Morlaniath could hear gunfire; the chatter of barbaric solid-shot weapons, the zip of laser fire and the air-splitting shriek of shuriken ammunition. He pulled free the Teeth of Dissonance from where the blade had been hanging across his back, wielding it in both hands as the spiralling passageway took them up another level.
The Hidden Death ran onto a wide concourse that curved gently along the rim of the craftworld. A sea of stars spread out beyond the blue-tinged force wall, burning debris floating across the starscape.
The whirr of wings caught the exarch’s attention and he glanced up to see a squad of Swooping Hawks flying above him, the wings of their flight-packs a multi-coloured blur in the dim yellow glow of the chamber. He saw Phoenix Lord Baharroth gliding amongst his followers, his las-blaster sending shafts of brilliant energy into the upper levels of the docking tower.
Ahead, through an archway that arced far above him, Morlaniath could see blue-clad eldar with yellow helmets gathered in a defensive semi-circle: Guardian squads protecting the landing beyond the arch, shuriken catapults spitting salvoes into a foe that the exarch could not yet see. Amongst the Guardians glided heavy weapons platforms, their crews close at hand with psychically-linked controls.
Brightlances spat blasts of laser, starcannons unleashed torrents of blue plasma and missile launchers filled the air with screaming trails. The Swooping Hawks dove through the arch, their weapons criss-crossing the chamber beyond with white ripples of fire.
Morlaniath reached the archway and looked up at Alaitoc’s attackers.
They had taken cover on a sweeping gallery above and opposite the archway, hiding behind rows of slender columns that rose to the ceiling far above. The stunted, thick-limbed enemy were clad in rumpled suits, grey and black camouflage, skull and eagle insignias stitched onto arms and chests, their flat faces hidden behind silver-visored helmets. In fat, gauntleted hands they carried crude laser weapons that fired bolts of red. Pinned back by the eldar counter-attack, the humans clumsily bobbed into view, loosing off scattered shots before hiding again.
The Swooping Hawks swept majestically up, slaloming between the pillars, grenade dispensers on their thighs showering the humans below with blasts of plasma and shrapnel. The Maidens of Fate—Erethaillin’s Howling Banshee squad—were already at the left-hand end of the rampway that led to the human-occupied gallery, the exarch at the forefront of their charge, a gleaming, curved sword in each hand. Forced back by the heavy weapons of the Guardians, the grenades of the Swooping Hawks and the approach of the Howling Banshees, the humans directed no fire towards Morlaniath and his squad as they raced across the tiled floor between the arch and the right-hand access ramp.
Morlaniath could see human officers amongst the throng of their men, swathed in long dress coats with golden epaulettes, wearing silver-peaked caps with winged skull badges. None of the humans noticed the Hidden Death quickly but quietly stalking up the ramp, keeping to the long shadows cast by the pillars above.
Morlaniath broke from the ramp at a full run, the others directly behind him. Their shuriken pistols spat a blurring volley into the nearest humans, shredding grey fatigues, cracking mirrored visors. Their sergeant turned in dismay, a moment before the Teeth of Dissonance separated his head from his shoulders in one sweep.
The Hidden Death did not pause to finish off the wounded, following closely as Morlaniath charged into the group of humans huddled behind the next column. The exarch’s mandiblasters exploded across the face of a black-coated officer, the human’s face twisting into an agonised, wordless scream as energy flared across his swarthy skin. Morlaniath swept his biting blade across the officer’s left arm, severing the limb at the shoulder.
A flash and a roar at close range heralded a shotgun blast, a moment before a storm of pellets crashed into Morlaniath’s left side, staggering him for a moment. He turned quickly and saw the panicked human trying to load more shells into the gun’s slider, his movements slow and fumbling in Morlaniath’s eyes. With a laugh, Morlaniath gutted the impudent creature, spilling his intestines over the white-and-gold tiles of the gallery. Around him, the Hidden Death chopped and hacked, coating the floor with blood and limbs.
The Striking Scorpions and Howling Banshees converged from opposite ends of the gallery, cutting down all in their path. The humans got in each other’s way, the few shots they fired woefully inaccurate. Six more of their number fell to the blade Teeth of Dissonance and Morlaniath growled in tune to his weapon, relishing every death.
Las-blasts and the thudding of feet heralded the arrival of more humans coming down the broad stairway that swept down to the gallery from the docking spire above. The Swooping Hawks greeted the reinforcements with las-fire, shrouding the steps with a fusillade of deadly light. Guardians poured along the gallery from either end, adding their own fire to the defence.
The snap of the humans’ lasguns was drowned out by the piercing shriek of the Howling Banshees as they charged again, their masks projecting a psychosonic wave before them. Some of the humans fell to their knees, ears and eyes bleeding, others dropped weapons from numbed fingers or simply collapsed with spasmodic fits. Even those that were not incapacitated stood in quivering shock, unable to defend themselves as Erethaillin and her warriors closed for the kill, power swords cutting through flak jackets, flesh and bone without resistance.
Morlaniath was about to lead his squad forward in support of the Howling Banshees when Arhathain’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Enemy numbers are strengthening. They have breached our defences in several positions and are establishing a landing zone. Stage a withdrawal from the Tower of Ascending Dreams to avoid being isolated. Bring the enemy into the Concourse of the Suffering Heart. Additional forces will join you at the Plaza of Alaithir.”
In response to this new plan, the entirety of the tower plunged into darkness, the dim light of the walls extinguished by Alaitoc. Through the augmented vision of his helmet, Morlaniath watched the Imperial soldiers toppling down the stairway, tripping over each other, flailing in the blackness for balance. The bright flash of the Swooping Hawks’ lasers and the flare of missile detonations highlighted faces contorted in terror at this sudden change of environment.
The eldar withdrew from their foes behind the fire of the Swooping Hawks and Guardian weapons platforms. With their attackers thrown into disarray, the Alaitocii withdrew from the Tower of Ascending Dreams into the concourse outside, squads taking it in turns to stand rearguard while the rest retreated. Outside once more, the Striking Scorpions boarded their Wave Serpent and turned to speed along the rim, heading for the Plaza of Alaithir, a broad junction between the Concourse of the Suffering Heart and the Mourning Way. Behind them, the Imperial troops staggered out into the lighted concourse to be cut down by Falcon tanks and soaring Vyper jetbikes.
At the Plaza of Alaithir, forces were converging from three directions, falling back from all across the starward side of the craftworld. Silhouetted against the orange glow of the dying star, Falcons hovered at each intersection, weapons trained above the incoming squads of Aspect Warriors and Guardians. Wave Serpents converged on the immense fountain at the centre of the plaza, from which reared an enormous statue of the autarch after whom the plaza was named. The marble warrior stood with sword and fusion pistol at the ready, glaring balefully down the Mourning Way towards the Spire of Tranquility.
The Hidden Death disembarked to join the line defending the concourse along which they had just travelled. The Vypers and Falcons slid back into view occasionally, firing their weapons at foes hidden behind the curve of the craftworld’s rim. Eventually the humans came into view again, resolutely advancing in a column hundreds-strong. Gawky walkers strode on double-jointed legs beside the squads of infantry, their multi-barrelled lasers spewing a torrent of fire at the eldar vehicles. Human heavy weapons teams ran forward, dragging wheeled lascannons and bulky autocannons behind them. They set up firing positions alongside the advancing companies, adding the fu
ry of their fire to the walkers’ as cover for the advancing soldiers.
As shells cut dark streaks through the air, a Vyper was clipped by a salvo, losing a control vane. It careened out of control into the jade-coloured interior wall. Another volley ripped into the armour of a Falcon, which listed sideways before grinding into the ground with a crumpling of armoured plates. More shots punched through the wreckage, cracking sensor gems and showering pieces of shattered canopy across the tiled floor. Its anti-grav engines destroyed by a laser blast, another tank flipped awkwardly upwards, pulse laser still firing burning bolts of light. The turret of a third Falcon erupted in flames from a hit and the tank spun crazily about its axis until it crashed into the energy field on the spaceward side of the plaza, ripples of lightning spreading across the force shield.
Faced with the continuing onslaught, the Falcons’ and Vypers’ pilots increased the speed of their retreat, eventually turning completely and boosting away from the Imperium’s soldiers on plumes of light. The throb of their engines vibrated through Morlaniath as they soared overhead into the relative safety of the plaza.
To the advancing humans it must have seemed as if they had their foes at bay, trapped in the open space of the plaza. The grass-covered hills and marble-like roadways provided little cover for the sheltering troops. The eldar waited in silence while the angry orders and triumphant shouts of the Imperial officers echoed along the concourse.
A shimmering force wall blazed into existence barely a dozen paces in front of Morlaniath and the other squads at the concourse edge of the plaza. Everything beyond was tinted by the blue of the field, as if the army marched along the bed of a shimmering sea. Las-bolts and bullets sparked from the force shield, which quivered with each impact but held firm. Morlaniath smiled. The shield wall was not to protect the eldar from attack. It had another, far more deadly purpose, as the humans were about to discover.
The fine tendrils of the infinity circuit within the inner wall of the concourse flickered and then darkened. Deprived of energy, the outer force wall collapsed with a flare of light. Exposed to the ravening vacuum of space, the humans were swept from their feet by the explosive outrushing of air, hundreds of them hurled out of the craftworld in moments. Their screams were lost in the void as their skin froze and blood vessels tore open while weapons and helmets spun around them. Even the walkers could not fight against the explosive depressurisation, their awkward metal legs flailing as the sudden hurricane hurled them out into the stars along with their dying comrades.
The massacre lasted only a few moments and silence descended. Glittering particles of frozen blood lingered in the air, before falling like rain in the artificial gravity of the craftworld. With a grim fascination Morlaniath watched the red pattering, interspersed with plummeting corpses that thudded upon the tiled concourse in mangled heaps. Though the depressurisation had been done out of necessity and lacked the true artistry of a well-placed shot or cut, there was a simple beauty to be found in its effective results.
“Human forces have pushed into the sub-levels beneath the docking dome,” Arhathain informed the warriors of the craftworld. “More assault craft are inbound. They must be driven back.”
Morlaniath gestured for his warriors to follow him back to the Wave Serpent.
“No overconfidence, this is but the first strike, the humans will fight hard,” he told them as they strode up the boarding ramp. “We will be pitiless, make them pay heavily, every step shall be pain. Look to one another, strike with single purpose, fight as the Hidden Death.”
The ramp closed behind them and within moments the Wave Serpent was moving again, angling towards the Mourning Way.
“How do we fare in other battles?” asked Elissanadrin.
“That is not our concern; we fight the foes we face, to their destruction. Focus on this sole task; allow no distraction, until our foes are slain. Listen for the autarchs, they will guide our swift hand, to land the deadly blow.”
“Their looks of terror when the darkness came, that is something I will treasure,” said Arhulesh with a sharp laugh. “Did you see their surprise? Such stupidity, to think that Alaitoc would tolerate their filthy presence.”
“It is a shame that those who knew such fear are now dead,” said Elissanadrin. “Terror is a disease; it spreads through an enemy as swift as a plague.”
“Let us hope that they communicated some of their dread before they perished.” Arhulesh turned to look at Bechareth. “How can you keep your delight to yourself? Does it not eat at you, to hold in that delightful moment of death, when an enemy’s spirit is extinguished?”
Bechareth’s helmeted head cocked to one side. His gaze moved between Arhulesh and Morlaniath. The Striking Scorpion shrugged and shook his head. He raised a finger to the grille of his helmet and pulled free his chainsword. The bloodstained blades of its teeth gleamed in the light of the compartment.
“Though his voice is silent, Bechareth speaks to us, his blade’s words come loudly,” explained Morlaniath, eliciting a laugh and a nod from Arhulesh.
“It certainly does,” said the Striking Scorpion. “I slew thirteen of them, but could not match your tally. Eighteen, was it not?”
Bechareth nodded.
“We shall see who has the greater score when the humans have been driven from Alaitoc. I think I may even beat you this time.”
“The count will be many, the humans come in force, plenty for each of us,” the exarch assured his squad.
As their minds turned to the prospect of much death to come, the squad fell silent. Morlaniath allowed himself to briefly recall his latest slayings, while part of him kept an eye on the crystal screen displaying the Wave Serpent’s position. Along with many others, the Hidden Death had dropped several layers beneath the main inhabited zone of Alaitoc; the Wave Serpent raced along an arterial supply route usually used to transport wares from the Exodite colonies and other craftworlds to the various parts of Alaitoc.
These depths were totally enclosed, divided from the emptiness of space by solid walls and floors, not force shields that could be switched off. Listening to the irregular comments from the autarchs, Morlaniath learnt that the humans had been over-confident in their speedy assault, but now they advanced with more caution. This did not make them any less dangerous. They would gather their strength and attack relentlessly, knowing that they had the advantage of numbers. They could not be allowed to gain a worthwhile foothold on Alaitoc. If they did, it could well herald a slow doom for the craftworld.
As Morlaniath considered this, he felt a ripple through the wraithbone skeleton of the Wave Serpent as it connected to the infinity circuit with a flutter of psychic energy. He felt another mind touch upon his thoughts and instantly recognised Thirianna, remembering the sense of her from their encounter at the shrine. Through the psychic connection Morlaniath felt the fleeting presence of other eldar: exarchs and Guardian squad leaders, vehicle pilots and support weapon gunners. All were joined together for a moment.
The enemy make progress along the Well of Disparate Fates. Walk the red path with them, drive them back to their landing craft. There followed a flutter of brief images: Imperial soldiers setting up crude barricades; the small one-man walkers stalking through unlit corridors, searchlights playing across curving walls; an officer with a pistol in hand bellowing at his troops.
She was gone, leaving only an aftertouch in Morlaniath’s mind. The exarch opened up the communications channel with the Wave Serpent’s pilot, Laureneth.
“Put us down close to them, we will advance on foot, cover us with your fire,” he told the driver.
“I understand, exarch,” the pilot replied, his voice flat. The telemetry display close to Morlaniath changed to show a schematic of the conduits and tunnels beneath the docks. A rune flashed at an intersection a short distance from the place they had seen in Thirianna’s message. “Will that be suitable, exarch?”
“That will be suitable; a bloody trail follows, as we walk in Khaine’s sh
ade.”
The deadly struggle between the Alaitocii and the invading humans filled the sub-strata levels of the docks. The Imperial forces were desperate to gain a foothold into which they could move their heavier materiel. Despite the Alaitoc fleet taking a serious toll of the transports attempting to reinforce the landing zone, with perhaps only one in every three of the human’s craft making fall at the craftworld’s rim, the enemy continued relentlessly. A growing field of burning craft, debris and corpses coalesced around the dock facilities in ponderous orbits, kept close by Alaitoc’s artificial gravity field.
The eldar held their ground in a large nave-like intersection between three transit routes from the docks to the central arterial concourses. The humans advanced along two vaulted tunnels, scampering from pointed arch to pointed arch, sometimes using the mounds of their own dead as cover. They offered little in the way of fire—by the time they had closed the range, their numbers were so low they were swiftly eliminated by the Guardians. On levels above and below, to the left and right, similar firefights wracked the craftworld.
“They fight like maniacs, not counting any cost, the price paid by fanatics,” Morlaniath commented to his squad as he watched the grey-clad soldiers charging headlong into a volley of missiles fired by several squads of Dark Reapers. With the Hidden Death, other squads of Striking Scorpions, Howling Banshees and Warp Spiders were positioned a little way behind the fighting, ready to move forward to stave off any breakthrough or counter-attack if an opportunity presented itself. Occasionally the Wave Serpent behind the squad unleashed a torrent of plasma from its starcannons, the flickering shots disappearing into the gloom of the passageway.
“Numbers are no tactic, to be hurled like bullets, a limitless supply,” the exarch continued. “They render death pointless, each life a statistic, that no one is counting. They use the hammer, to smash at formless fog, to destroy only air.”
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