Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1

by Warhammer 40K

  Corpulax smiled, baring his sharpened teeth. ‘Very good, inquisitor. I’m pleased you know who I am, because I know who you are too, Mikhail Dinalt.’

  Dinalt raised his head to look the Plague Marine directly in the face but said nothing.

  ‘I know that you are a fool who has become overcome by his obsession to find this,’ he pointed to the Hellfire Stone. ‘A fool who is so blind that he would believe anything and anyone, any scrap of information that pertains to the stone. A fool who believed the dying words of an Alpha Legionnaire intentionally left behind for you to find and interrogate; who believed that an agent of the Davinicus Lycae was actually the protégé of another member of his Ordo whom he’d oathed to take under his wing upon her master’s death; who believed that a simple, single book could unlock the unfathomable secrets and enigmas of an artefact blessed by the Four.’

  With each new revelation, more of Dinalt’s will ebbed away from him. ‘No… You’re lying. The Hellfire Tome–’

  ‘The Hellfire Tome is nothing but a fake,’ Brandd said, sliding the volume out of her satchel. Its spine was split from where it had been opened and read, and the artwork on the cover had faded to the point where all that could be made out was the faint remains of an illustration of a crude locomotion device and a human figure. ‘Well, not so much a fake but a different book altogether and not a very good one at that.’ She tossed the book to Corpulax who caught it in his skeletal hand. It instantly turned to dust which the Plague Marine allowed to be carried away on the light breeze.

  ‘No. I’ve… I’ve studied it my entire life. The stone… It’s a gateway for daemons. A bridge to a fixed point within… within the warp,’ Dinalt said through sharp intakes of breath.

  ‘You narrow-minded fool. Two hundred years of study and you haven’t scratched the surface of what the Hellfire Stone is capable of, the raw power it possesses. It is all things to all men at all times. A portal into the warp is the least of its abilities. It is a prison for daemons and the means by which a man can ascend to daemonhood. It is a destroyer of worlds and a creator of life. It is a thing of such pure, unrefined beauty and an abominable horror. Right now it is a lock, one that my master would very much like opening.’ Corpulax crouched down low so that his face was almost in line with Dinalt’s. ‘I’d wager that all those years of study never told you it could be used as a lock. Don’t you still hunger for knowledge, inquisitor? Don’t you want to know how to open the lock?’

  Blood loss was taking its toll on Dinalt and he rocked from side to side, struggling to stay upright. ‘How… how do you open it?’

  Impossibly quickly, Corpulax drew a serrated blade from his belt with his non-skeletal hand and placed it at Dinalt’s throat. ‘A sacrifice, inquisitor. A blood sacrifice.’ He drew the blade across Dinalt’s neck with such force that he almost severed the head and allowed the corpse to drop sideways onto the stone, blood fountaining from the severed artery and coating the dull surface. Chao made to step forwards but decided against it when Corpulax’s Plague Marine bodyguards raised their bolters in his direction.

  Tzula turned her head away, unwilling to witness her master’s demise. ‘You’ll pay for this, Brandd. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll watch you breathe your last,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘You’d better hurry. By my estimate your lifespan can be measured in minutes at this point,’ Brandd countered.

  As the blood flowed into the grooves and runnels of the Hellfire Stone, it started to pulse and glow with an unnatural green ambience. Runes and characters from long dead blasphemous tongues formed upon its surface and a painful buzzing noise emanated from it. Just as the sound was about to become overwhelming, it ceased and the stone vanished. Tzula and Chao braced themselves for whatever horrors the unlocking was about to unleash, but it was all in vain as daemons did not suddenly materialise nor did hellfire rain down from the skies.

  Corpulax chuckled wetly. ‘The first seal is broken,’ he said opening a vox-link. Relief was etched large upon Tzula’s face – if there were more locks that needed opening there was still a chance to prevent Pythos’s damnation.

  Corpulax’s next utterance rapidly turned that relief into abject terror.

  ‘Inform Lord Abaddon he can begin landing his ground troops.’

  Just as Mack could identify the native fauna by their spoor and footprints, three years out in the jungles of Pythos had taught Piet Brigstone to recognise the same by the noise they made as they moved through the trees. Carovis were slow, lumbering bipeds, noisy creatures that found it difficult to sneak up on prey, whereas land dragons slithered along the ground but gave their presence away by bringing down trees as they went. What both of these creatures, and indeed all Pythosian land predators, had in common was that if you stood stock still with your feet on the jungle floor, you could feel the vibration of their movement from kilometres away.

  As Piet Brigstone stood stock still with his feet on the jungle floor in the mist outside the clearing he had been ordered to guard, he could hear trees coming down in the distance but felt no vibration underfoot. Zens, Mack and Kotcheff unslung their lasrifles in anticipation of dealing with yet another angry death world inhabitant but Brigstone raised his hand and shook his head. Something felt different, something felt wrong.

  ‘Liall. You and K’Cee go wait with the arbosaurs but hide at the first sign of trouble,’ he hissed quietly. ‘The rest of you melt into the jungle.’ Even if the mist hadn’t been so low, the Catachans would still have instantly disappeared. One moment they were there, the next they were like phantoms in the green, malevolently haunting the jungle.

  It did not take long for Brigstone’s prudence to pay off.

  Through the haze, two shapes resolved themselves, and though none of the Catachans had encountered this particular enemy previously, the Imperial Infantryman’s Primer had taught them to recognise their outline: Chaos Space Marines.

  Not wanting to call out and give away the element of surprise, and with visibility too poor for hand signals, Brigstone resorted to their old tribal hunting form of communication, bird calls. He made three squawks in imitation of the Catachan razorbill to signify ‘knives only, target once the kill is certain’ and received three identical responses by way of confirmation.

  If the Traitor Marines were onto them, they weren’t letting on. ‘Split up. If you find them first, save some for me,’ a voice rasped wetly from out of the mist, followed by the sound of an armoured figure moving further away. The speaker had given away his position and at that moment all four Catachan blades were poised ready to strike. Brigstone’s opportunity came first.

  A shadow in the mist formed only a few metres in front of him and, remembering what he’d been told by returning Catachan veterans who had faced this enemy before, he threw his knife aiming for the armour’s weak spot. End over end, the Catachan fang flew until its tip made contact with the seal between helmet and body armour, sliding through the corroded material with relative ease. The figure made no sound as it fell to its knees, its voice now robbed of precious air, and as it flailed to remove the blade, a human shape detached itself from the mist and thrust another, identical blade into the Traitor Marine’s throat. Gripping the hilts of both knives, Mack pulled them in opposite directions, opening the enemy’s gullet and releasing a torrent of blood, pus and other vile substances. Forcing back the urge to gag, he tossed Brigstone’s fang back to him and became one with the jungle again.

  Confident that the other Plague Marine was not in close proximity and had not heard his comrade’s murder, Brigstone addressed his squad in a whisper. ‘We have to assume that the inquisitor and his team are either dead or captured.’ He reached into the pack at his back and, after removing several items, set to work on the corpse of the Plague Marine. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do…’

  830959.M41 / Atika Hive, Pythos

  ‘I want fresh pit traps digging and the spikes coating with whatever noxious substances you can find. This planet
’s been trying to poison us for the past three years. It’s about time we start using that to our advantage.’ Colonel Strike shouted to be heard above the din of tanks being manoeuvred into position. Behind him, the vast edifice of Atika Hive thrust upwards high above the dwindling mist and into the clouds. Before him, the muddy plains that marked the approach to Pythos’s capital buzzed with the activity of an army preparing for war.

  ‘What about the rest of the armour, colonel?’ Thorne asked, motioning for a squad of Catachans to carry out the colonel’s order. ‘We can position twice as many around the hive if we have to.’

  ‘Keep the rest in reserve. Those Leman Russ are nothing more than fixed artillery platforms in these conditions and I won’t risk losing any more than we have to.’ His point was driven home by a tank to his right skidding into position before sinking into the quagmire halfway up its treads.

  ‘Look. A meteorite!’ called out a young recruit, breaking off from rolling out razor wire on the ground in front of the battle tanks.

  ‘It’s a shower,’ said another, shielding his eyes from the fierce sun and looking skywards.

  Strike gestured for a nearby officer to hand him a set of magnoculars. Without the aid of the eyeglasses, it did indeed look like one of the not infrequent meteor showers to hit the planet. With these, it was a very different story. Streaking through the sky leaving fiery contrails in their wake were drop pods. Thousands upon thousands of drop pods. Strike adjusted the zoom on the magnoculars to try and identify the markings and almost instantly regretted it. Every single one of them was daubed with a golden eight-pointed star inset with an eye motif.

  ‘Sweet mercy…’ Strike uttered.

  ‘What is it?’ Thorne asked.

  Strike handed Thorne the magnoculars. ‘I don’t think you prayed hard enough, major.’

  830959.M41 / The Deathglades. One hundred and nineteen kilometres south-east of Atika, Pythos

  ‘Pthirus?’ From behind the grille of his helmet, the Plague Marine’s words were garbled, and to Brigstone’s ears it sounded as if he was saying ‘virus’. The armoured traitor plodded on through the mire, his bulk causing him to sink further with every step forwards.

  ‘Pthirus?’ he said again, bolter swinging from side to side as he searched for his comrade. Covered by both mist and the trunks of trees, the Catachans drifted past him silently, towards their awaiting mounts and away from what was about to happen.

  ‘Pthirus?’ The Plague Marine’s tone was now one of surprise, having found his former squadmate face down in the muddy jungle floor. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called. He knelt down and with a bloated, gauntleted hand rolled the corpse over.

  It was only when he heard the multiple clicks of pins being pulled from grenades he realised what a terrible mistake he had made.

  ‘I’ll take the knife now,’ said Brandd.

  Her autopistol was aimed at Tzula’s head and the blonde acolyte held out her palm in expectation.

  ‘Don’t give it to her. Use it. Get away from here and–’ Chao’s words were abruptly cut off by the autopistol discharging. It took him a moment to realise that Tzula had not been the target and looked down to see a bloody hole where his stomach used to be, innards spilling out. ‘I… I…’ he said futilely, desperately trying to gather up the parts of his insides that had been displaced. He collapsed backwards into the mire. Brandd placed the still warm muzzle of her pistol to the side of Tzula’s head.

  ‘I’m dead either way.’

  Tzula looked down at Chao, his eyes blinking wildly, still trying to stuff his guts back inside him.

  ‘In fact, I’m not sure why I’m not dead already,’ he said.

  ‘The ritual,’ Corpulax said. ‘It is… inexact. I wasn’t sure how much blood would be required and so you were useful. That usefulness is now at an end, but if you cooperate I will grant you and your friend here a swift death. Choose to be difficult and the pain he is currently experiencing will be a mere fraction of that I will inflict upon you.’

  Tzula looked again to Chao. Stomach wounds were the worst. It could take a person hours to bleed out, every moment in pure agony. ‘How do I know you’ll keep your word?’

  ‘Because you can watch me blow his head off right before I do the same to you,’ Brandd said with a grin. ‘I won’t ask again. The knife.’

  Hesitantly, Tzula reached down to her waist and gripped the handle of the knife. She slowly slid it out of her belt and briefly considered using it as a weapon. Remembering the gun at her head, she placed it into Brandd’s still open palm. The blonde woman regarded the blade with obvious delight.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ rasped Morphidae. He moved closer to Brandd, the hem of his already filthy robes dragging in the morass beneath his feet, and stretched out a withered hand. Brandd did nothing for a moment and the old man narrowed his eyes in displeasure. Eventually, reluctantly, she passed him the knife. He gave a low moan, relief tinged with ecstasy and he looked upon the weapon greedily before placing it in the folds of his robe. ‘My eternal gratitude, Lord Corpulax. For nigh on ten millennia, the Davinicus Lycae have sought to recover that which was once ours and now, thanks in no small part to you, it is–’

  A huge explosion from the jungle behind interrupted the cult leader followed shortly after by the ruined form of a Plague Marine hurtling into the centre of the clearing from out of the trees. Two of Corpulax’s bodyguard moved out of its path but another was not quick enough and caught the corpse of his dead comrade squarely in the chest, knocking him backwards and pinning him down.

  Brandd’s Inquisition training subconsciously took over and she took the gun away from Tzula’s head to track the projectile.

  It was the opening Tzula needed.

  Dropping to her knees, she stuck out a leg and swept Brandd’s feet out from beneath her. The blonde woman dropped like a dead weight, her pistol discharging harmlessly into the air. At the same instant, from the same direction the Plague Marine’s body had blasted out of the jungle, five saurians emerged, riders on the backs of all but one. Whooping and hollering, the Catachans atop them discharged their weapons, the element of surprise accounting quickly for two more of the Plague Marines.

  ‘Tzula! Jump on that one,’ Brigstone yelled, indicating the riderless arbosaur. Tzula rose to her feet and unceremoniously barged Morphidae to the ground with her shoulder. The arbosaur was still some distance away and she sprinted across the clearing, avoiding both enemy and friendly fire. Mack, with Liall seated behind him, laid down covering fire and her route to the beast was unimpeded, the heavy bolter sending Plague Marines diving for cover. As her mount tried to dart past her, Tzula gripped the reins hard and brought the arbosaur to heel. She had just got one foot in a stirrup when she heard a female voice from behind her.

  ‘So close, Tzula. So close,’ Brandd said. She was no more than ten metres away from her target and her autopistol was levelled at Tzula. ‘I’m really going to enjoy this.’

  Before she could squeeze the firing stud, a single bolt pistol shot rang out, catching Brandd’s shoulder with a glancing hit and forcing her to drop the weapon.

  ‘Go… go now,’ Chao said weakly from where he was still slowly bleeding out, smoking bolt pistol in hand.

  Tzula looked upon her friend for one last time and smiled sadly before throwing her other leg over the arbosaur and snapping the reins. Seeing that Tzula was safely mounted, the Catachans ceased firing and charged for the edge of the clearing and the comparative safety of the misted jungle. Brigstone and K’Cee were first to disappear into the haze, quickly followed by Kotcheff, then Mack and Liall. Zens wasn’t so fortunate, her route out of the clearing taking her through a Plague Marine’s line of fire. A short burst of bolter fire shredded her torso and dropped her corpse from the back of the arbosaur.

  Ducking low to avoid the shots whizzing overhead, Tzula took a look back over her shoulder. Striding across the clearing, recovered pistol in hand, Brandd made her way over to the prone form of Chao. The la
st thing she saw before the fog enveloped her was the blonde traitor delivering one clean shot to the gunslinger’s head.

  With pained relief, she snapped the reins again and rode hard for Atika.

  Corpulax was not quick to anger but, as he stood in the centre of the clearing looking around at the carnage wrought upon his bodyguard by a handful of mere Imperial Guardsmen, he could understand why some saw the attraction of following the Blood God. Four Plague Marines lay dead, another two needed the ministrations of a chirurgeon and the double-agent was bleeding from a shoulder wound. He thought about turning his ire upon her but, upon seeing the old man rising out of the mud with the help of his staff, knew that it would have more effect to channel his displeasure at the organ grinder rather than the monkey.

  ‘This was supposed to have been simple, old man. Instead, four of the blessed are lost to us and one of Dinalt’s acolytes has escaped. Lord Abaddon will flay your soul for this,’ Corpulax said, his voice bubbling with rage.

  Morphidae cleared his throat uneasily. ‘The mission was a partial success. We have broken the first of the seven seals and soon the Damnation Cache will be opened. And besides,’ he reached into the folds of his robe, ‘after nearly ten millennia the Davinicus Lycae have reclaimed the athame… The Emerald Cave will be opened and its prisoner set…’ His voice tailed off as he frantically patted his garb seeking the elusive blade. ‘The knife. It was here. I had it only a moment ago!’

  Brandd turned away, shaking her head in disbelief and disgust.

  Corpulax advanced on the old man. ‘There is one thing you must remember while in the service of Abaddon the Despoiler.’ The towering Plague Marine placed his skeletal hand scant centimetres from Morphidae’s head. ‘You only ever fail him once,’ he finished allowing the tips of his fingers to touch the old man’s scalp, instantly turning him to dust.

  Meanwhile, already over a kilometre away and heading back towards the planetary capital at speed, former thief turned Inquisition agent, Tzula Digriiz, checked her belt to make sure that the blade was still safely stowed there.