His chainsword hacked into the neck of the first, teeth biting through armour, flesh and bone, and hot blood splashed across Marduk’s tabard. Blood ran down the feeder grooves carved into the sides of the chainsword and was sucked into the internals of the weapon, and Marduk felt fresh power and strength flow through him as the daemon Borhg’ash fed. Veins pulsed along the length of the ancient weapon, and the daemon urged Marduk on to feed it further.
He dropped to one knee, and a las-bolt seared above him where his head had been a fraction of a second earlier. He hacked out again, cutting through another soldier’s leg, the bone ripped apart by Borhg’ash’s eager teeth. He fired his bolt pistol, and another enemy was slammed backwards into its comrades as the back of its head exploded outwards.
Brother Namar-sin was at Marduk’s side, and he buried his axe in the chest of another of the soldiers, the pain of his severed arm lending him additional strength and fervour. He planted his boot on the chest of the man and ripped his axe free, kicking the soldier to the ground. He hacked his axe into another man, severing his arm and cutting half way through his torso.
Another warrior of Namar-sin’s 217th fired his bolter at point blank range, blasting the soldiers back, chunks of flesh and blood spraying in all directions. One man, his lifeblood running from his wounds, was on his knees before the warrior brother, and his skull was pulverised by the butt of a bolter.
Marduk continued reciting from the Litanies of Hate and Vengeance and rammed his chainsword into the gut of another enemy. The whirring, barbed links of the weapon ripped the soldier in two, cutting off his pitiful cries of agony.
Borhg’ash was gorged with blood, and it leaked from the internals of the chainsword like a syrup, but the daemon still hungered for more. Marduk felt the sentience within the chainsword urging him to kill again, and he gladly indulged its will.
Having emptied his bolt pistol clip, he holstered the weapon as he hacked a lasgun being levelled at him in two with a backhand sweep of his chainsword. The sparking halves of the lasgun were ripped from the terrified soldier’s hands, and as he staggered backwards in shock, Marduk cleaved him from shoulder to hip with a powerful two-handed blow with his chainsword.
There were no more living threats, and Borhg’ash revved its engine, expressing its desire for more blood. Seeing one soldier on the ground still living, though he was dying fast as his blood pumped from his severed leg, Marduk reversed his grip on his chainsword and drove it downwards into the man. The soldier shuddered as the sharp teeth of the weapon ripped apart his flesh, and Borhg’ash greedily sucked up the gore.
Marduk loaded a fresh sickle-clip into his bolt pistol as he marched back out onto the main concourse. A frantic gun battle was still underway, with enemy soldiers high up on gantries sniping down at the Word Bearers below. Scores of white-armoured men were lying dead or dying throughout the area, some crawling vainly for the futile safety of cover.
Sabtec’s 13th coterie was taking cover behind the bulk of the Land Raiders, positioned at corners and snapping off beams at the enemy soldiers. Lasgun shots impacted uselessly against the armoured hulls of the massive vehicles, and those few Word Bearers that were struck shrugged off the las-fire as if they were irritating mosquito bites.
One of the 13th dropped to one knee, aiming his stubby, daemon-headed missile launcher up high, and smoke billowed out the back of the missile tube as he fired. The missile screamed upwards and struck the underside of one of the gantries where a cluster of snipers was positioned, exploding in a billowing cloud of flame. The flesh of the soldiers was sliced apart as super-heated fragments of metal lacerated them, and the metal grid gave way. Those not killed by the explosion dropped ten metres to the next level of gantries, and were crushed as metal bracings were wrenched out of shape and pulled down in their wake.
Khalaxis and his warriors stormed across the gantries, unstoppable juggernauts of muscle and power armour that smashed through the enemy, throwing them over railings to fall fifteen metres to the ground, hacking limbs from bodies with sweeps of chainswords and killing everything in their path.
Three of the light armoured vehicles of the enemy were thrown upwards as a lascannon ignited fuel cells, and a mushroom of fierce orange flame billowed upwards, black, oily smoke licking at its edges. One of the vehicles spun end over end and slammed into a wall, while the other two came crushing down onto other unmanned vehicles behind which more enemy soldiers were hunkered down. They staggered back away from the inferno, and were dutifully gunned down by concentrated bolter fire.
Kol Badar strode through the firefight snapping off shots with his combi-bolter, his entourage of Anointed warriors walking steadily alongside him. They eschewed any attempt to take cover, the ancient, ceramite and adamantium plates of their Terminator armour offering them more protection than rockcrete or steel.
One of the Anointed swung the heavy twin barrels of his reaper autocannon before him like a scythe, laying down a withering hail of high-calibre fire that ripped everything apart indiscriminately: armour, men, vehicles and rockcrete.
A body landed in front of Marduk, having been hurled from a gantry above. The soldier’s helmet was smashed, and his eyes stared blankly up at the First Acolyte. Marduk kicked the man in the head, splashing blood and brain matter across the floor.
More enemy soldiers were appearing, assailing the Word Bearers from all directions. They were caught in the middle of a crossfire, but were cutting the enemy down ruthlessly. Marduk saw that two Word Bearers had fallen, though their injuries were not mortal and they continued to fight on. At least fifty enemy soldiers had been slain, and the casualties were mounting.
Under Kol Badar’s direction, Sabtec’s 13th began advancing up through the hail of fire towards the gantries, while the Anointed laid down a hail of fire that kept the enemy’s heads down. The Land Raiders pivoted on the spot, their lascannons destroying everything they targeted, and their heavy bolters ripping paths across the rock walls as they chased the enemy soldiers.
Marduk raced up a steel staircase, taking the steps four at a time. A las-blast struck him in the head, scorching his pristine alabaster skull helmet, and he snapped off a shot with his pistol in response, sending a man flying five metres backwards, a crater exploding from his back.
The enemy officers were shouting their commands, frantically attempting to rally their men and reposition them in the face of the relentless advance of the Word Bearers, but they were panicking, and their orders were not followed. Men crawled backwards, attempting to find any place to hide from the unholy fallen angels of death stalking towards them, firing off hasty shots with lasguns.
Marduk stomped onto one of the gantries and shot down two men, their blood misting the air. With a kick, he smashed aside a stand of barrels behind which three men were taking cover, and gunned the first two down. The other was torn apart by a concentrated burst of bolter fire from below, and Marduk moved on, his pistol raised before him as he fired more shots into the enemy arranged along the gantry.
One of the white-armoured soldiers raised a melta-gun, and Marduk threw himself against the wall as the weapon fired. It scorched across his left shoulder pad, and warning symbols appeared within his helmet display. Namar-sin, coming up behind Marduk, hurled his axe, the weapon spinning end over end and slamming into the soldier, cleaving into his face and embedding itself deep in his skull.
Men screamed in agony as they were engulfed in flame, as Khalaxis’s 17th coterie advanced opposite Marduk, trapping a score of soldiers on the gantry between them. The flamer roared again, and fire consumed half a dozen men, their flesh blistering as it burned. Several fell over the railing, plummeting to the floor where they smouldered and lay still. The survivors were hacked apart as Khalaxis led the charge into their midst, his chainaxe screaming as it tore through bone and tendon. Marduk waded into the terrified soldiers from the other side, clubbing men to the ground and executing them without mercy.
Less than five minutes after the ba
stion gates had been breached, the echo of gunfire ceased. The Word Bearers moved among the enemy soldiers, dispatching any who still breathed with swift blows to the head.
Marduk came across one of the officers, his face awash with blood and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He looked up at Marduk’s inscrutable skull-faced visage in terror.
“Emperor preserve me,” he gasped.
Marduk bent down and gripped the man, his massive hand closing around the soldier’s face.
“The False Emperor as a deity is a lie,” he growled, squeezing, feeling the soldier’s skull straining. “No one will answer your prayers. Where is the commander of this facility?”
“The… the lift,” gasped the man. “Top floor. Emperor save my soul.”
“The Corpse Emperor is not divine, and he does not care about the sanctity of your soul. You will see.”
Marduk crushed the man’s skull effortlessly, blood bursting from the soldier’s eyes, nose and mouth as he died. Standing up, he wiped his hand clean upon his tabard, and turned to face Kol Badar, down below in the main concourse.
“I grow tired of this world. It is time we ended this,” said Marduk, his voice booming across the open expanse. “Bring forth the Enslaved One, and let us get what we came for.”
As the first alarms sounded, Guildmaster Polio was taking a drink of his seventy-five year old vintage amasec. He almost choked on the fiery draught, and his adjutant, Leto, visibly paled. Polio slammed his glass down onto his table and was up and moving instantly.
The portal slid open as he approached it, and he stormed out into the adjoining room.
“What in the name of Holy Terra is going on?” he barked at his personal guard, a group of five soldiers of the mercenary Skyllan Interdiction Force. “Captain? This better not be another perimeter glitch.”
The captain of his guard, a tall, broad-shouldered soldier with a serious face, had his hand to his earpiece, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“No, sir,” he replied. “The automated turrets have identified hostile targets on approach.”
“Hostile targets?” breathed Leto from behind the guildmaster.
“Have they been identified?” asked the guildmaster.
“No, sir, not as yet. Wait,” he said, raising his hand to forestall any response as he listened to incoming communications. The soldier’s face turned grim. “What?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“What is going on?” asked Guildmaster Polio forcefully.
“Sir,” began the captain, “the bastion has been breached.”
“Emperor preserve us,” said Leto.
“There must be some mistake,” said Polio.
“No mistake, sir. A heavy firefight is underway on the garage concourse level.”
The captain swore, tapping at his earpiece as it went dead. The other soldiers of the guildmaster’s guard looked uneasily at each other.
“We must get you out of here, sir,” the captain said, his face dark. “The bastion is compromised.”
He strode towards the guildmaster and his adjutant, barking orders to his men. They responded instantly, and their lasguns hummed as they powered into life.
“I will not go,” said the guildmaster hotly. “How many men do you have here?”
“Only three demi-legions, sir. The others are all out keeping the peace at the Phorcys starport, or aiding the evacuation efforts.”
“That is still, what, three hundred men?” asked Polio.
“It will not be enough, sir,” said the captain softly.
Guildmaster Polio glared at the captain. “The Skyllan Interdiction Force is paid damn well to protect this fortress and hold the peace. You are not filling me with the confidence that the guild money is well-spent, captain.”
“My lord,” said the captain, his expression stoic in the face of the guildmaster’s simmering anger, “the enemy below are Astartes.”
“Space Marines?” breathed Leto. “But we… we are loyal subjects of the Emperor. Aren’t we?”
“Of course we are, Leto,” said Polio.
“They are rebel Astartes, my lord, and I have lost all contact with the demi-legions. We leave, now,” he said, brooking no argument.
Polio felt a sense of panic stab at him, though he was careful to maintain a calm exterior. He felt the flush of amasec clouding his mind, and he cursed himself for drinking so much. He licked his lips, and nodded to the captain.
With clipped commands, the soldiers fell in around the guildmaster, and the group marched back into the senior official’s office. The captain was steering Polio forcefully by the elbow, moving him quickly towards the reinforced door that led to his personal shuttle.
“My records,” protested the guildmaster.
“I’ll get them, my lord,” said Leto.
“No,” snapped the Skyllan guard captain, “we leave now.”
“My data-slate, Leto,” hissed the guildmaster, and his adjutant swept the book-sized piece of arcane technology up off his master’s desk as he was hurried past.
The captain whispered the requisite prayer to the machine god as he entered the code sequence into the door, and the circular locks slid anticlockwise with a hiss. The soldiers lowered their visors to cover their faces at a nod from their superior. Then the captain leant his weight against the door. It opened with a groan and snow billowed into the office, driven through the portal by the deafening gale outside.
Guildmaster Polio covered his face with his arm as the biting chill struck him, and he took an involuntary step backwards.
Three soldiers moved out onto the landing platform, their lasguns panning left and right. Pointless, thought Polio. No enemy could be up here.
His personal Aquila-class lander was perched some twenty metres away, covered in a thick layer of snow. The guard captain pulled an exquisite pistol of ornate design from his holster, and began guiding Polio out onto the landing platform.
The cold was almost unbearable, and ice crystals formed instantly on his eyebrows and lips. His eyes stung from the cold, and even breathing was painful.
One of his guards, out in front, reached the shuttle and slammed his fist into an activation panel. Instantly, the embarkation ramp began to lower.
With his head down, Guildmaster Polio allowed himself to be hurried towards the waiting shuttle, his boots slipping on the ice-slick landing pad. The captain supporting him shouted something, but he couldn’t make it out over the roar of the wind.
Burias-Drak’shal grinned in feral anticipation as he stared down at the men ten metres below him, battling against the gale as they made their way towards the shuttle.
He dropped down amongst them and landed in a crouch, rockcrete cracking beneath the impact. A soldier was a step behind and to his left, and he swung around, taking the man in the head with one of his massive, fused talons. The force of the blow slammed the soldier into the rockcrete wall, his skull pulverised, Burias-Drak’shal’s buried talon thirty centimetres into the rock.
Ripping the talon free, letting the soldier slump to the ground, he spun and lashed out with a backhanded blow that ripped across the throat of another soldier as he turned towards the possessed warrior, lasgun raised.
The man’s throat was ripped open to the spine, and he spun, blood fountaining from the mortal wound.
Something hot splashed the back of Guildmaster Polio’s head, and he stumbled and fell to one knee. As the captain hauled him back to his feet, he reached up and touched a hand to his head. He stared blankly for a second at the fresh blood on his hands, before turning to look back the way he had come.
A daemonic beast from the deepest pits of hell had dropped down behind them.
Its bulk was immense, more than three times that of a normal man, and its lips curled back to expose the barbed teeth of the ultimate predator. Two men lay dead at its feet.
The captain saw the beast just as the guildmaster did, and he shouted a warning, pushing Polio roughly towards the shuttle as he raised his pistol.<
br />
Another man died before the pistol fired, as the daemon punched a claw up through the soldier’s sternum.
The blow lifted the soldier off his feet, and the daemon’s talons emerged from his back. With a dismissive sweep of its arm, the daemon hurled the man off the landing pad, disappearing in the gale to fall the three hundred metres to the base of the bastion.
The captain’s pistol boomed, but Polio did not wait to see if he had felled the beast. Terror coursing through him, he half-ran, half-stumbled towards the lowering ramp leading into his shuttle, his heart beating wildly.
The guard standing by the shuttle had his lagsun raised to his shoulder, and he fired past Polio twice before running up the ramp to initiate the launch. Polio heard several more shots as the other remaining guards brought their weapons to bear, and he paused at the foot of the embarkation ramp to look back. He saw his adjutant crawling towards him on all fours, blood splattered across his terrified face.
Without thinking of his own safety he ran to the young man. As he helped him up to his feet, Polio looked back through the swirling snow.
Another man was down, his head ripped from his shoulders, and the captain was backing away from the daemonic beast stalking towards him. His pistol boomed, but the beast swayed its head to the side with preternatural speed, and the shot hissed past its face.
The captain risked a glance behind him, and his eyes locked onto the guildmaster’s.
“Go!” shouted the captain, though his voice was lost in the roaring wind.
“Watch out!” roared Polio at the same time, for the beast had sprung forwards as soon as the captain had taken his eyes off it.
Leto scrambled past his master, clambering up the ramp into the interior of the shuttle, but Polio was locked in place, staring in horror at the daemon as it leapt at the captain of his guard.
[Word Bearers 02] - Dark Disciple Page 9
