‘Full of surprises,’ said Marduk.
In the distance, they heard the percussive echoes of boltgun fire, and knew that the enemy had found Brother Rhamel. Khalaxis was tense and brooding, and the other warriors kept a respectful distance from the champion.
Marduk patted Khalaxis on the shoulder, and the Word Bearers pressed on in silence.
Brother Rhamel pumped shot after shot into the never-ending swarm of genestealers coming at him. He had five confirmed kills, the bodies of the xenos creatures lying motionless on the ground, but they were coming at him from two directions, and he knew that it was just a matter of time before they overwhelmed him. The red icon warning him of low ammunition had been flashing before his eyes for some time, and he watched with grim finality as the icons displaying his last rounds were slowly depleted.
His left arm hung useless at his side, broken in three places. Turning to the left, he shot another genestealer in the head, before swinging back to the right and taking another one high in the chest, the percussive blast hurling it backwards.
Squeezing the trigger once more, he fired the last of his bolts, and dropped his useless weapon to the ground. He tossed the last of his frag grenades down one of the corridors, turning his back to the resultant blast and unslinging his heavy blade from his waist.
The blast of the grenade knocked him forwards a step as flame rolled up the corridor at his back. Steadying himself, he passed the wide blade before him, knowing that the end was near.
A handful of genestealers were stalking towards him, their backs hunched and their eyes glittering hatefully. They moved slowly, readying to pounce, as if knowing that their prey was all but defenceless.
‘Come on, you whoresons!’ Rhamel roared as a fresh batch of combat drugs was injected into his body.
One of the xenos creatures hissed in response, ropes of saliva dripping from its fangs. Feeling movement behind him, Rhamel flicked a glance around, and saw another half a dozen of the genestealers creeping forwards at his flank.
‘Come on! Finish me!’ Rhamel bellowed, keeping both groups of aliens in his field of vision.
At some unspoken command, both groups leapt forwards, covering the distance with horrifying speed.
Rhamel swung in towards the first creature, his blade biting deep into its snarling face, cracking its skull. The genestealer wrenched its head to the side, almost dragging the blade from Rhamel’s hand, but the Word Bearer ripped his sword clear and stabbed it into the open mouth of another genestealer as it lunged towards him.
He buried the blade deep in the creature’s throat, and hot xenos blood bubbled from the wound. He had no time to drag his sword clear, however, before he was overwhelmed. He was smashed to the ground, losing his grip on his weapon, and he bellowed at the pain that shot through his broken arm.
Gritting his teeth, murmuring a final prayer to the gods of the ether, he waited for the killing blow to fall.
It never came.
One of the creatures was crouching over him, pinning him to the floor. Rhamel strained within its grasp, powerless against its strength. Its hot breath fogged the eye lenses of his helmet.
‘Do it,’ he roared in the genestealer’s face. ‘Kill me!’
The alien leant forward and a thick rope of drool dripped from its maw onto Rhamel’s helmet. With a darting movement, the xenos creature stabbed its tongue towards his neck. The powerful proboscis punched through his armour and sank into his neck. It stung painfully, and Rhamel roared.
Then the creature pushed off him, scuttling backwards.
Rhamel staggered to his feet, scrabbling for his blade. He stood in a fighting crouch, ready for the creatures to revert back to their murderous nature and come at him once more, to rend him limb from limb, but they continued to back away from him, slipping into the darkness.
In an instant, they were gone, and Rhamel was left alone.
His vision swam, and the throbbing pain of his neck wound made him wince. He presumed that his body’s enhanced metabolism was working hard to overcome whatever foul poison had been injected into him, and he fought the sudden lethargy that assailed him.
Whatever had been done to him, he felt certain that his enhanced metabolism would combat it. No poison could kill one of the Legion, and he was confident that the discomfort he was feeling would pass with time.
Giving no more thought to the genestealer’s bizarre behaviour, Rhamel set off, loping down the eerily silent corridors at a kilometre-eating pace, working his way towards the rendezvous point.
Marduk heard the distant gunfire cease abruptly.
‘He has become one with Chaos,’ he said to Khalaxis, whose anger was palpable. ‘He was a fine warrior. Honour his memory.’
Khalaxis nodded his head, though his anger still seethed within him like a living thing.
It took them the better part of an hour to reach the submersibles, for they were forced to take a different path than they had travelled before, clambering up steep inclines, sliding down others, and navigating vertical shafts.
The holding deck where they had left the submersibles had been tipped onto its side when the ship had slipped, and the interior was only vaguely familiar. Only the bobbing shapes of the submersibles confirmed that they had reached their goal, though the aquatic vessels had been tossed around when the ship had shifted. One of them was stranded out of the water, like a beached deep-sea mammal, lying on its side on a gantry that had buckled beneath its weight.
With a clipped order, Kol Badar sent Burias clambering over the wreckage, and he leapt into the air to grab a ladder that was positioned horizontally above them. The icon bearer climbed hand over hand across the expanse of dark water before dropping down onto the top of one of the submersibles. He landed in a steady crouch, and grinned across the open water towards the others before unscrewing its top hatch and dropping down into its interior.
Within moments, Burias had powered the vessel to life, its twin spotlights piercing the dark water like a pair of glowing eyes, and manoeuvred it towards the waiting warriors of the Host, its impeller engines creating a whirlpool of turbulence.
One by one, the warriors stepped onto the submersible, clambering into its belly, until just Marduk, Khalaxis and Darioq-Grendh’al remained.
‘You next,’ said Marduk, nodding towards the corrupted magos.
‘A biological entity approaches,’ said Darioq-Grendh’al, and both Marduk and Khalaxis were instantly alert, weapons raised as they sought a target.
‘I see nothing,’ hissed Khalaxis.
‘There,’ said Marduk, nodding towards a darkened side-passage. His finger tensed on the trigger of his bolt pistol, before he relaxed and holstered the weapon.
A shape solidified out of the darkness, staggering towards them.
‘Rhamel,’ laughed Khalaxis, ‘you whoreson! You had me worried for a moment there.’
‘Fine, brother,’ replied Rhamel, his voice strained. ‘I don’t die easily.’
Khalaxis laughed and slapped his blood-brother on the shoulder, knocking him forward a step.
‘Are you well, warrior brother?’ asked Marduk, eyes narrowing.
‘I will be fine, First Acolyte,’ Rhamel replied fiercely.
‘Remove your helmet, warrior of Lorgar,’ commanded Marduk.
Rhamel pulled his helmet clear, standing to attention before the First Acolyte. The flesh of his broad, ritually scarred face was pale and waxy, and deep rings circled eyes that glinted with a feverish light. A scabbed wound was located on his neck , and the skin around the puncture was tinged vaguely blue.
‘You are… unwell?’ asked Marduk. ‘Poison?’
‘Ovipositor impregnation,’ intoned Darioq-Grendh’al.
‘What is the machine speaking of?’ asked Khalaxis.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Marduk.
‘Source: Magos Biologis Atticus Fane, Lectures of Xenos Bioligae, 872.M40, Consultation of Nicae, Tenebria, Q.389.V.IX. Ref.MBim274.ch.impttck. The xenos subject spec
ies, genus Corporaptor, observed implanting gene-template into body of host,’ said Darioq-Grendh’al. ‘Override of genetic coding documented. Bio-gene-splicing observed. Conclusion: Corporaptor Hominis overrides genetic makeup of host species, dominating upper cerebral cortex functions. Speculation: Corporaptor Hominis a vanguard species, locating and suppressing indigenous populations. Genetic corruption of local species suspected as a method of drawing Hive Fleet to suitable prey-worlds.’
The three Word Bearers looked blankly at the corrupted magos.
‘Potential reversal of implanted host species’ gene-corruption: nil,’ concluded Darioq-Grendh’al.
‘Gene-corruption,’ murmured Marduk.
‘The machine babbles nonsense,’ growled Khalaxis.
‘Speak more clearly, Darioq-Drak’shal,’ said Marduk, ‘perhaps in words that we might understand.’
‘It is believed that the genestealers infiltrate potential prey-worlds for the tyranid xenos species to feed upon,’ intoned the magos. ‘They infect the populace, and some believe that the collective control they exert over those bearing their genetic coding acts as a psychic beacon, drawing the organic Hive Fleets to those worlds where the beacon burns strongest.’
‘And you say this… implant attack that Rhamel has suffered is altering his genetic coding?’ asked Marduk.
‘That is correct, master.’
‘The bodies of the warriors of Lorgar are sacred temples, for in them we bear the mark of Lorgar. From his genome were we created,’ said Marduk, ‘and such a… corruption is an abomination.’
The First Acolyte looked at Rhamel, who grimaced as another wave of pain shot through him.
‘You understand what must be done, Brother Rhamel,’ said Marduk. It was a statement, not a question.
‘I understand, my lord,’ said Rhamel through gritted teeth, and the warrior dropped to his knees before the First Acolyte.
‘What if the machine is wrong?’ asked Khalaxis. ‘Could not the chirurgeons on the Infidus Diabolus reverse this corruption?’
‘The machine is not wrong, brother,’ said Rhamel. ‘I can feel it working within me, changing me. Let me pass with honour, my brother.’
The warrior closed his eyes tightly against the pain.
‘I would ask that you do it, Khalaxis,’ he hissed, pleadingly. ‘Do this for me, my brother. Please.’
Khalaxis looked at Marduk, and the First Acolyte nodded his head grimly.
‘It is only fitting,’ said the First Acolyte.
‘As you wish, my brother,’ said Khalaxis, moving in front of the kneeling warrior.
Marduk passed the champion of the almost obliterated 17th coterie his bolt pistol, and the taller warrior took it in his hands with great reverence. Then he raised the bolt pistol and placed it against Rhamel’s forehead.
‘Into the darkness he strode,’ quoted Marduk, from the Trials of the Covenant, ‘into the flames of hell, with his head held high, and he smiled.’
‘Be at peace,’ said Khalaxis.
Rhamel smiled, looking up at Khalaxis with eyes shining with belief.
‘I’ll see you on the other side, my brother,’ he said.
Then the bolt pistol bucked in Khalaxis’s hand, and the back of Rhamel’s head was obliterated, exploding outwards in a shower of gore.
Marduk dipped a finger in the blood and drew an eight-pointed star on Rhamel’s forehead, the hole of the entry wound at its centre.
‘What was that all about?’ Burias asked in a low voice as they climbed into the submersible, eyeing the brooding Khalaxis.
‘Nothing,’ said Marduk. ‘A brave warrior is dead. He will be mourned.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A crowd of hooded cultists was waiting for them as the submersible entered the docking pool within the mining station, pushing in as Burias climbed out onto the wharf. Nevertheless, they kept their distance, wary of the immense red-armoured warrior and the potent aura of savagery around him.
The icon bearer snarled as he looked upon the press of humanity, and dropped onto the docking wharf, eyeing the crowd darkly. He allowed the change to come over him and took a menacing step forwards, enjoying the fear that made the people recoil. They did not run, however, and there were shouts and jeers from the masses. It was curious behaviour for mortals, and Burias could not understand it. Lesser beings always reacted to his presence with abject terror, so why did these ones not flee?
As the other Word Bearers emerged from the deep-sea scout/maintenance vehicle, one man pushed to the front of the crowd. His pale face was cowled and thin, and a servo-skull hovered near his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with feverish light.
This man studied the Word Bearers as they disembarked, an expression of outrage upon his face. The anger twisted his features so that he looked barely human at all.
‘They have spilt the blood of our brood-fathers!’ he bellowed, holding his arms up high. The billowing sleeves of his robe fell back at the movement, exposing pale arms pitted with plugs. Spiralling tattoos covered his flesh, oddly alien embryonic shapes that wrapped around his forearms. An angry roar rose from the gathered crowd that stepped forwards, faces twisting into visages of hatred.
‘Someone shut him up,’ said Marduk.
Kol Badar stepped towards the man, who stood defiant before him even though the people around him shrunk back from the Coryphaus’s titanic frame.
‘You have befouled the inner sanctum of the brood-fathers,’ howled the man at Kol Badar as he approached. He came up barely to the Coryphaus’s chest, but held his ground defiantly. ‘And for that grave insult, you will be punished.’
‘Who is going to punish me, little man?’ asked Kol Badar. ‘You?’
The man quivered in rage, and with a scream of hatred hurled himself at Kol Badar’s immense figure, hands outstretched like claws.
Kol Badar wrapped his power talons around the man’s head, and lifted him off his feet, which kicked uselessly a metre off the ground.
The crowd surged forwards, many drawing laspistols and cudgels from their robes, screaming in outrage.
Bemused, Kol Badar clenched his fist and there was an audible wet crunch as the man’s skull was crushed. He hurled the body into the crowd.
There were hundreds of the frenzied cultists, but they were as nothing next to the warriors of the XVII Legion. None of the Word Bearers deigned to expend any of their precious ammunition upon the crowd, and they weighed in with chainswords and fists as the crowd surged in to surround them.
It was as if the crowd was in the grip of some kind of group hysteria, thought Marduk, eliminating all fear, and replacing it with this frenzied hatred. That was exactly what this was, he realised these people were the dupes of the xenos hive mind.
The butchery was over in minutes. Bodies lay sprawled across the floor, many of them maimed and brutalised almost beyond recognition, life fluids smearing the metal flooring with a thick gruel.
Pulling his blood-smeared helmet from his head, Marduk sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the hot, heady scent of death.
‘Glory be,’ he said, a rapturous smile upon his face.
Gears groaned as the giant lift rose from the shaft, powerful engines hauling it up the immense chain connected to the mining station eight kilometres below. It came to a clanking rest, and steam vented from its engines. The sides of the diamond-shaped lift crashed open, and Sabtec bowed his head as the First Acolyte stepped from within, his armour caked in blood.
The champion lifted his gaze once more, eyes flicking over the blood-drenched warriors marching from within the lift. He raised an eyebrow as he saw that only half of the warriors that had accompanied Marduk returned.
The First Acolyte’s gaze wandered, coming to rest on the corpse of a Legion warrior, lying on its back and with its arms crossed over his chest.
‘Namar-sin?’ asked Marduk.
Sabtec nodded his head.
‘Report,’ said Kol Badar as he stalked out of the lift.
‘Dark e
ldar,’ said Sabtec, ‘though ones we have not fought before. They were shadow-creatures, here and yet not here. Two brother warriors fell along with Namar-sin.’
‘I do not see their bodies,’ said Marduk.
‘They were… taken, my lord,’ said Sabtec.
‘They were taken,’ said Marduk flatly.
Sabtec stood with his head held high, looking resolutely forward.
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said.
‘You allowed two warrior brothers of Lorgar to be taken by eldar slavers?’ snarled Kol Badar.
‘They were taken while under my command, my lord, yes,’ said Sabtec, ‘and I will accept any punishment that my shame requires.’
‘You offer no excuses, Sabtec?’ asked Kol Badar.
‘None, my lord,’ said Sabtec. His voice betrayed no fear. He moved his gaze towards Marduk. ‘If it would please you, First Acolyte, I shall take my own life for the shame I have brought upon the Host.’
‘That will not be necessary, Sabtec,’ said Marduk smoothly, ‘though I am pleased at your devotion to the great cause. I shall have need of loyal warriors in the days to come.’
‘The tyranid invasion could begin at any moment,’ said Kol Badar. ‘It might already be under way. We move out, now.’
Marduk was left alone with Kol Badar as the warriors of the Legion made ready to move out once more, their movements crisp and full of purpose.
‘This world has claimed many warrior’s lives,’ said Kol Badar. ‘Six Havocs of the 217th, including their champion, Namar-sin; two warriors of the 13th; six of Khalaxis’s 17th, and two of my Anointed, all dead to secure the mind of a single mortal. I hope that it was worth it.’
‘It will be,’ said the First Acolyte.
‘For the glory of Marduk?’ sneered Kol Badar.
‘For the glory of Lorgar. For the glory of the XVII Legion,’ said Marduk, keeping his anger in check, though he felt the powers of Chaos stirring within him, feeding his desire to strike down the insubordinate Coryphaus.
Thoughts of blood filled his mind, and Marduk reached involuntarily for his blade. He saw Kol Badar’s power talons twitch. With all his strength, Marduk pushed the hatred deep inside, where it would fester and grow strong, but where he could control it.
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