Alone.
What had happened to the incoming Adeptus Praeses reinforcements? Battlefleet Gorgon? Had they made realisation?
With the astropaths down, communications were limited to standard transmissions—at a sluggish light speed. He cursed. Transmitting at that speed, he would not hear word from the fleet regarding the outcome of the battle out on the Trajan Belt for over three hours. The enemy may have annihilated the defence fleet and be ploughing towards Boros Prime by then.
“Alone,” he breathed grimly.
Half a galaxy away, an immense black ship suddenly altered its trajectory. It began to accelerate at an exponential rate, swiftly reaching, then surpassing, the speed of light. Impossibly, its momentum continued to increase.
It streaked through the cold darkness of the universe, guided by inhuman will. It passed through dazzling solar systems in the blink of eye and crossed vast empty tracts of space in seconds. On and on it hurtled, moving faster than any Imperial tracking station could follow.
As if responding to some distant siren’s call, inexorably, it closed on the Boros Gate.
BOOK TWO:
THE BROTHERHOOD
“Our fraternity represents divine change. On ancient Colchis, a billion souls were released from earthly flesh in the Brotherhood’s purge of the Covenant, and great was the rejoicing; and stronger did Colchis become. The second cleansing saw the Legion’s ranks purified of Terran taint; and stronger did the Legion become, its chaff cast aside. Change is inevitable; the Brotherhood’s return is inevitable. And so shall the Legion be strengthened once more!”
—The Arch-Prophet Baz-Ezael,
recorded during his torture/death-vigil
after being condemned by the Council
of Sicarus for heresy and blasphemy
CHAPTER SIX
The battle of the Trajan Belt was short and brutal, the furious exchange seeing a dozen cruisers and battleships crippled within the space of ten minutes, yet to those involved it seemed to last an age.
The Boros Defence Fleet realised too late that reinforcements were not coming, yet by then it was already fully committed. As they tried desperately to extricate themselves from the engagement, the Chaos battleships exacted a terrible toll.
Of the expected relief force, only the White Consuls battle-barges Sword of Deliverance and Sword of the Truth made realisation, four full companies of White Consuls borne within them, plus an attendant flotilla of Gladius- and Nova-class frigates. The Imperial allied fleet that had been ready to make the transition from the warp would have obliterated this Chaos fleet in the space of minutes, such was its size, but no other vessels had made it through before the entire region had been shrouded by the Nexus Arrangement, ensuring that no further warp-traffic was able to enter or exit the Boros Gate binary system. Within the bridge of the Sword of Deliverance, Chapter Master Valens, 5th Captain Marcus Decimus, and the captain of the 7th reserve company, Cato Paulinus, viewed the enemy fleet with dawning horror.
Outnumbered and outgunned, the reeling Imperial fleet sought to pull back. The White Consuls ships hurled themselves into the maelstrom of battle with guns blazing, attempting to buy the beleaguered defence fleet some relief. Powering into the middle of the Chaos battlefleet, the White Consuls ships brought their full battery arrays to bear, blasting away at close range.
The battleship Sanctus Diabolica was ripped apart between the concentrated fire of the two Space Marine battle-barges, and another Chaos ship, the Dominus Violatus, was rendered defenceless by the combined weight of fire of the Chapter’s strike cruisers and frigates.
The monstrously powerful Crucius Maledictus annihilated the light cruiser Scythe of Faith, and a further four Boros Defence Fleet cruisers and frigates were destroyed as they tried to disengage. A desperate swathe of torpedoes, fired at extreme close range, critically damaged Dark Apostle Belagosa’s Dies Mortis. Squadrons of Starhawk bombers riddled her hull with plasma detonations before themselves being obliterated by the battleship’s cloud of daemon-infused fighters.
More manoeuvrable than the larger Chaos battleships, the White Consuls strike cruisers cut through the field of destruction like knives. They focussed their weapon batteries on the isolated and defenceless Dominus Violatus, pummelling it with bombardment cannons and las-batteries until it was a shattered wreck. The strike cruisers retreated as the heavier Chaos ships lurched around to bring their broadsides to bear, though the Eternal Faith, holding the entirety of the Chapter’s 2nd Company, suffered grievous damage as she was caught at the edge of a nova cannon blast from the hulking Crucius Maledictus.
The Pride of Redolus, a truly ancient Avenger-class grand cruiser, was surrounded by three Chaos ships that circled it like sharks. They pounded it into submission as it attempted to disengage. Under the calm direction of its captain, it inflicted major structural damage upon Ankh-Heloth’s flagship, the Corruptus Maligniatus, and stripped the shields of the Infidus Diabolus before it died, exploding in a series of catastrophic plasma-core detonations.
One of the White Consuls battle-barges, the Sword of Deliverance, caught a glancing blow from the Crucius Maledictus, knocking out almost half of its starboard cannon arrays and sending it keening off course as it came to a new heading. It collided with the Dies Mortis, and the powerful ships were locked together for some minutes before the Sword blasted its way free.
Now isolated from the Boros battlefleet, the Sword of Deliverance was rounded upon by the Chaos fleet, which battered it with ordnance and waves of heavy cannon fire. As powerfully armoured and shielded as the mighty battle-barge was, even it could not stand against such overwhelming hatred, and it reeled as its shields were torn apart and its hull hammered by the heavy incoming fire. Gleaming towers and castellated sensor arrays were ripped from its body, and its port-mounted lance batteries were shorn off, spinning into space.
Formations of Thunderhawks erupted from the launch bays of the Sword of Deliverance, but they were not enough to hold off the plague of fighters and Stormbirds that descended over her like a vicious swarm of predatory insects, tearing at the battle-barge’s hide with plasma charges and cluster bombs. The proud vessel’s core was approaching critical, and fuel and air bled from the gashes in its side. Still it continued to fight on, its active turrets and gun batteries blasting away at the enemy swarming around it.
The Sword of Truth and the surviving frigates of the White Consuls Chapter turned back into the face of the Chaos fleet. Desperate to save Chapter Master Valens and the mighty battle-barge, they launched a swift strike back into the fray. The desperate manoeuvre cut through the Chaos line, and while the White Consuls ships took heavy damage, the Sword of Deliverance managed to limp out of the danger zone under the protective fire of the Chapter’s gunships.
As the survivors of the Boros Defence Fleet pulled away, finally extricating themselves from the slower vessels of the XVII Legion, the Chaos fleet vented its fury upon the White Consuls, enveloping them and pounding them with thousands of tonnes of ordnance. Having bought enough time for the Sword of Deliverance to extricate itself from the heaviest fighting, the heavily outnumbered Consuls vessels veered away sharply, attempting to pull back. The strike cruiser Sacred Blade was severely damaged in the firefight, and almost half the Chapter’s frigates were destroyed in that one engagement as they attempted to fight their way free of the Chaos fleet surrounding them.
Slowest to turn and pull away was the retreating battle-barge Sword of Truth. Thanks to her guns, her sister-ship, the Sword of Deliverance, had managed to get away, bearing Chapter Master Valens to safety, but now the ship was suffering for its heroics.
A hugely powerful yet heavy vessel, the Sword of Truth did not have the speed or manoeuvrability of the smaller Astartes vessels. Pounded from all sides, its shields and armoured hull taking a hammering, the Sword of Truth nevertheless exacted a heavy toll on the Chaos ships, rotating turrets drilling its attackers with relentless fire. Diverting huge amounts of energy to its overloadi
ng shield-arrays, it could not pull away fast enough, and like circling predators, the Chaos ships moved to cut it off from its brethren.
Chapter Master Valens wanted to turn the Sword of Deliverance back around to aid its sister-ship, but the battle-barge was in no fit state, and he knew in his heart that if he did so both battle-barges would be lost.
Realising that he was cut off, Captain Augustus of 2nd Company, the most senior officer aboard the battle-barge, signalled his intentions to his Chapter Master and ordered the Sword of Truth to come about to a new heading, turning and ploughing straight towards the Trajan asteroid belt. The sudden move threw off most of its attackers, and Imperial battle platforms within the asteroid belt began to fire past the approaching battle-barge, zeroing in on its pursuers.
Alone amongst the Chaos fleet, Kol Badar had predicted the move, and the Infidus Diabolus had already been turning as the Sword of Truth swung for the safety of the asteroid belt.
Marduk’s ship did not have the firepower to cripple the vessel before it was in amongst the asteroids, but the Dark Apostle had no intention of destroying it.
“Remember, Apostles, we need one of their ships left intact,” Ekodas had said in the conclave aboard the Crucius Maledictus. Marduk intended to be the one to claim the glory of achieving that goal.
The Infidus Diabolus turned on her side as she came astern of the mighty White Consuls battle-barge, raking her flanks with cannon fire. Then, as the roaring of the cannons died down, waves of Dreadclaws were launched from assault tubes, spat towards the battle-barge which could do little but brace for the inevitable impact, the vast majority of her Thunderhawks having already fallen and her defensive turrets now offline.
With pinpoint accuracy the Dreadclaws hurtled towards the battle-barge, their target locations designated by Kol Badar. The Coryphaus of the 34th knew the layout of the enemy battle-barge well, for he had orchestrated the destruction of its like in battle before, and the XVII Legion had several similar vessels in its flotillas. He knew precisely where to hit to inflict the most damage, precisely where to aim in order that the boarding parties secreted within the Dreadclaws would cause the most havoc. He knew where to strike to take control of the ship’s engines, and the precise deck locales he needed to secure in order to bring the vessel to a halt.
A score of boarding pods screamed towards the neck of the battle-barge, while others dipped beneath its looming hull to strike in deep towards its belly. These would assault the shield generators and the engine-core respectively, while other waves hurtled towards other locations as identified and marked by Kol Badar—boarding parties designated to take control of gun decks, to cut off expected counter-attack routes, to knock out communications, and others to isolate the warp drives.
A last burst of Dreadclaws powered towards the towers atop the hulking stern. Rising over a kilometre above the rear of the battle-barge’s superstructure, this tiered, crenulated location was not unlike a fortress-monastery in its own right. The warrior brothers packed into those assault pods readied themselves for combat, preparing to fight their way onto the bridge.
Leading the assault, Marduk roared the Catechisms of Defilement and Hate as his Dreadclaw screamed towards its target. Projected across all channels, his impassioned recitation drove his warriors into a fanatical blood-rage. Spouting psalms of debasement and vitriol, Marduk whipped them into a frenzied state of hyper-aggression, further heightened by the combat drugs pumping through their systems and the blaring roar of Chaos that thundered from the grilled vox-amplifiers of the Dreadclaws.
With colossal force the Dreadclaws struck the outer hull of the battle-barge, talon-like claws latching on tightly, gouging great rents in its metal skin. Phase-cutters hissed like monstrous serpents as they carved through the Sword of Truth’s thick armour, metres of dense plating turning molten beneath the blinding arcs of energy. Blobs of liquid metal drifted off into space around the ships as the Dreadclaws burrowed through the outer shell, and unleashed their deadly cargo within.
In a tide of screaming hatred, the 34th Host boarded the Sword of Truth.
Exalted champion Khalaxis of the 17th Coterie was the first of the Word Bearers to step foot aboard the Sword of Truth. His cheeks were carved with fresh cuts inflicted by his own ritual khantanka blade, and his mane of thick dreadlocks swung wildly as he hurled himself into the enemy, roaring in hatred.
Always the first into any engagement, and invariably the last to be extracted, the 17th Coterie were brutal warriors all, savage berserkers who wore the grisly trophies of those they had defeated around their waists. Their shoulder pads were draped with skins ripped from the corpses of powerful enemies overcome in personal combat; it was an old Colchis belief that by donning the flesh of powerful defeated enemies, you were able to harness a portion of their strength.
While the Word Bearers as a Legion worshipped Chaos in all its glory, Khalaxis and his brood had a tendency to gravitate towards the sole worship of great Khorne, the Bloodied One, the Skull Taker, the brazen god of destruction and brutality. For the most part Marduk overlooked this failing, as had his predecessor Jarulek, merely for the fact that Khalaxis and his squad were such devastating shock troops, and that their pre-battle blood-rituals honouring Khorne lent them unmatched fury and savagery.
With an animalistic roar of pure rage, Khalaxis hacked his chainaxe into the chest of a White Consuls Chapter serf, the screaming teeth of the weapon ripping apart carapace armour and hungrily shearing through his rib cage in a glorious explosion of viscera and bone. Hot blood splattered across Khalaxis’ face, which was twisted into that of a monster by battle-lust, the heady, metallic scent of the man’s lifeblood merely fuelling his frenzy further. He fired his bolt pistol at close range and another two serfs were slain, exploding from within as bolt rounds penetrated their bodies and detonated.
The Chapter serfs that served aboard the Sword of Truth were bigger, stronger and more disciplined than regular men, and had arms and armour equivalent to Imperial Guard storm-troopers. Even so, they were like children next to the fury of the power armoured juggernauts of muscle and rage that were the members of Khalaxis’ 17th Coterie, who smashed into them with the force of a sledgehammer. Limbs were hacked from bodies and warrior serfs were tossed aside like rag-dolls, arms and spines shattering as the force of the 17th’s charge hit home.
Automated defence turrets emerged from the battle-barge’s decks and autocannons began to scream, shredding the armour of several Word Bearers, misting the air with blood. More Dreadclaws struck home, filling the air with acrid black smoke as they cut through the hull plating of the battle-barge to disgorge their Coteries upon the enemy.
Within moments, the silence of the lower deck corridors had erupted into roars and screams of pain, the deafening whine of autocannons and the deeper thump of bolters, as well as the painful grind of chainaxe and sword carving bone and armour. Word Bearers bellowed prayers and passages from their holy scripture. Khalaxis snarled as his enhanced hearing picked up the shouts of White Consuls sergeants as they barked their orders.
From the deck floor rose thick armoured barriers, angled shields of dense ceramite, adamantium and rockcrete designed to aid in repelling boarding actions. Through the smoke, Kol Badar saw armoured figures in white power armour taking up positions behind these barricades, dropping down behind them and hefting bolters up, bring them to bear on the invaders. In a microsecond he had noted their number and position, and as he hacked the head from the shoulders of another hapless Chapter serf, he registered an enemy Devastator squad moving up to join the defence, hauling their servo-balanced heavy weapons. Their sergeant ducked down behind a barricade and pointed in Khalaxis’ direction as the last of the Chapter serfs were cut down, and the four heavy bolter-toting Space Marines accompanying him set their feet wide, bringing their immense weapons to bear.
With a snarl of hatred, Khalaxis threw himself into a roll as heavy bolter fire began to rake across the battle line, the deep percussive roar of
the weapons deafening. Great chunks were gouged out of the walls and deck floor beneath the explosive barrage of heavy fire. Three of Khalaxis’ Coterie were ripped apart, torn limb from limb by the annihilating rate of fire unleashed upon them.
Khalaxis slammed down behind a steel-plated storage crate, spitting in fury as bolter rounds screamed through the air around him. He thumbed a pair of grenades into his hand and rose from his position, hurling them towards the Devastator squad before ducking back behind cover. As quick as he was, a bolt round struck him in the neck, a glancing hit that passed through his flesh and out the other side. It penetrated one of the exhaust arms of his power plant backpack, which exploded in a shower of superheated shrapnel, peppering the back of his skull with razor shards.
The grenades detonated, and while none of the White Consuls dropped, they were forced to hunker down behind cover. It would be a second or two before they had set themselves again, and Khalaxis launched himself towards them, bellowing in blood-frenzy as he closed the distance, the last of his Coterie a step behind.
A bolt round whizzed past his ear, scant centimetres away, and one of his brethren was felled as a burst of plasma caught him in the head, turning his horned helmet molten. Khalaxis leapt a barricade, planting his foot upon its top and leaping towards the Devastators that were even now swinging their heavy weapons in his direction.
They began to fire a moment before he got there, taking down two more of his brethren before they were overrun.
Their sergeant, whose helmet was royal blue with a white laurel painted around its crown, rose to meet the charging Word Bearers, and Khalaxis threw himself forwards to meet the challenge.
Chainaxe met chainsword in a clatter of rapidly spinning ceramite teeth. The White Consul was Khalaxis’ equal in height and strength, and he turned his blade expertly to the side, using the exalted champion’s momentum to sidestep him. The White Consul fired a plasma pistol blast square into the chest of another of Khalaxis’ Coterie as the blood-crazed champion staggered, sending the warrior brother flying backwards, his armour a molten ruin.
[Word Bearers 03] - Dark Creed Page 9
