Shroud of Night

by Andy Clark

  One by one, Kassar’s brothers followed Skaryth into the lift shaft. Syxx yelped as Krowl clamped one arm around his midriff and disappeared into the shaft, but he had the sense not to struggle. The rear guard knelt in cover, snapping off shots at each clear target. They conserved ammo where possible, and maximised the protection offered by their surroundings. Not for the Alpha Legion the bravado that saw Space Marines eschew cover. They trusted in their armour, but also adhered to the doctrines that every advantage should be seized, and that martial pride was a fair sacrifice for victory.

  ‘Their numbers are increasing,’ said D’sakh.

  ‘What a shameful end it would be, to be overrun by mere mortals,’ commented Phalk’ir.

  ‘Then you should talk less, and shoot more,’ said Kassar.

  Now only Kassar, Phalk’ir, Haltheus and D’sakh remained. Bolter-fire was pouring in on their position, and Kassar could see several dozen enemy pushing closer through the devastation.

  ‘Haltheus?’ he asked.

  ‘On your command,’ replied Haltheus. ‘We’ll need to move with a purpose, though.’

  ‘Unsung,’ voxed Kassar, ducking an explosion of masonry. ‘Drop if you can. Clear the shaft. We’re coming down hard.’

  Vox pips of acknowledgement sounded in his helm.

  ‘Phalk’ir, D’sakh, go.’ The two Alpha Legionnaires turned and dived into the shaft, not even bothering with the ladder.

  ‘Do it,’ said Kassar.

  Haltheus pumped the detonator he held in his gauntlet, then they both turned and ran.

  Kassar felt the decking buck under his feet and heard the deep boom of detonations. Charges, affixed to columns and walls by Haltheus as he retreated, blew in sequence. The smoke billowed outwards as shockwaves roared through the ruined floor. Shrapnel whizzed and rattled. Battle Sisters were immolated or hurled through the air like rag dolls. As Kassar ran for the elevator shaft, the entire floor began to collapse behind him, the last structural supports giving way.

  Then he leapt into the darkness.

  The walls of the shaft rushed past, Kassar watching his auspex readout intently as he dropped like a stone. Emergency lumen whipped by. Above, the lift shaft filled with fire as the fury of the explosion spilled into it.

  Now, he thought as he saw sparks below him. Kassar grabbed the edges of the ladder, creating sparks of his own as the metal supports passed through his gauntlets at speed, slowing his momentum. Below Kassar, a rectangle of light flashed up towards him. Haltheus launched himself from the ladder and vanished through it. Kassar followed suit, pushing off with arms and legs as hard as he could. He propelled himself through the open hatchway bare seconds before a mass of flame and rubble thundered down the shaft.

  Kassar rolled to a stop, flames licking over him from the elevator hatch. He registered dark clouds overhead, sluicing rain hissing against his armour, and ugly, walkway-hung towers looming all around. Then he was hauled to his feet.

  ‘Move,’ said A’khassor. ‘The whole tower is coming down.’

  Kassar ran, following his warriors, footsteps clanging on rain-slick metal. At his back, flames spat from the guard tower as it shuddered then buckled, collapsing in on itself. Rubble crashed down. Smoke billowed. The decking shook while, overhead, lightning split the clouds.

  Clear of the building’s collapse, Kassar joined his brothers in the cover of a servitor processing-unit. Thelgh and Phaek’or were standing guard while the rest of the Harrow rapidly reloaded and counted clips. Syxx was crouched in the Alpha Legionnaires’ midst, sheltered by their armoured bodies.

  ‘Reading enemy movement all around,’ said Kyphas. ‘They’ll be on us in moments. Substantial numbers.’

  ‘We keep moving,’ said Kassar. ‘Two of you on the cultist at all times, shield and preserve. According to Excrucias’ intelligence, our primary objective is located on underdeck four, directly above the drill chambers.’

  ‘Fastest route is through the promethium processor block ahead,’ said Kyphas, cycling swiftly through map schematics of the rig. ‘There’s a main rampway they use to haul crude promethium up from the drill chambers to processing. Open, but we can follow it all the way down.’

  Kassar vox-pipped acknowledgement, then broke from cover, running for a heavy iron hatchway that led into the processing block. Las-fire slashed around him, falling amidst the rain from walkways above. Tsadrekhan defence troopers were dashing into position, their flak armour and grey-blue uniforms partially hidden under bulky foul-weather cloaks.

  Kassar spun, slamming his back up against the wall next to the hatch and returning fire as his brothers followed. The Harrow shrugged off the las-fire, their weapons spitting death back at their attackers. Sniper rounds found grenade packs and power cells, blasting men apart in savage explosions. Bolts ripped through armour and flesh. Skarle’s flamer spat tongues of emerald fire, melting support stanchions and sending men screaming to their deaths as their vantage points collapsed. One unfortunate hit the ground nearby, his bulky vox-caster cushioned from the impact by his broken body.

  ‘Grab that,’ said Haltheus. ‘I need it.’

  Skaryth obeyed, lunging out through the las-fire and dragging the corpse into shelter.

  ‘Krowl. The door,’ ordered Kassar.

  Krowl gave a grunt then accelerated into a run, dropping his shoulder. The hatch was six-inch-thick plasteel, secured with adamantium locking bolts and designed to keep out the fury of a deep-ocean hurricane. Krowl hit it at speed, smashing it inwards with its locking bolts sheared.

  The Harrow filed swiftly through the open hatch, ducking in with guns raised. Inside, a well-lit security corridor led to a second, larger hatch that was slowly rumbling shut. Beyond could be seen the industrial hurly-burly of the processing manufactorum still in full operation. Kassar had a fleeting glimpse of dozens of Tsadrekhan troopers and Battle Sisters dashing into position behind barricades and barrels.

  Several Tsadrekhan soldiers stood between the Unsung and the closing hatch. To their credit, they raised their lasguns rather than retreat. They were shot down all the same, Kassar leading his Harrow along the corridor at a run. Krowl lunged between the closing doors and braced them with arms outstretched.

  Servo-motors whined and gears ground. Sparks showered from motivator units set into the hatch frame, and then with a stink of smoke, the door stopped closing. Krowl grunted in satisfaction, then a missile hit him square in the chest. The blast hurled him backwards and left him sprawled and scorched near the entrance hatch. Krowl’s armour was torn open, his chest a hideous red ruin. Syxx cried out in horror.

  ‘Cultist,’ barked Kassar. ‘You stay on me now. No more than five paces away, understand? And unholster those guns, you’ll need them.’ Syxx nodded.

  ‘Phalk’ir, A’khassor, get Krowl,’ ordered Kassar, ignoring Phalk’ir’s hiss of irritation. ‘Vox access?’

  Haltheus had wrenched the vox-pack off the fallen Guardsman, but only after cracking the man’s skull open and taking several bites of the grey matter within. The Unsung had been a long time away from the Emperor’s light, but they retained many of the gifts he had given them. Consuming a man’s memories along with his flesh was but one.

  ‘Getting the vox-channels now,’ reported Haltheus. ‘Give me a moment.’

  Several krak grenades flew through the exterior hatch. They bounced along the corridor, only to be kicked back out by the Unsung. At the same time, another missile streaked through the jammed interior hatch, forcing the Alpha Legionnaires to throw themselves up against the walls to avoid its blast. A’khassor thrust Syxx none too gently behind him, shielding the cultist with his body.

  ‘Haltheus…’ said Kassar.

  ‘Got them,’ said Haltheus, re-affixing his helm and running a wire from its side to the pilfered vox-pack. The jack at the end of the wire was a squirming biomechanical leech that dug hungry fangs into the
device. Haltheus’ helm emitted a series of static blurts as he adjusted its vox-modulator, another improvisation of his that had served the Harrow well during their campaign against the Whispersmiths of the Black Valley.

  ‘Lieutenant DeLares,’ he voxed, his voice sounding like an unaugmented human’s.

  ‘DeLares,’ came the response. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Lieutenant,’ voxed Haltheus urgently. ‘You’re being outflanked! The heretics in the corridor are just a distraction, sir. There’s a much larger force moving up from the drill chambers.’

  ‘Emperor’s teeth!’ exclaimed the lieutenant. ‘Hobbs, Decker, keep your squads covering those bastards beyond the bulkhead. Everyone else, redeploy to cover the primary rampway. Plasma guns front and centre. Soldier, who is this, are you able to reinforce?’

  ‘Fourth platoon, sir,’ said Haltheus, glancing at the insignia on the corpse at his feet. ‘We’ll move in on your left flank.’

  ‘Good man,’ said the lieutenant. ‘When you reach us, take position between Sister Grace’s Retributors and Sergeant Morlin’s squad.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Haltheus. ‘Let’s show these heretics that the Emperor’s servants aren’t so easily fooled!’

  ‘That’s the spirit, lad, we’ll beat them yet,’ replied DeLares, before breaking the link.

  Haltheus chuckled as he slung the bulky vox-pack casually over one shoulder.

  ‘Skarle,’ said Kassar. ‘You’re rear guard. If anything comes down this corridor, burn it.’

  Skarle nodded, shaking with silent mirth.

  ‘The rest of you,’ said Kassar, ‘ready to advance up the left flank. Skaryth, lead us in.’

  Skaryth began by lobbing a bulky alchemical bomb through the jammed doors. The device coughed sparks and jetted clouds of greasy smoke as it bounced across the decking. Skaryth threw two more smoke bombs, veiling the entrance in obscuring fumes, before ducking through. He went unhelmed, his warp-touched sight unhindered by the smoke. Ahead, spread out between a ground-level barricade and a raised walkway, he saw the souls of twenty men, shivering blue with fear.

  Speculative fire slashed around him, but Skaryth evaded it with ease. He went left, sliding into cover behind a heavy barrel conveyor, then pipped his vox to signal his comrades. As they moved up to his position, Skaryth hefted another alchemical smoke bomb and hurled it as far as he could towards the right flank.

  ‘Predictable fools,’ he muttered to himself as the Imperial soldiers swung their aim towards his false trail. Another missile lashed down from the gantry, well aimed but striking nothing living.

  Skaryth heard Skarle crooning over the vox, and more distantly the roar of his flamer discharging. Their pursuers had caught up.

  ‘D’sakh, Thelgh, Kyphas,’ ordered Kassar. ‘You take the squad on the gantry. The rest of you, the squad on the ground.’

  The three warriors slung their weapons and began to climb, swarming silently up through the rumbling industrial machinery. Meanwhile, Skaryth and his remaining brothers worked quickly around their enemies’ flank, staying low and unseen. Fuel barrels rumbled along conveyor belts. Processing units and consecration vats steamed and hissed.

  ‘They should have deactivated their machines,’ Skaryth voxed Kassar.

  ‘Perhaps they thought all the movement and fumes would confuse our assault,’ replied Kassar. ‘Or maybe their war effort is so thinly stretched that they need every barrel of promethium they can produce, even during battle?’

  ‘Either way, it is their mistake,’ said Skaryth with a cruel grin. ‘It makes this all the easier.’

  The Alpha Legionnaires halted scant yards from their victims, crouched in cover. Skaryth felt his flesh tingle beneath his armour. Not now, he thought, closing his eyes and taking slow, deep breaths. They were finally off Bloodforge. They were finally out of the warp. He could recover now, he knew it, but only if he remained the master of his own flesh. Somewhere between his shoulder blades, Skaryth felt a sensation both alien and familiar. An eyelid, blinking. He grimaced in revulsion.

  Skaryth’s reverie broke as a body fell from the gantry above. The Tsadrekhan troopers yelled in shock, seeing one of their comrades with his throat slit ear to ear, his blood fountaining across them. The troopers turned their guns upwards, spraying panicked fire at half-seen, armoured monsters.

  As they did so, Skaryth, Kassar and the others struck. Skaryth vaulted a chugging generator and fired his bolter, bursting the nearest trooper like a sack of meat. Two more Tsadrekhans fell in quick succession as Kassar and Haltheus gunned them down. Then Phaek’or’s heavy bolter roared to life, carving a bloody line through the panicked soldiers. Men detonated and severed limbs flew. Blood painted every surface. Skaryth wove through the carnage, slashing with his combat knife and blasting with his bolter, ignoring the nausea churning in his guts and resolutely not thinking about the brothers they had lost to spawndom along their road. This was his purpose, slaughtering the lapdogs of the Imperium, and he neither wanted nor needed the gifts of the gods to fulfil it.

  The sergeant of the Tsadrekhan squad ran at him, screaming in anger and fear, a running chainsword in his hand. Skaryth evaded the man’s wild swing, snatching him up by the face and plucking the chainsword from his grip as though taking a toy from a child. Almost casually, he reversed the man’s roaring blade and eviscerated him with it, relishing every moment of suffering as its teeth howled through armour, flesh and bone.

  ‘That’s all of them,’ said Kassar. ‘Skarle, what’s your status?’

  ‘Many burned, many dead,’ came the singsong response across the vox. ‘Some are ash, the rest are fled.’

  Skaryth growled in distaste at the warp-touched madness in his brother’s voice.

  ‘Good,’ said Kassar. ‘Rejoin us. The rest of you, advance, formation Furia. Those up high, shadow us.’

  Skaryth felt the squirming in his flesh subside, as it always did after sufficient bloody murder, as though the taint was sated.

  Switching a new clip into his bolter, he moved out, senses sharper than ever, across the processing-plant floor.

  They came upon the Imperial forces from behind, exploiting the gap their enemies had left for reinforcements that would never arrive. Bolters roared. Grenades thumped. Tongues of green flame turned Imperial servants into living torches. Kassar had his warriors attack from several angles and multiple heights, sowing further confusion with well-placed smoke bombs. Though the Unsung were outnumbered at least five to one, they carved through their panicked enemies.

  Kassar drove Hexling through a Battle Sister’s breastplate, kicking her convulsing corpse off the blade just as flames engulfed him. Ignoring the fire dancing across his armour, he turned and shot his attacker in the face. The Retributor’s helm caved in and she toppled backwards down the primary rampway, her heavy flamer spilling from her hands.

  ‘Kassar,’ came Kyphas’ voice on the vox. ‘I’m reading substantial energy build-up below.’

  ‘The teleportarium?’ asked Kassar, beating out the stubborn flames that clung to his right arm.

  ‘I believe so,’ said Kyphas. ‘Energy readings are empyric in nature, so unless someone is summoning entities…’

  ‘Finish this fight, brothers,’ voxed Kassar to the Harrow. ‘We must make haste.’

  A pair of Tsadrekhan troopers dashed from behind a barricade, pouring fire at him. Kassar hissed as a lucky shot struck the seal of his gorget and drew a scorched line across his neck. D’sakh dropped from above, landing on the two troopers and bearing them to the ground. His knives flashed, silver inscribed with the Harrow’s numerals and honour-markings.

  The only banner the Unsung had ever required.

  ‘How fare the colours, D’sakh?’ called Kassar.

  ‘Blood red,’ snarled D’sakh, completing the old refrain as he ripped his knives from his two lifeless victims.

  Ov
erhead, Thelgh’s rifle coughed and another Battle Sister plummeted, crashing to the decking with a neat hole punched through her forehead.

  Kassar heard Syxx cry out. He spun, bolter raised, in time to see the cultist gun down a Tsadrekhan. The soldier had been mere paces from Kassar, a belt of krak grenades in hand. Syxx lowered his smoking autopistols, and Kassar favoured him with a slight nod.

  One by one, the Unsung gathered on their leader at the head of the rampway. Lined with black and yellow chevrons, wide enough to drive a Baneblade down, it disappeared into the steam-shrouded depths.

  ‘We’ve broken their strength,’ reported Haltheus, still plugged into the Tsadrekhan vox-channels. ‘But they’re rallying what they have left to the teleportarium. It’s a fair guess they know where we’re headed.’

  ‘Skaryth, Kyphas, take point,’ ordered Kassar. ‘Double-time. How’s Krowl?’

  The blasted crater of Krowl’s chest had all but repaired itself, flesh, muscle and armour reknitting with grotesque slurping sounds. The big warrior was groaning and twitching.

  ‘He can walk,’ said Phalk’ir, letting go of Krowl’s right arm and letting him drop to one knee. A’khassor shot an annoyed glance at Phalk’ir, but released Krowl’s left arm and let him stagger, groggily, to his feet.

  ‘Just,’ added the Apothecary. ‘He should stay to the rear, and I with him.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Kassar.

  They set off down the ramp, footsteps clanging, senses alive for any hint of danger. Guide-lumen flashed in the steamy murk. Every hundred yards, the ramp switched back on itself, wending steadily down into the deep, metal-walled pit. They passed first one sub-deck, then another, masses of platforms and girders and thumping machinery. Labour gangs and crew helots fled in terror from them and were ignored, as were the muscular, promethium-spattered servitors that continued at their mindless labours.

  ‘Any indication what they’re doing down there?’ Kassar asked Kyphas and Haltheus.