by Andy Clark
‘Arrogant, to use his powers in such a place despite the risks,’ said A’khassor.
‘He is Emperor’s Children,’ replied Kassar. ‘He’s likely addicted to the danger.’
Throwing back his hood to reveal a disgusting mass of fleshy tentacles and bulging eyes, Phelkorian opened several, fanged maws and gave vent to an obscene string of jarring syllables. The air shuddered with overpressure. With a fizzing crack and a blaze of dirty light, a figure appeared, knelt before Phelkorian. Human in stature, though built strong and tall like a fighter, the figure was clad head to foot in a dark, rubberised bodyglove. Its head was hooded, its pale face half concealed by a bronze grotesque mask, and bulky, overly elaborate armour encased much of its body.
The figure stayed kneeling, head bowed.
‘Lord Phelkorian,’ it said. ‘How may this servant do your bidding?’
Despite the servile words, Kassar detected vocal tells suggestive of burning resentment and hatred. Interesting.
‘Syxx,’ said Phelkorian with a wet leer. ‘Stand, and meet your deliverers.’
The masked human rose and turned towards the Alpha Legionnaires. If their presence surprised him, he hid it well, instead bowing deeply.
‘My lords,’ he said. ‘The blessings of Slaanesh upon you.’
‘Syxx is one of my most accomplished mortal acolytes,’ explained Phelkorian. ‘He has endured that which would have killed lesser men thrice over, and earned our Dark Mistress’ blessings with his devotion.’
‘He sounds as though he were talking about a favoured hound,’ voxed Sha’dor.
‘Of course,’ replied Phalk’ir. ‘It’s only a mortal.’
Kassar clicked for silence.
‘What is this slave to us?’ he asked aloud. ‘How does he bear upon our mission?’
‘He is to be greatly honoured,’ said Phelkorian, clamping one huge hand upon Syxx’s shoulder. To the mortal’s credit, Kassar noted he didn’t flinch. Much.
‘Syxx has been ritually marked with the sigils of Slaanesh, his flesh branded and scarified to render him a conduit for the Dark Prince’s favour. You need only bring him safe to the Beacon of Tsadrekha, Kassar of the Unsung. His presence, and the words of power that he has learned, will do the rest.’
‘And if he does not make it to the beacon alive?’ asked Kassar, though he knew the answer already.
‘Then our… compact shall be declared flawed,’ said Excrucias. ‘And you will know my sternest displeasure.’
‘Alive doesn’t necessarily mean fully intact,’ voxed Haltheus. ‘Just a thought.’
‘This changes things,’ said Kassar to Excrucias. ‘It is one thing to take my Harrow down onto the planet’s surface to effect sabotage, but quite another to keep a fragile mortal alive throughout a drop-insertion into an active warzone. I will need time to factor this into our plans.’
‘Unfortunate,’ said Excrucias. ‘As time is a pleasure that you cannot afford.’
The Slaaneshi lord gestured to the strategium’s primary vid-screen, which shimmered obediently to life. On it, Tsadrekha was depicted as a flickering beacon of white light, wreathed by runes denoting orbital defences, wreckage belts and previous stellar engagements. Kassar picked out the livid pink runes of Excrucias’ fleet, hanging in a defensive formation above Tsadrekha. Flooding towards the world from its opposite side was a far larger concentration of runes picked out in a rusty crimson hue.
‘The rune of Khorne,’ said Kassar. ‘One of your rivals moves against Tsadrekha?’
‘Even as we speak,’ hissed Excrucias. ‘Khordas the Slaughterer is a dull oaf, but he has vast numbers on his side, and he attacks with a single-minded lack of restraint.’
‘You’re sending us in straight away, aren’t you?’ said Kassar.
‘This just keeps getting better,’ voxed A’khassor in his ear.
‘You have an hour to prepare yourselves, Kassar,’ said Phelkorian with obvious relish. ‘Any longer and you risk Khordas beating you to the prize.’
‘Very well,’ said Kassar. ‘We will require unlimited access to your armouries, a suitable transport vehicle to effect insertion, and all the information that you can provide upon the beacon’s location, its defences, local meteorological and atmospheric conditions…’
Excrucias cut Kassar off with a dismissive gesture.
‘Whatever you need will be yours,’ he said airily. ‘I give you leave to depart my presence. Your escorts will lead you to the primary embarkation deck. From there we shall interfere no further lest our… differing methods of war introduce needless flaws.’
Kassar nodded and turned to go. As he and his warriors marched away from the writhing throne, Excrucias called out to them.
‘There is one other thing you should be aware of, my perfect warriors. Something to lend a little speed to your step, perhaps. Our long-range vox thieves intercepted a fragment of this transmission, broadcast on all frequencies from several of Khordas’ drop-ships. If it is… legitimate, then I fear that even my magnificent Unsung will have their work cut out for them, no?’
The strategium vid-screen switched, the image filling with hundreds of crimson-hulled attack craft framed against the void. Though Kassar kept walking and showed no outward reaction, his blood ran cold at the bestial chant that boomed through the strategium.
‘Kill! Maim! Burn! Kill! Maim! Burn! Kill! Maim! Burn!’
Amidst the opulence and frenetic bustle of the Herald of Pain’s embarkation deck, the Unsung prepared. They worked with calm efficiency. Haltheus moved from brother to brother, testing armour components and muttering benedictions to machine-spirits.
All the Alpha Legionnaires carried favoured weapons that they had personalised and bonded with over centuries of war, but that didn’t preclude them from girding themselves with additional equipment. Bolt pistols, hand flamers, dozens of grenades, power swords and more were selected from the weapons racks that Excrucias had provided. Magazines, fuel cells, sniper rounds, all were stocked up on until the Alpha Legionnaires could carry no more.
As they armed up, the Legionnaires assessed the reams of data that Excrucias had exloaded directly into their helm cogitators and auspexes.
‘Massive defences around the primary hives,’ observed D’sakh in second cipher serpenta. ‘And Hive Endurance looks to be the most well defended of them all.’
‘Unsurprising,’ said A’khassor as he fastidiously cleaned his reductor’s blades. ‘They know that if they lose the beacon, they lose the war.’
‘Adepta Sororitas,’ said Phaek’or. ‘Do you remember Cordam City?’
‘Of course,’ replied Makhor. ‘Only two hundred of them trapped on Bloodforge, no hope of rescue, but they fought like daemons.’
‘Until Thelgh took the head off their canoness from a thousand paces,’ chuckled Phalk’ir, mag-locking frag grenades to his belt. ‘That took the fight out of them somewhat.’
They glanced at the silent sniper, who paused in his scope-calibrations long enough to tip Phalk’ir a slight nod.
‘Lots of secondary structures dotted across the oceanic surface,’ said D’sakh. ‘Check through this ill-disciplined mess of data for methods of transportation between them. Could be useful.’
‘Could be,’ agreed Ulkhur. ‘But is no one else going to speak of what we heard as we left the strategium? That war chant. You know what that means, yes?’
‘We know what it might mean,’ said Makhor. ‘Khorne worshippers are forever shouting about murder and maiming. Let us not jump to the assumption that he is here. I’d prefer to know what a Primaris Space Marine is. There are several mentions of them amongst this garbled mess, but I can’t find any details.’
‘Could be a Chapter we’ve not heard of?’ suggested Haltheus. ‘Just another watered-down echo of the Legions’ glory?’
‘It’s just another name for soon-to-be-de
ad corpse worshippers,’ said Phalk’ir, raising chuckles from several of his brothers.
Kassar let his warriors debate freely, knowing that, between them, they would pick apart the information they had been given and formulate the best plan of attack. Despite the pitifully short planning window for this operation, he already had a notion of how they would reach the surface of Tsadrekha alive, but he wanted all the input his Harrow could provide to hone the plan to a sharp point.
Kassar glanced at Syxx, leaning against a munitions crate a little way from the Alpha Legionnaires, his shoulders hunched. Thus far, the Harrow had ignored their human cargo completely, though much had been said in code about how their living burden could be kept alive until mission’s end. Now Kassar strode over to the acolyte, looking him up and down in frank appraisal.
‘I won’t slow you down, lord,’ said Syxx. ‘I can fight. I am fast and strong.’
‘You would have to be, to live long in this place,’ said Kassar. ‘What are you to these degenerates?’ Syxx flinched, shooting a quick glance around to see if any Emperor’s Children had overheard.
‘I am a higher cultist, lord,’ he said. ‘The property of Phelkorian Twyst. His sixth high acolyte.’
‘An auspicious number for your masters, I would imagine,’ said Kassar.
‘Yes, lord, and for me. The blessings of Slaanesh are many and bounteous.’
‘So I’ve seen,’ replied Kassar. ‘But you despise your masters, don’t you, Syxx?’
‘I…’ the cultist paused, and lowered his voice to a bare murmur. ‘I despise Phelkorian, lord, yes, more than any of them. To be in his service is…’
‘Unpleasant,’ finished Kassar, and Syxx nodded.
‘Horrific, my lord, in ways of which I shall not speak. He is truly an instrument of the Dark Prince.’
‘You can fight?’ asked Kassar.
‘I can,’ said Syxx, gesturing to the autopistols holstered at both hips.
‘But you won’t,’ said Kassar. ‘Not unless you are left with no choice, and none of my brothers can aid you. Without you, we don’t complete our mission, we don’t get a ship. We don’t get our purpose back. You will stay safe, and keep up, and do nothing else unless you must. Do you understand?’
‘Whatever you require of me, lord,’ replied Syxx.
Kassar nodded and walked back towards his Harrow, preparing themselves in the looming shadow of their waiting gunship. Kassar narrowed his eyes as he looked over the armoured craft. They would start with that, he thought, and began issuing his orders.
Chapter Three
The leading waves of Khordas the Slaughterer’s invasion thundered down upon Tsadrekha. Dreadclaw drop pods and Heldrakes jostled furiously with hundreds upon hundreds of drop-ships and landing craft. Stormbird and Thunderhawk gunships, bullish daemon-engine transporters, captured Astra Militarum mass conveyors packed with frothing cultists, all burned down through the planet’s atmosphere. Flames danced across hulls daubed bloody red and encrusted with spikes, battle-scars and Khornate runes. Aboard each craft, Heretic Astartes bellowed praise to the Blood God and swore mighty oaths to claim more skulls than their rivals. Meanwhile, a monstrous voice bellowed through the vox, Khordas exhorting his warriors to strike hard and fast, to smash the enemy’s hives open with brute force as Khorne would expect, and to shed their blood for the Blood God.
Amidst the descending waves flew a battered old Thunderhawk, smoke billowing from rusted exhausts, tangles of razorwire trailing from its blocky hull. Aboard, seated in the co-pilot’s throne, Haltheus felt the drop-ship’s controls shudder as it punched down through the planet’s atmospheric envelope. Fire washed across the cockpit armourglass in waves, before parting like a curtain to reveal an incredible vista below.
‘Through atmosphere,’ reported Haltheus as the Thunderhawk’s shuddering subsided. ‘Endurance Hive sighted, spire-top five miles and closing fast.’
‘Find me a weak spot, Haltheus,’ said Kassar through the helm-vox.
‘Auspex is sweeping,’ said Haltheus, speaking fast as the controls bucked in his grip. ‘According to Excrucias’ data, the entire hive spire is a convent prioris for the Order of the Crimson Tear. Occupies the top fifteen per cent of Hive Endurance entirely. It’s an impressive fortress. Void shield cover is one hundred per cent. Every structure massively armoured. Dark Gods, the flak fire in this quadrant is immense!’
Seen from above, the hive filled the windscreen, a titanic metal mountain whose flanks were wreathed in smoke and fire, and whose feet were lost amidst choppy ocean waves. Hundreds of drop-craft arced down upon it, but sawing streams of fire from Imperial flak batteries blew them apart. Dreadclaws became plummeting fireballs that glanced off the hive’s flanks and tumbled away. Khornate fighter craft jinked madly, weapons spitting death, before exploding. Larger craft wallowed painfully off course, trailing fat columns of smoke and flame as they executed graceless death-dives into the waves below.
Haltheus cursed as a bright fireball erupted to his left, Imperial missiles hitting the prow of a heavy lander and blowing it to bits. Shrapnel clattered against the Thunderhawk’s hull, and damage runes lit up across its instrument panel.
‘Kassar, this is hellish,’ said Haltheus as he helped to haul the gunship into a spiralling evasive manoeuvre. ‘There’s no vertical access. Nothing. The hive spire isn’t viable.’
‘Damn,’ said Kassar as more craft exploded around the Thunderhawk. They were almost on top of the highest spires now, gothic turrets and weaponised gargoyles looming up to fill the armourglass. Over the howl of its engines and the constant roar of gunfire came the bellowed chant, ringing across every vox-channel.
‘Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne! Kill! Maim! Burn! Kill! Maim! Burn!’
Haltheus hauled at the controls again, swerving the Thunderhawk to one side at the last moment and skimming down the flank of a fortified cathedrum. Void-shield energies arced and crackled around the gunship’s hull, and fire spat from every window and battlement.
‘We’ll be dead in seconds at this rate,’ said Haltheus tightly. ‘Suggestions, Kassar?’
‘None,’ Kassar replied. ‘This attack is doomed to fail.’
Uncoiling across the sky like the tines of a whip, three streams of flak fire converged on the Thunderhawk and ripped through its armoured hull. The warriors crammed into its hold died without even seeing their enemies, burned to ashes or sent tumbling out through wounds in the aircraft’s hull, to fall to their deaths thousands of feet below. Haltheus hissed as his instruments exploded, and the controls bucked in his hands hard enough to break bone. He heard the pilot beside him snarl a last prayer to the Blood God, then everything was fire and crushing impact.
Haltheus wrenched the wires out of his helm-augmetic and let them drop. He sat back in his pilot’s throne and muttered a string of creative profanity.
‘That’s three runs,’ said Kassar, stood in the gloom behind Haltheus’ throne. ‘No sign of an infiltration point.’
‘Do you need me to begin another possession ritual?’ asked Haltheus, sitting forward and making minor adjustments to the Stormbird’s controls. Attitudinal thrusters fired a silent burst to maintain its drift. ‘There’s bound to be plenty more ships with servitors on board…’
‘No,’ said Kassar. ‘I need you fresh and capable of piloting when we make our actual approach. We’ve gathered enough data on their defences and fire patterns.’
Haltheus nodded gratefully.
‘That’s for the best, anyway,’ he said. ‘I’m no warpsmith, Kassar. It felt like the daemon might fight free on that last one.’
Beside the pilot’s throne sat a black iron box from which extended several fleshy-looking sets of wires. Three of these were spliced crudely into the rune-daubed auspex and vox systems of the borrowed Stormbird. The others, Haltheus had just uncoupled from his helm. The box was giving o
ff a strong stench of brimstone, and the runes on its flanks were glowing an infernal red.
‘That would be unfortunate,’ said Kassar. ‘We may have more need of the Coffer before this is over.’
‘It would be more than unfortunate,’ replied Haltheus with a grim laugh. ‘You know what lurks in this box, Kassar. If it got loose, I doubt any of us would survive.’
‘Uncouple it and perform your rites of appeasement,’ said Kassar. ‘But do it quickly. Khordas’ attack is in full flow, and we can’t risk him beating us to the punch.’
Leaving Haltheus to gingerly neutralise the Coffer, Kassar moved back through the Stormbird towards its transport compartment. His boots clanged with every step, mag-locks sticking and releasing as he walked through the low gravity. The Stormbird was running on minimal power as it drifted through Tsadrekha’s debris field, just another ravaged derelict whose course happened to be taking it towards the planet. Still, the gloomy half-light was enough to show Kassar the garish Slaaneshi sigils and biomechanical corruption that riddled the ship’s interior. It was not somewhere he wanted to remain for any longer than he absolutely had to.
Stepping through a doorway, Kassar entered the drop-ship’s troop bay. Here, the rest of the Unsung sat, fully armoured and strapped into grav harnesses ready for the drop. Syxx sat amongst them, between Thelgh and Kyphas. The cultist wore a rebreather mask to compensate for the minimal life support, and shuddered with cold despite the thermocowl he had wrapped around himself.
‘So?’ asked Phalk’ir. ‘Do we have an insertion vector yet?’
‘Nothing primary,’ replied Kassar, ignoring the impatient edge to Phalk’ir’s tone. ‘The spire isn’t viable, and from what Haltheus has picked up, Khordas is deliberately withholding direct bombardment to bring the shields down. Some impractical zealotry about blood and honour and the warrior’s way.’
‘Inconvenient, but unsurprising,’ said Ges’khir. ‘What is our plan, then?’
