by Andy Clark
But even with their butcher lord leading them, their attack would fail.
Celestine knew this as surely as though she had seen it happen already. She knew it because she had faith in the revelations that the Emperor sent to her. They had never proved untrue.
Below, Captain Dysorian led a courageous charge against a Khornate daemon engine trampling its way over the barricade. The Imperial Fist charged through fleeing Tsadrekhans, a small band of his brothers at his side. As one, they hurled krak grenades into the abomination’s workings, driving it back in a flurry of blasts. A missile streaked in and struck it in the chest, finishing the daemon engine off. Its legs crumpled beneath it and it slumped over the barricade like some grotesque, dying spider.
Such were the works of heretics, reflected Celestine. Fearsome, repugnant, but ultimately flawed.
The captain, though. There was a true hero of the Imperium. Like so many of the Adeptus Astartes, he did not believe in the Emperor’s divinity, but that was of no matter to Celestine. Dysorian believed in the Imperium. He would fight and die for it no matter the odds, and that was all that she required of him. A time of sore testing loomed for the veteran captain, and Celestine pitied him the triumphs and tragedies he would soon know. But such was Dysorian’s place in the Emperor’s plan, and he was privileged to fulfil it with blade in hand, master of his own will.
Few were afforded such an opportunity in these dark times, she thought sorrowfully.
Always, now, Saint Celestine perceived the hideous rents that yawned across the galaxy. She sensed the massing of vast armies, the swelling of traitor warbands into conquering hordes like the one they faced in this place. She felt the tainted winds of Chaos as they spilled from the mouth of the warp to pollute the Emperor’s realm.
Ever since she had journeyed at the primarch’s side she had seen a dark fate approaching, borne towards her on those same tainted zephyrs. It drew close now. She felt it looming.
Yet she had work still, on this world, and she would not allow the darkness to take her before her duty was done.
The revelations that Celestine received were not visions like those experienced by astropaths or seers, not clearly perceived paths to be walked into the future. Her road was an invisible bridge, spanning an endless gulf, lit by candles that only shivered to life at her passing. The Saint had to trust to her faith in the Emperor that, with each footfall, the bridge would be there. She proved her devotion to Him every day by continuing that walk of faith.
Celestine prepared to launch herself from her vantage point and rejoin the fight. Her Seraphim Sisters were hard-pressed below, and needed her aid.
Something stopped her, a presentiment of sudden knowledge. Foreboding rose within her mind as a new revelation came to her. The next steps of her path were illuminated, and they shook her to the core.
Though she was too far away to feel its shockwaves, Celestine knew that a ferocious string of explosions was ripping through the Underbilge maglev hub. She knew that a train had emerged from tunnel thirteen travelling at breakneck pace, that it had smashed into the grav-baffles at the end of its line and blown them out like a battering ram shattering a castle gate. She knew, as certainly as she knew her own name, that the blazing juggernaut had flipped and tumbled through the defences of the hub, fuel tanks and generators exploding, hurtling wreckage killing hundreds of good, loyal soldiers.
She knew, also, as it skidded to a halt, as its wreckage settled and the fires spread, that the train had brought agents of fate to this city. Murderers? Despoilers? Or saviours? Or simply lost souls whose actions bore greater weight than they could know? To such insight, Celestine was not yet party.
But she knew, now, what must happen next, and the weight of it settled upon her shoulders as so many terrible burdens had before.
Stepping from her perch, Celestine dropped into the melee. She scythed through the heretics attacking her Seraphim Sisters, her expression grim. Every blow was swift, economical, flowing into the next, and the next. In moments, the Saint had reduced her immediate enemies to bloodied corpses, while her Geminae Superia kept firing.
With a gesture, Celestine called them to her. She would need their aid in the hours to come. Dysorian and Colonel Hespus would have to continue this fight without her, for as long as they could. Canoness Levinia would have to spare more of her precious Sisters for a foray into the depths, for there, too, the enemy must be held back for as long as possible. Opening a channel in the ornate gorget-vox of her armour, Celestine began issuing her commands, even as she led her Sisters upwards, back towards the convent prioris. Back towards the Tsadrekhan beacon.
She did so with a heavy heart for, in the moment of the train’s impact with the hub far below, this battle had changed. It was no longer a question of whether Hive Endurance would fall, but when.
She knew it, as surely as all her other revelations. Sometimes, Celestine thought sadly, she would give almost anything to simply not know.
Part III
Chapter Eleven
Let me help you…
No…
You die…
Yes…
You need not…
I did this for them…
A sacrifice…
Yes…
Do you know what I am… Who I am…
I do…
You have wielded me for many years, and resisted me for all that time…
We do not kneel, to gods or to daemons…
You are strong…
My brothers are strong…
But without you, they will falter…
No…
They will fail…
No…
They will die…
No!
Let me show you…
You lie…
You know that I do not…
You know that I can help you…
You know that I can save you…
And your price…?
There is no time…
Tell me!
Yes… or no… Let me in, or let them perish…
For them, then…
For them…you must say it…
Yes!
Kassar opened his eyes to smoke, flame and twisted metal. He was gripping Hexling firmly, its blade laid flat across his chest and giving off a weird, tingling heat. Mortis was clutched in his other hand. A quick check of his armour’s systems revealed that it was in good condition. No major damage sustained.
Somehow.
‘Alive,’ he breathed, incredulous.
Metal groaned nearby. Something heavy fell, causing sparks to billow. Accepting, for the moment, his mysterious survival, Kassar took stock of his surroundings.
He was still in the engine of the maglev train, or what was left of it. The wreckage around him was barely recognisable. Decking was torn and buckled into strange shapes. Consoles were ruptured, nests of cables spilling from them like intestines. Boilers and generators were little more than ruined shells. The entire engine was laid on its side, and Kassar was buried in loose detritus. Everything was lit by dancing flame, whose roar and crackle oppressed all other sound. Smoke coiled thick and oily through the crumpled control deck.
‘Khârn!’ gasped Kassar, leaping to his feet and sending wreckage bouncing and clattering. He brandished Hexling and sought his enemy, but of the Betrayer there was no sign. A sensation struck him, then, a phantom agony in his chest and the fleeting vision of his own severed arm striking the floor. He stumbled, shook his head, brushed it off.
‘Later,’ he promised himself. ‘We will get to the bottom of this later.’
For now, he had more pressing concerns.
‘Unsung,’ he voxed. ‘A’khassor, Haltheus, D’sakh… Anyone?’
‘Kassar,’ came a shout.
‘Skaryth?’ called Kassar. ‘Is that you, brother?�
��
‘Kassar, thank the primarchs that you live!’ came Skaryth’s voice through the smoke.
Following his armour’s localised auspex, Kassar picked his way through the roiling smoke. He clambered over tumbled heaps of wreckage, nerves alive for any hint of foes. Even if Khârn was nowhere to be seen, some of his followers would surely have survived the crash. And then there were the Imperial defenders to consider.
Kassar hauled himself up over a twisted railing and reached the saviour chamber. The kinetic damper cradle around the armoured box had crumpled during the crash, and the chamber listed drunkenly on its side. Its door was buckled in its frame, a little crimson light spilling through the gaps.
Kassar tried to haul it open. Just then, the digits of Krowl’s power fist drove through a gap and got a firm grip, crumpling metal like cloth. Kassar stood back as Krowl tore the door away from inside.
Krowl ducked through the hatch. Syxx followed him, staggering drunkenly, one hand pressed to a bloody gash on his temple. The cultist’s mask was broken, and Kassar felt a moment’s surprise at how young Syxx looked, but it was swallowed by relief that he still lived.
The others followed, emerging from the chamber one by one. Skaryth, Thelgh, Kyphas, Skarle and finally, Phalk’ir.
‘Unsung,’ said Kassar. ‘I am glad that you live.’
‘What of the others?’ asked Skaryth.
‘Nothing on the vox,’ said Kassar. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
‘They may yet live,’ said Kyphas. ‘We should search for them immediately.’
‘Or they may be dead,’ spat Phalk’ir. ‘Kassar may have killed them, like he has killed so many of us on this world already.’
‘Phalk’ir–’ began Kassar.
‘I don’t want to hear you justify why more of our brothers had to be sacrificed upon the altar of your puritanical egotism, Kassar,’ said Phalk’ir. ‘But know this. We are going to find my twin, now, before we even think about this catastrophe of a mission you have dragged us into. And if he is dead, then I will take your life for his.’
‘You ungrateful bastard!’ exclaimed Skaryth. ‘If it wasn’t for Kassar’s quick thinking, we’d all be dead by now.’
‘Yet he did also approve Haltheus’ plan, which led us to this desperate pass in the name of speed over caution,’ said Kyphas.
‘It wasn’t Kassar who urged Haltheus to blow his charges before they were fully consecrated,’ growled Skaryth, squaring up to Kyphas and jabbing a finger into his chestplate. ‘And it wasn’t Kassar who withheld the knowledge that Khârn the Betrayer was active in this engagement zone. Considering your conduct thus far, brother, I’d be tempted to wonder whose side you are on.’
‘Prod me with that digit again, Skaryth,’ said Kyphas softly, ‘and I will sever it before you can reach for your weapons.’
‘Restrain yourselves,’ said Kassar firmly. ‘Infighting achieves nothing, and if our brothers are lost then it dishonours their memory.’
He turned to Phalk’ir.
‘You are entitled to your anger,’ he said. ‘If Phaek’or is slain then I will serve a penance for his loss, as I have for every single one of you that has fallen since I was given command of this Harrow. But A’khassor was carrying our brothers’ gene-seed, D’sakh the colours. Haltheus was our last surviving warrior with knowledge enough to maintain our weapons and armour. If you believe that I would sacrifice such assets willingly then you are a fool.’
‘Regardless,’ said Phalk’ir. ‘If he’s dead, I will kill you.’
‘You will try,’ said Kassar. ‘But for now, every moment we spend arguing this increases the chances that Phaek’or, and all the rest of them, truly will be lost to us forever. Unsung, third cypher. Remember the teachings of the primarchs. Information is power, gather as much as you can and give none to the foe. We need to determine the situation quickly, gauge what strength of our foes survived the crash, and locate our brothers if we can.’
‘I will begin an all-channel coded sweep for them via auspex and vox,’ said Kyphas. ‘If they are close enough, and if they live, I will find them.’
‘Good,’ said Kassar. ‘Krowl, guard the cultist as before. Skaryth, you and Kyphas take point. The rest of us will follow. Let’s get out of this chamber before we burn alive.’
Skaryth led the way off the engine’s control deck, Kyphas close on his heels. Fire crackled and roared on every side. Shards of armourglass crunched underfoot. Skaryth resented the confinement of his helm, feeling its auto-senses deadening his own hyper-awareness. He had to keep it in place, however. It was important, in front of his brothers, to maintain at least some pretence. Especially now, with tempers running high.
Skaryth hadn’t meant to square up to his brother quite so aggressively, but between his and Phalk’ir’s malcontent, it had been difficult to retain control. Skaryth had felt his bloodlust surge each time they showed disrespect to Kassar, the animal inside him growling to be free. Privately, he was hoping that they would find some enemies still alive within the hub. Blood to be shed, to still the crawling tingle that had returned to his flesh.
Under his armour, something that was and was not him squirmed, and Skaryth repressed a shudder. He felt the frantic need to peel off his armour and see what was happening to his body, but this was not the time or the place.
‘Anything yet?’ he asked Kyphas, but received no reply.
Ahead, the ruptured bulkhead opened outwards onto a mass of black smoke and half-glimpsed shapes of tortured metal. Skaryth advanced carefully, picking his way over a fallen piston the size of a Knight’s shin and sliding into position at the bulkhead’s edge.
‘The garrison car is gone,’ he voxed. ‘There’s just wreckage and fire out there now. And what’s left of the hub, I would guess.’
‘Advance with caution,’ said Kassar. ‘We’ll sweep for our brothers and scout out the lie of the land, but beware enemies. If it isn’t already, this area will surely be crawling with Imperials soon.’
‘Not to mention that Khârn is still out there somewhere,’ muttered Skaryth to himself. ‘No maglev crash is putting an end to the Betrayer…’
With hand gestures, he indicated for Kyphas to flank right while he went left. Kyphas pipped acknowledgement, and the two Alpha Legionnaires stalked out through the smoke with their bolters raised.
‘I don’t know what this place looked like before the crash,’ voxed Skaryth. ‘But it’s a real mess now, Kassar. Chunks of train wreckage, burning debris, toppled columns, wrecked barricades… I can’t even work out where we are, and the smoke’s too dense to see far even with auto-senses.’
‘We’re at the bulkhead now,’ replied Kassar. ‘Can you locate a cogitator station, something we could access to exload maps of this area?’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Skaryth, doubtfully. ‘Meantime, I’ll see if I can locate a higher vantage.’
‘Kyphas,’ said Kassar. ‘Any response from our brothers? Any indication of their whereabouts?’
‘Nothing,’ said Kyphas. ‘But Kassar, it looks as though the train broke up and scattered through the hub. The speed we were travelling, and the weight of the carriages… I don’t know how big this place is, but they could have been carried a long way from us.’
‘Not to mention they may well not all be together, even if they have survived somehow,’ said Skaryth as he clambered up the underside of the engine, and onto its raised flank. ‘If we want to try to find their bodies, though, we may be looking for a while.’
Smoke drifted in thick banks, but from atop the wreck Skaryth had a better view of the hub. It looked apocalyptic.
The space itself was huge and open, a curving metal undersea cavern a hundred feet high that arced away around the feet of the hive. It surrounded an armoured central pillar like a metallic mountainside, into which countless doorways, tunnels and hatches led, and from which walkways and ga
ntries extended like the strands of a spider’s web.
Skaryth could see the mouth of tunnel thirteen, yawning in the wall hundreds of yards away through the smoke with its designator numerals stencilled in stark black above it. Other numbered tunnel mouths were visible, marching away into dim distance around the curvature of the hub. Closer, the maglev lines terminated in grav-baffles and transit platforms, which in turn were flanked by masses of concourse buildings whose purposes Skaryth could only guess at. Administratum, warehouses, shrines, commercia, guard posts and the like, no doubt.
All of it appeared to have been heavily fortified to resist assault from the tunnels, but it hadn’t proved nearly enough to stop a speeding maglev. All that remained of tunnel thirteen’s defences was wreckage and blazing ruin, ammunition crates crackling and popping as they cooked off amidst the flames. Corpses lay everywhere, crushed, incinerated or simply burst by the explosive shockwaves of the carriages’ detonations. He saw a handful of larger, yellow-armoured corpses scattered amongst the fallen Tsadrekhans, and felt a sting of spiteful satisfaction.
More bodies were scattered further out, sprawled bloodily on gantries, platforms and stairways. Many were headless.
Checking that his brothers weren’t watching, Skaryth unclasped his helm and removed it, allowing all the scents and sounds of the ruined hub to wash over him. There, he thought, distantly echoing down passageways from afar. Gunfire. Revving chain weapons. War cries. Skaryth replaced his helm, and reopened his vox-channel.
‘I would wager my bolter that Khârn survived the crash, and that many of his Berzerkers did the same,’ said Skaryth. ‘There’s plentiful evidence of them ripping through the Imperial defences in the aftermath. My guess is they’ve driven deeper, pushed up into the surrounding zones.’
‘That would explain why we’ve not been swamped by foes,’ said Kassar. ‘Any sign of our brothers from up there?’
‘None,’ said Skaryth. ‘But that doesn’t mean anything amidst all this.’
‘We should spread out and search,’ said Phalk’ir. ‘If the corpse worshippers are busy fighting the blood-mongrels then that leaves us free to find our brothers.’
