There was no need for orders. Not now. With the extraction called for, every battle-brother knew what was required of him, and they would fight until they fell. There would be no falling back, no formations, only the slow, steady grind of a slugging match. Terminator armour and storm bolters against claws, fangs and poison sacs. Karlaen found himself fighting side by side with Leonos and Damaris, the twins protecting his flanks as he put his hammer to use. He was glad to see that they had survived.
Bio-horrors poured into the plaza from the ruins surrounding it. They did not come in waves as before, but as a single, unceasing flood, attacking as one. Terminators were dragged away from their fellows, separated by the sheer press of the enemy, then pulled down. The Death Company smashed in and out of the horde like black comets, but they too were dragged down one by one, selling their lives to buy breathing room for the warriors of the First Company. As the battle raged on, Karlaen tried to spot the broodlord, but the creature was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he hoped that it had abandoned the fight. But he dismissed the thought as fast as it occurred to him. No, it was still out there somewhere, waiting for its moment to strike.
Tyranid warrior-broods bounded through the swirling mass of genestealers, scattering their lesser kin as they sought to reach the Blood Angels. They trampled the smaller bio-beasts in their haste, scattering others with wide slashes from bone swords or snaps of bio-whips. The Terminators focused on the newcomers, pouring firepower into the synapse beasts, but some got through the gauntlet of explosive rounds and reached the Blood Angels lines.
Karlaen felt something splash against his armour and turned to see one of the tyranids pelting towards him, its grotesque bio-cannon raised for another shot.
‘Look out–’ Damaris began.
‘–captain,’ Leonos finished.
Both Terminators turned their storm bolters on the monstrosity as it bounded out of the smoke. The tyranid warrior contorted and flew apart as the explosive rounds pierced its carapace. Karlaen turned to thank them, but his words turned to ash in his throat as Leonos staggered, a bio-whip wrapped around his throat. A tyranid perched on top of him, hauling back on the whip. As the Terminator struggled to free himself, the tyranid plunged a pair of bone swords down through the top of his helm. His death was so swift that neither his twin nor Karlaen could prevent it.
Leonos sagged as the tyranid extricated its blades. It dropped from the slumping body, but had no time to seek out new prey, as Damaris uttered a roar of fury and slammed into it, driving it back against the statue with a booming crack. The tyranid squealed and writhed for a moment before Damaris’s groping powerfist found its jaw and forced its head back past the breaking point. There was a second crack, louder than the first, and the beast was still.
Damaris staggered back, the broken blades of the tyranid’s swords sticking from his chest. He spun awkwardly as a third tyranid tried to dart past him, bringing his fist down on the creature’s back, snapping its spine. As it fell, he began to slump. Karlaen realised that the blades had not merely slipped through his armour, but had pierced something vital in the process. Karlaen reached Damaris as he sank down beside his twin’s corpse. ‘I have you, brother. I…’ Karlaen trailed off. Damaris was not listening to him.
He said something unintelligible as Karlaen laid him down. He coughed wetly, and Karlaen knew that the blades had reached his hearts and lungs. Damaris reached out towards Leonos, but his life ebbed before his hand found that of his comrade. Karlaen rose unsteadily to his feet, all rational thought burning to ash in a sudden swell of rage. The world slowed and stretched, and he could see everything all at once through a muddy red haze.
He saw Zachreal and Alphaeus fighting back to back. He saw Melos catching a bio-whip in his powerfist and wrenching its wielder off balance long enough to get a bead on it with his storm bolter. He saw the survivors of the other squads gathered about the statue in a ragged formation, pouring their remaining ammunition into the horde that surged and swirled around them, selling their lives on behalf of him, and on behalf of his mission. He saw red- and black-armoured bodies scattered among piles of dead alien filth.
All of this he saw, but not the tyranid warrior that crept up behind him, bio-cannon levelled. He heard the hiss of dribbling acid and spun, but not quickly enough. The shot knocked him off his feet and he crashed down, a sizzling patch on his armour marking where the shot had struck home.
He rolled onto his back and groped blindly for his hammer. The tyranid advanced on him, eyes glittering with inhuman malice. Before it could fire its weapon again, however, a black form hurtled past and there was a sound like stone striking meat. The tyranid lurched backwards as one of its legs was smashed out from under it. Off balance, it toppled backwards and smashed down onto the ground. Raphen landed on it a moment later, the soles of his boots pulping its screeching features.
Raphen spun, his hammer lashing out to catch a genestealer. He reached out, as if to pull Karlaen to his feet.
Karlaen saw a shadow hurtle towards him. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but was too late as something heavy pounced onto the other Blood Angel and bore him to the ground. Black armour tore beneath rending claws as the broodlord smashed Raphen against the stones of the plaza. His jump pack was torn from his back and sent hurtling aside, where it exploded. The beast hefted him over its head. Raphen, dazed, bellowed uselessly as the broodlord held him.
It met Karlaen’s gaze, and he saw a question there. No, a demand. He felt the thing’s thoughts claw at his own, stronger than before. It was angry now, and that anger gave it strength. He met its glare with his own, feeling his own anger press hard against his fraying discipline. Whatever it saw in his eyes seemed to answer its question, and it screeched.
Then it brought Raphen down across its upraised knee.
‘No!’ Karlaen rose to his feet and, weaponless, threw himself at the beast as it let Raphen drop. It leapt back, avoiding him, then sprang for a statue, slithering around it and out of sight. Karlaen turned back to Raphen, but there was nothing to be done. Like Bartelo, he had died instantly, his spine shattered and his neck crushed. Like too many others, he had died on Karlaen’s behalf, at the claws of a creature that should not exist.
Karlaen scooped up his hammer and turned to seek his brother’s killer.
Eighteen
Karlaen’s vox crackled with an unfamiliar voice as he stalked through the smoky melee. Some small part of him not yet claimed by the rage that drove him recognised it as the voice of the pilot sent to extract them. Almost against his will, he looked up, scanning the red sky. His bionic eye caught sight of it almost immediately, whirring and shifting to focus in on one of the Chapter’s Stormraven gunships as it tore down through the swirling clouds of harpies and gargoyles that sought to bar its passage. The gunship’s twin-linked assault cannons roared, clearing a path. As Karlaen watched, the vessel dipped its blunt nose towards the plaza and screamed down towards them, guns blazing.
As he turned to continue seeking out his prey, he felt its jagged claws sink into his mind. The world turned upside down, and he clutched at his head. The pain was far greater than before, and all the more intrusive for catching him unawares. Faces, memories, voices, pounded at him from all sides… He saw Aphrae’s death at the hands of the broodlord, and tasted the coppery tang of his brother’s blood. He felt Raphen’s spine break on his knee, and a scream ripped free of his throat.
Something slammed into him from the side, rocking him on his feet. He lashed out blindly, and was rewarded with a shriek as the crackling head of his hammer struck home. He saw the broodlord roll to its feet. Rather than darting away into the smoke, however, it charged right for him. He snarled and lunged to meet it. But, within a few seconds, he found himself driven back. His armour barely warded off its powerful blows as it tore into him, body and mind. He could feel his control, already tenuous, slipping as he fought to stay focused against its mental attacks while simultaneously fending off its claws. It was n
ot just the creature he was fighting; it was creeping fatigue as well. He dug down, trying to find what reserves of energy remained to him, but he knew his opponent was not going to give him time to recover.
Before, he had merely been an impediment. Now, it wanted him dead. He could see it in its eyes, those mad not-quite-human orbs which sparked with an all too familiar rage. He was fighting a losing battle against the Red Thirst, but this creature had already surrendered to its own form of madness. Whatever drove it, it was not planning on stopping until one of them was dead. A claw pierced his guard and opened his cheek to the bone. He tasted blood. The Red Thirst surged up in him, and he felt his reason slip. He uttered an inarticulate cry and smashed the broodlord back, trading blow for blow as the battle rolled on around them.
They grappled through the drifts and piles of corpses, tearing at one another. Karlaen could barely focus. He heard the whine of the Stormraven’s turbines growing louder and felt the ground shudder as more and more tyranids forced their way into the plaza, driven by the will of the Hive Mind. All he could see was the snarling maw of his enemy; all he could feel was the urge to smash the beast down and erase it from sight.
Man and beast strained against one another, the stones cracking beneath their feet. Gradually, he was being pushed back, but he refused to yield. It would die here, now, or he would. The broodlord leaned in close, jaws snapping. Its barbed tongue caressed his face, and he caught it between his teeth, champing down, ripping the hard flesh. The broodlord reeled, shrieking, and he shoved it back, breaking them apart. As it staggered, he spat out the chunk of wriggling flesh still caught between his teeth and crashed into it, knocking it to the ground. It went down hard, but rolled aside before his hammer could strike home.
He lifted his weapon for another strike, but the Spawn leapt on him, bowling him over. His armour struck sparks from the stone as it rode him to the ground. His hammer was torn from his grip. Human-like hands sought his throat as he made to rise and he found himself pinned. Its grip tightened, while its bladed upper arms rose over him. Its eyes flashed, and in his head an image of his death formed.
Behind the beast, he saw great wings unfurl amidst a bloody radiance. He felt strangely calm. This, then, was a good death. He would die with his men, as he should have done before. He had failed his men, Flax, Corbulo and himself, but he would not avoid the consequences. He stared up at the creature, willing it to strike. It paused, as if uncertain, its wounded tongue lashing, its features crinkled in confusion. Then, it hissed and readied itself to strike. The shadow behind spread, growing larger.
‘No beast. Thy claws shall not find his heart. So says Cassor.’ The Dreadnought’s talons raked down across the broodlord’s back. The creature turned, and found itself caught fast by a second claw. With a grinding of gears, Cassor hurled the broodlord aside, sending its body bouncing across the rubble. Karlaen stared up at the Dreadnought in incomprehension. ‘You make this a habit, brother. Twice has Cassor saved you.’ The Dreadnought turned, scanning the plaza. ‘Where are my brothers? The enemy approaches.’
Despite the haze which clouded his thoughts, Karlaen could see that there was not a single black-armoured form left standing. The Death Company had earned their name, and their redemption. Cassor stared at the scuttling horde that clambered over the bodies of his fellows and rumbled, ‘Cassor stands alone. So be it. Vengeance must take place and Cassor shall deal it in red increments. Come traitors. Cassor is waiting. He has waited all of his life for this moment.’ The Dreadnought’s optic sensors rotated down, to meet Karlaen’s still stunned gaze. ‘I know that I am no longer sane. But I still serve. You shall not fall here, brother. Not while one flicker of rage remains in Cassor’s heart. Up, commander. Glory awaits.’
The enemy swept forwards just as Karlaen began to push himself to his feet. And though Cassor stood alone, as wave after wave of bio-horrors smashed into him, not one reached Karlaen. The Dreadnought burned, trampled and crushed the aliens until the stones were slick with ichor.
Cassor fought with all of the fury that had earned him the honour of being entombed in the sarcophagus of a Dreadnought. His storm bolter roared until its ammunition cylinders were depleted and his meltagun turned the air black with char. When both weapons were spent, he continued to slash and crush the tyranids. Karlaen surged to his feet, giving in to the red hum that quivered through his brain. He smashed his hammer down on snarling maws and bashed aside scratching talons.
The ground trembled beneath his feet as he fought, and he saw a familiar shape plough through its lesser kin with a bellicose roar. The carnifex, its hide pockmarked with death-scars, charged towards Cassor with undeniable eagerness. The Dreadnought turned. ‘Again you seek to match me, hound of carnage. But thy end is come.’
The carnifex crashed into the Dreadnought with a roar, lifting him up and driving him back into the statue of the Emperor, shattering it and sending Terminators scrambling aside as a cloud of dust swept across the plaza. The Dreadnought, off balance, toppled back as the carnifex continued to bulldoze forward. Its great hooves and claws crushed and pierced the black hull plates and a strangled scream exploded from Cassor’s vox.
Karlaen, without thinking, hurled himself at the carnifex. His hammer slammed down against its carapace, cracking it. The carnifex twisted around, jaws snapping. He staggered back as its blade-like claws tore through the air towards him. It stopped short of reaching him, and turned. Karlaen looked past it and saw that Cassor was not finished yet. He had reached out to catch the beast’s leg in an unyielding grip.
‘You shall not touch my brother, abomination. I shall endure a thousand deaths before I yield.’ Cassor hauled back on the carnifex’s hind limb. The carnifex twisted around and drove one of its scything claws through the Dreadnought as it had in their first encounter. But Cassor refused to let go. The carnifex flailed and snapped, its shrieks rising above the battlefield. It slammed its claws down again and again, until at last they became lodged in the ruptured hull. The carnifex’s struggles became more desperate as it strove to free itself. The fallen Dreadnought rocked beneath the blows, but did not release it.
Karlaen, mind full of red, stalked towards the creature. It was the living manifestation of the enemy that was consuming this world and threatening his own. In that moment, he hated it more than any foe he had ever faced. He swung his hammer up. The creature wailed, as if it knew what was coming.
His first blow stunned it. His second split its scarred skull. His third and fourth opened that split further, and mangled the throbbing organ within. His fifth and sixth shattered its jaw and crushed its staring eyes. His seventh nearly tore its head from its neck. He smashed the Hammer of Baal down again and again until he could no longer lift the relic-weapon without trembling from the effort. Then, rage fading, he used his hammer to lever the corpse off Cassor’s inert form.
‘Brother, do you yet function?’ he demanded, sinking down beside the great war machine. ‘Cassor? Cassor!’
Gears whined and servos grated as the hull shifted. Optic sensors flickered and swivelled blindly. Karlaen froze as Cassor’s claw rose. The tip of the talons brushed against the crimson teardrop set into the centre of his chestplate.
‘I swore to serve in life or death. But I feel his hand upon me. I cannot move. My armour… is breached. I hear his wings, brother. I… see…’ Cassor’s rumble slurred into silence without revealing what it was he had seen. The lights on his hull blinked and faded. Karlaen laid his hand on the shattered hull. The rage had drained from him with his final blow, and he could feel his strength ebbing.
He pushed himself to his feet and looked around. The Stormraven had scoured the plaza of alien life as it landed, but there were always more tyranids. Something hissed, and he turned to see the broodlord limping back towards the ruins of the palace. It had been badly hurt by Cassor’s attack. As he watched it, he knew he would never get a better chance to end the danger it posed. But there was no time. Not if he wanted to see his mission thro
ugh.
With the death of the carnifex, the tyranid horde was drawing close again: a roiling sea of chitin and claws closing in on the survivors. Already, the remaining Terminators were fighting their way towards the waiting Stormraven, which covered their approach with the hurricane bolters mounted on its sponsons. He could hear Alphaeus calling to him, and he saw with some relief that Zachreal had Flax cradled in his arms as he tromped up the boarding ramp into the Stormraven’s hold.
He hesitated, considering. It was worth his life, wasn’t it? The broodlord could not be allowed to survive, even if it meant his death. He looked for it, trying to spot it in the smoke, but it was gone, lost in the haze and in the roiling tide of frenzied tyranid beasts now flooding into the plaza. He heard Alphaeus call for him again, and he turned.
Karlaen fought a path to them, his motions mechanical. He was tired, in body and soul. But he had done his duty. And he was not returning alone, as he had before. The Shield of Baal had not failed, not this time. Gusts of superheated air washed across the plaza as he reached the boarding ramp. The vessel was already starting to lift off as Alphaeus reached out to him. Karlaen gratefully accepted his help in clambering aboard.
Below them, tyranids leapt uselessly at the Stormraven as it rose into the air. Stormstrike missiles streaked from launch bays to hammer into the ruins, collapsing them, and sending tongues of flames licking across the plaza. The Plaza of the Emperor Ascendant would soon be a cauldron, and anything left in it would be consumed by the fires now ravaging Phodia. He hoped that their number would include the Spawn of Cryptus, but somehow he knew that would not be the case. The universe was not that kind.
Shield of Baal: Deathstorm Page 14
