yet over. A tendril of guilt squirmed through him, as he turned his thoughts to those embattled survivors. Their fight would soon be over, and not for the better. They were chaff before the scythe, left to dull the enemy’s blade with their meat and bone. Asphodex would be erased, and her people with it.

  You have no heart, only fire, he thought, trying to banish such thoughts. Guilt, doubt, fear – all fuel for the fires of determination. All men died, whether hero or coward, mortal or Space Marine. But if their death meant something, then it was no kind of death at all, but transcendence. The road to a better world was paved with the bones of brave men. Had the Angel’s death not provided the Emperor with a chance for victory against the Arch-Traitor? So too would it be here. The dead of Phodia, of Asphodex, of the Cryptus System, were the foundation on which Baal’s survival would be built.

  He turned and watched the fires on the horizon. Karlaen knew it was true, that all of this was necessary. But that did not mean he had to like it. He closed his eyes, feeling bands of red and black tighten about his mind and heart. He opened them and met the calm, blank gaze of the statue of the Emperor, and let out the breath he had not even realised that he had been holding. ‘It is time, brothers. We must move out. If the others were going to reach us, they would have by now.’ He looked towards the palace. ‘It is time to find our quarry. And this time, we will not stop until we achieve victory, or death.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s the one, rather than the other,’ Alphaeus said, uprooting his sword from where he had driven it into the cracked ground.

  The squad began to move back towards the palace, across the blasted landscape of broken alien bodies. They moved slowly, picking their way forwards with care, senses straining to catch any sign of the enemy that they all knew was not far away. As they moved, Karlaen could feel eyes on them, peering out from the gloom that surrounded them. Alphaeus had been correct – they were being watched. He could feel it himself now, scratching gently at his mind. The augur-lens of his bionic eye scanned the darkness that crept across the ruined plaza, but nothing revealed itself. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t there, simply that it was very good at hiding.

  The broodlord had always been good at hiding. It had an instinct for dark, cramped places and wide shadows that had kept it alive for those first few weeks after… It hissed and squeezed its eyes shut.

  When it opened them, it glared at the invaders, gauging their numbers and strength. It could feel the gathered minds of its children massing around it in the shadows of the ruins. It would sacrifice them all, in the name of victory, though it loved them. Yes, that was the word… love. It loved its children, even as the Hive Mind loved it, and it would send a hundred of them to their deaths without hesitation if it meant pulling down just one of the red-armoured giants striding through the plaza.

  Its plaza.

  Its sudden spurt of anger was passed to its children through the synaptic link that they shared, and it heard a ripple of soft snarls and creaking chitin. It forced itself to remain calm, and allowed the song of the Leviathan to dull the edges of its anger. It opened up the link between itself and its children, allowing them to glimpse the unfettered glory of the force they now served. Snatches of words fluttered through its mind, carried by the voices of those long dead: elegant, descriptive phrases which might describe the heaving, coiling presence that rose over it and its children and spread from horizon to horizon like a hungry sun.

  It felt its mind and will fray at the edges as the song swept through it and around it. Some part of it longed to be one with the Leviathan, after being alone for so long. And it would be, soon enough. That was the fate of every living thing in Phodia – to be meat for the great beast that slithered through the void, following the light of a distant star.

  But not yet. Its mind slammed shut to the voice of the Hive Mind, cutting off the song, and disturbing its children. The closest genestealer snuffled and clicked interrogatively, and the broodlord grunted in a placatory fashion. It focused on the invaders again. It could sense the rest of their number drawing near, just as the ones below moved towards the palace steps. Soon, there would be more of them. Far too many, in one place. It sat back on its haunches, considering.

  No, it could not risk it. It would kill as many as it could now and thin their numbers before it considered its next move. It slouched forwards, reaching out with its mind, feeling for the burning sparks of the invaders’ consciousness. Willing as it was to sacrifice its children in pursuit of its goals, it saw no reason not to employ every advantage it possessed.

  It would show them the beautiful thing which awaited them all.

  ‘Contact, grid twelve,’ Alphaeus said. Karlaen checked his sensors, and saw the flare of red that meant an approaching bio-signature.

  ‘Contact, grid eight, nine, eleven–’ Leonos began, only to be interrupted by his twin.

  ‘–contact on multiple grids,’ Damaris said urgently.

  ‘They’ve decided to stop hiding,’ Karlaen said, as his targeting lens whirred and focused in on the shapes scuttling through the darkness all around them. There was more subtlety to the genestealers’ actions now, as they crept through the darkness, staying close to cover at all times. In the gleam of his stab-lights he caught sight of a rounded skull or a flash of chitin, but that was it. ‘Form up. If they rush us, we will drive them back. Whatever else happens, we will not be driven back again. We will go forward.’

  He checked his sensors again, noting the positioning of the enemy. They were cut off in all directions, as if whatever mind was directing the xenos had seen and learned from his earlier strategy, and was now attempting to block off any avenues of escape. And yet, they did not attack. Karlaen stared out into the darkness and tried to discern the motivations of his unseen enemy. What was it waiting for?

  The answer came a moment later, when his mind suddenly convulsed, wracked with stinging webs of malign thought. Karlaen grunted and bent forwards, clutching at his head. The others made similar motions, twitching as an unheralded pain tore through their thoughts, savaging them from within.

  A haze of red descended over his eyes, but not the one with which he was all too familiar. This was a sickly haze, such as might overcome a dying animal’s last moments. He groaned as alien thoughts wormed into his own, boring through the walls of discipline and hypno-conditioning to hook into the kernel of humanity within. Old memories, long buried under new, were uprooted from the murk and brought forth screaming into the light. He could recall the darkness of the sarcophagus he had been entombed in as an aspirant, only barely aware of the passage of time as the blood of the primarch changed him into something other than the youth he had been. The dark had squeezed and crushed him, and even in his almost comatose state he had screamed himself raw for those first few weeks.

  More memories came, dragged up by the inhuman will which assaulted him – he felt the heat of weapons which had almost claimed his life, and felt the sour shadow which threatened to rise up in him in his darkest moments. His mind shuddered and squirmed in the grip of his enemy, and the memories began to change, becoming more horrible and utterly alien. He felt the discordant song of the Hive Mind as it thundered through him, washing what was him away and leaving only smooth purpose – to consume. These were not his thoughts, but those of the enemy. He had fought tyranids often enough to know that where most attacked with claws, poison and acidic bile, some could use a man’s own thoughts against him.

  And yet, there was something else. Something that, even in his agony, Karlaen could see… A flaw in that smooth, remorseless wall of gestalt hunger that threatened to o
verwhelm him. A hunger that was not merely for bio-matter, but for something else. Something more human in scope. Whatever it was, it was a weakness, and he knew what to do with an enemy’s weakness, physical or otherwise. He focused on it, bringing every iota of his will onto it, as if his thoughts were the hammer which hung, forgotten, in his hand. He saw unfamiliar faces – a man and woman, a boy – and felt a surge of anger that was at once bestial and all too human, tinged as it was with grief, or perhaps madness. He felt the quiver of surprise go through the invader, a startled roar echoing in his head and from the darkness, as his mind bucked in its grip.

  The haze which afflicted his vision began to clear, and he could see the savage shapes of genestealers rushing towards them. Teeth gritted against the whips of pain which still lashed his mind, he swung his storm bolter up and fired. A genestealer pitched forwards, its head a wet ruin. As if the sound of his shot had been a signal, Alphaeus and the others joined him. The dark was lit up by flashes of bolter fire, and genestealers fell in their dozens. But there were still more behind them, hundreds perhaps.

  The ache in his mind began to lessen and he scanned the darkness behind the leaping, shrieking shapes of the enemy, searching for the thing which commanded them. It was here, somewhere, scrabbling in their minds to make them easy prey for the others. The augur-lens on his bionic eye flashed as it focused in on a shape crouched atop one of the few still-standing statues which dotted the plaza.

  It was a broodlord, and larger than any he had ever had the misfortune to encounter before. A genestealer almost three times the size of those now assaulting him and his men, with talons that would put even the largest tyranid bio-beast to shame.

  Red eyes met his, and he felt the creature’s hideous thoughts begin to reassert themselves in his mind. It took every ounce of will and psycho-conditioning he possessed to hold it back. It had surprised him once; it would not do so again. He raised his storm bolter and a flash of pain, like acid on flesh, ripped through him. He ignored the pain and his finger tightened on the trigger as his targeting sigil flashed red. The creature reared up on its perch, spreading its four upper limbs as if in invitation, and he could sense its amusement.

  Then, it was gone. The targeting lock ceased to flash, and he cursed. The creature had not moved; it had simply vanished as if had never been. Another psyker’s trick, he thought angrily. Wherever it was, it hadn’t gone far. He could still feel its thoughts, lurking on the underside of his consciousness. It was almost as if it was speaking to him, not in words, but in impressions. Though its first attack had been parried, the duel was not yet done.

  ‘Captain, to your left,’ Alphaeus roared suddenly, shocking Karlaen back to attention. He turned and saw the gaping, fang-studded maw of a genestealer closing in on him. Karlaen swept the genestealer aside with a thrust of his hammer and started towards the spot where he had last seen the broodlord. If he could catch it and kill it, he and the others might yet survive this mission. If not, well, better death than the ignominy of failure. He activated the vox and said, ‘Alphaeus, hold the line until I return. If I don’t, attempt to contact the others and request extraction.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Alphaeus demanded, shouting to be heard over the din.

  ‘Hunting,’ Karlaen said, as he charged into the darkness.

  Seven

  Karlaen knew that rushing off alone, out of the line, was not a particularly sound decision, strategically. Tactically, however, it made perfect sense. Behind him, his brothers were waging a desperate battle against overwhelming odds, a battle in which, under different circumstances, he had no doubt that they would triumph. But now, they were not fighting the scuttling hordes of the Hive Mind alone, but the brutal psychic domination of the broodlord as well. And that was a battle they could not hope to win. Not unless he could find it, and kill it.

  He used his bulk to push through the horde, smashing genestealers with his hammer, shoulders and feet. The xenos did not swarm him, as he expected, but instead broke and flowed around him, as if given orders to avoid him at all costs. He killed those that came within reach, but took advantage of the lull to press forwards, towards the statue he had seen the broodlord perched on. If the creature wanted to meet him, he would oblige it. While the broodlord was occupied with him, it would have no attention to spare for Alphaeus and the others, or for commanding the other genestealers. Alphaeus and the others could break their enemy, while Karlaen hunted his.

  And it was his enemy. What he now stalked through the shadow-haunted plaza, away from the bellicose fury of the battle behind him, was the central intelligence which had dogged them since they had arrived on Phodia several hours before. He felt it in his gut. It had harried them and slain two of them, and he was determined to see that its tally grew no larger.

  Despite his determination, he felt a flicker of disquiet. His bionic eye clicked and shifted in its socket of steel, trying to pinpoint the creature as the hiss of alien whispers filled his head anew. But it was nowhere to be seen. It was as if it had been erased from his perceptions. He could not smell it, taste it on the smoke-clogged air or see it. It might as well have been a figment of his imagination.

  You can hide from me, but not the machine-spirits, beast, he thought as he activated the data-capture spirits within his augur-lens. Almost immediately, a haze of blinking after-images on a one-second delay showed him the broodlord still crouched on the statue, then its leap, and the arc of its trajectory as it hurtled towards him. As the first image registered with him, he rerouted the data from his augur-lens to his storm bolter’s opti-scope, allowing his armour’s targeting system to lock onto the descending shape of the broodlord.

  He fired a long burst, hoping to cut the creature in two before it reached him. Through the augur-lens, he saw it twist out of the way in mid-air and crash down into the rubble separating them. The broodlord rolled to its feet in a cloud of dust and rose up over him. It towered above his not inconsiderable height, and was easily of a size with the tyranid warriors he had faced earlier.

  For an instant, they stared at one another. Then they came together with a crash of chitin on ceramite. Talons tore jagged grooves in armoured plates, and pale flesh darkened where the hammer’s energy field touched. They broke apart, but only for a moment. Karlaen spun his hammer in a tight circle, parrying a series of blinding claw strikes as the broodlord came at him again. Such was its speed, the creature caught him more than once, leaving ragged furrows in his armour. Even his genhanced reflexes were no match for the sheer, unnatural speed of the beast. It would wear him down, one vicious strike at a time.

  He swung the hammer out in a wide, looping blow. The broodlord flipped backwards, avoiding the blow and landing on all fours out of reach. Karlaen snarled and fired his storm bolter. The beast began to run, and he tracked it, firing all the while. It leapt from fallen statue to wreckage pile, staying just ahead of the explosive rounds until he was forced to turn, and it leapt onto him. He staggered, his armour’s stabilisers and servos whining as they compensated for the additional weight.

  It scrambled up onto him, one foot planted on his shoulder plate as it hooked its claws into the armour around his head in a splash of sparks. A hose was torn loose, spitting a hiss of air. He rolled with it, and smashed both his side and the creature into a fire-blackened column. Chips of marble spattered his face as the broodlord was sent flying. It hit the ground and slid until its claws thudded down, anchoring it in place.

  The broodlord shoved itself upright as he charged towards it, roaring out an oath to Sanguinius and the Emperor both. It leapt straight up as his hammer slammed down, cracking the ground. Its feet struck the top of his armour and then it was lost in the shadows again, circling him just out of sight. He whirled, trying to catch a glimpse of it. But it was not relying on mental trickery this time, just its own speed and stealth.

  Karlaen turned in a slow circle. His vox-link was still open, and he could hear the voices of his men as they fought on. He could hear other vo
ices as well, those of Zachreal and the others as they met their own enemies in battle. The scene in which he found himself was being played out across the vast stretch of palatial ruins, in one form or another.

  The genestealers and the tyranid warriors were but pieces on a board for the beast he now confronted – it could move them into position with an errant thought, and drive them berserk with equal ease. It could flood the palace with feeder-beasts and ripper swarms, or drown them in bio-beasts, if it wished.

  But it did not. He knew it and could feel it. It wanted something, and it was delaying the consumption of this place until it got it. What abominable purpose was it seeking to fulfil? The question lodged itself in his mind like a splinter.

  Overhead, the roiling, red sky was split by spores streaking to the planet’s surface from the tyranid vessels far above. They moved almost gracefully, like sentient creatures rather than obscene tumours of bio-matter. His armour’s sensors tracked them, recording their descent and relaying it to the Chapter fleet above automatically. More and more spores fell to earth, and the ground shook beneath him. Asphodex was dying; time was running out, both for his mission and the beast which glared at him from the shadows. He could feel its frustration boil across the surface of his thoughts, and he smiled.

  ‘I know you can hear me, beast,’ he said aloud. ‘I know that you understand me, though I do not know how. I will speak slowly, regardless, for your benefit.’ Karlaen could not say why he bothered to speak, save that in that instant when his mind had touched that of his enemy, he had felt something human… or something that had once been human. The thought was not a pleasant one, and he felt a chill, deep in his bones, as it occurred to him.

  ‘You cannot win. We will come for you, with fire and sword, and we will overturn your nests and scour every trace of your vile species from this world, even if we must crack its crust and drown it in magma to do so. Asphodex will not fall to you. We will burn it to ash before we allow you to claim dominion.’