by Thorpe, Gav
Gevren [imperative]:
The scanner log thrust into Exasas’ consciousness revealed a second wave of aircraft coming from the citadel itself, their course taking them directly towards the Casus Belli.
An inferno raged around Ghelsa and Harkas as they clambered ever upwards. Curtains of white-and-blue flame rained around them, kept at bay only by the flaring void shields and the ministrations of the duluz within the downdecks. Dim shapes flitted beyond the conflagration as smaller aircraft strafed around the Casus Belli. Ghelsa imagined the incinerating heat washing over them, but the void shields kept out even the tiniest hint of warmth.
‘Praise the Machine-God for the artifices that deliver us from death,’ she declared, helping Harkas to swing over to another narrow ledge and one last set of ladders. This brought them up the flank of the akropoliz, to the crenellated edge of the outer fighting platform. They came upon a maintenance access door just below the revetment, a hatch about a metre in diameter. Ghelsa rested against the red-painted ferrocrete while Harkas tried the handle. It did not open.
‘I see no lock,’ he said, straining at the metal bar.
‘It might just be rusted a little,’ she said, motioning for him to let her have a look. She grasped the handle and turned, using all the force of her exo-skeleton. With a shriek the handle came away, shearing at the point of contact with the door.
‘Apologies, mighty Casus Belli,’ Ghelsa said quickly, laying a comforting hand on the wall beside the hatch. ‘In error I have sought by force that which I should have asked permission to do. I will make amends.’
She touched the broken handle to her brow-cog and stowed it in a pouch at her belt. She examined the door again, hoping that perhaps the handle coming away had exposed the mechanism, but it was not so.
‘It’s no use, we won’t be getting in this way.’
Harkas took something out of one of his skin pockets. Sunlight caught on a flash of metal as he cast his arm up. A thread-slender line snaked out of his hand after it and hung down the wall as whatever he had thrown attached somewhere over the battlement. Ghelsa looked dubiously at the wisp of a line.
‘It comes from a Catachan funnelthread spider,’ said the inquisitor. ‘The Catachan regiments use it to weave anti-blast vests. Believe me, if you were strong enough you could pick up a battle tank with it.’
‘And at the top?’ Ghelsa looked up but could not see what had attached to the ferrocrete.
‘Microadhesive suspensor,’ Harkas said. ‘Similar to the mag-grips used in the boots of Space Marines.’
He grabbed the thread in both hands and put a foot against the surface of the akropoliz foundations.
‘What other fancy things have you got hidden away?’
‘All manner.’ Muscles taut, Harkas started climbing, walking up the wall. ‘Just in case.’
Ghelsa found it more difficult, her exo-callipers affecting the fine motor coordination of her fingers so that it was hard to keep a grip on the thread. She had to reach up and wrap it around her hand, pull herself after Harkas and then unwind the line from her other hand. It was time-consuming and the inquisitor waited for her beneath the line of the akropoliz battlement. Ghelsa was happy to stretch across and hang by her fingers from the stone-like material, easing into a gap in the crenellations to check there was nobody around.
The expanse of the carapace was a courtyard in front of the gates and towers of the main akropoliz, inside which were located secondary batteries, a volcano cannon, the Astropathic tower and anti-aircraft weapons. Barracks for more skitarii and the temples of the tech-priests took up the rest of the high castle. Several high-arched gates and a profusion of windows and smaller doorways broke the buttressed walls and soaring towers. Scrying-servitors linked to augur systems peered down gargoyle-like from beneath the turrets and upper ramparts, scanning with dead eyes.
Harkas moved to pull himself over the lip of the wall but Ghelsa thrust out a hand to stop him. He dangled thirty metres above the ground.
‘Remember, I said I would get you this far, and then we’re finished,’ Ghelsa said.
‘I remember.’ Harkas looked at her hand on his chest, and then at her, one eyebrow raised in challenge. She withdrew her hand with a look of apology. ‘Once we are inside the akropoliz,’ he said, ‘you can find a place in which to lie low and I will track down the moderatus prime to locate my sigil.’
‘Agreed.’
A klaxon sounded just as they were about to clamber onto the courtyard, and in response the main gate of the akropoliz heaved open, spilling incense and skitarii into the open. Ghelsa froze, her heart hammering as squads of warriors fanned out, faces hidden behind breather masks. They wore segmented armour beneath coats and robes of Metalica white and carried an assortment of rifles and pistols.
With them came tech-priests, some humanoid, some scuttling on tentacle-limbs or floating across the ferrocrete on personal suspensor fields. Electricity sparking along their naked limbs, fulgurite priests moved with the throng of warriors, their voices raised in crackling prayers to the Machine-God.
Last to arrive was a creature that stood twice as tall as the skitarii, propelled into the open on four piston-like legs. Pierced stacks jutting from its robed back spewed scented exhaust fumes. Two large cannons flanked an armoured torso, above them a pair of mechanical arms that ended in a variety of drills, graspers and connection plugs. Its insect-like face swept left and right on an articulated neck, surveying the scene, multifaceted eyes glinting in the sunlight and the glare of energy cells.
‘That is the magos dominus!’ exclaimed Harkas. ‘Xaiozanus Exasas, the Bellicosis Majoris.’
‘He’s the one you said was loyal, that you were going to speak to.’ Ghelsa smiled, scarcely believing their good fortune. ‘He’s right there! Go on!’
‘I cannot,’ replied Harkas. He pursed his lips in frustration. ‘As you pointed out earlier, I have no evidence of the conspiracy. My only hope is to invoke my Inquisitorial authority, and for that I will need to present my sigil as proof of my position.’
Ghelsa frowned, not quite sure she understood the objection. Before she could voice her opinion on the matter, Harkas continued.
‘Also, I believe the dominus may have other concerns at present.’ He pointed past Ghelsa.
She turned her head. Angular shapes rapidly approached against the clouds of smoke that billowed up from the fire-bombing. As they swept closer Ghelsa could make out dragon-like bodies with mechanical wings, creatures that were a disturbing mix of organic and artificial. She was no stranger to the more bizarre artifices of the Cult Metalica, but the eyes of these beasts burned with an otherworldly glimmer and left unnatural vortices in their wake. She fancied she heard vicious screeches, though it was likely impossible over the noise of the Imperator’s progress and her own hammering pulse.
With them came a sight even more alarming – gunships of archaic design, painted in a bright livery of pink and black, decorated in garish stripes and patterns.
‘Space Marines of the Traitor Legions,’ whispered Harkas. ‘A boarding attack!’
Enclosed within the armoured layers of his warskin, Exasas-tactical turned wide-spectrum lenses towards the incoming assault craft. He could not codify a single pattern among them – each had been heavily modified. The half-mechanical creatures that accompanied them defied any sort of analysis, and his weapons appendages oscillated slightly at the thought of warp-corruption.
His mind raced with specific datastreams, analysing the likely landing sites and attack stratagems the enemy would employ. As the warskin encased his material form, so the Exasas-tactical persona shielded his thoughts against the anxieties of strategic calculation. The magos dominus fixated on his immediate mission – to repel the incoming attack.
Through the billow of cleansing incense that spilled from the open gateway of the akropoliz, the skitarii corps raced to their positions, their alphas directing them to the best firin
g points to meet the incoming flyers. A handful of battle-priests spurted streams of binaric to one another as they helped muster the defence, but Exasas-tactical voiced his orders through every medium equally, addressing his troopers via audible sound waves even as his thoughts pressed into the minds of his noospherically cogent companions.
‘Now is the plan of the enemy revealed. While the guns of the traitors seek to fell our companion-engines, the enemy think they can gouge out the insides of Casus Belli with this attack. We will meet them head-on and repulse the landing.’
As he spoke, the magos dominus readied the weapons protruding from the clavicular mounts of the warskin. His twinned serpenta grunted into life, followed by the crack of the first phosphor rounds entering their firing chambers. Using dorsal manipulators, he fed the beltfeed from a thoracic ammunition cavity into the mounted mascrostubber. A powerfield gleamed blue against his serrated plates as Exasas-tactical activated the relays of the long blades that jutted from his abdominal plates.
Above, more squads mounted their weapons on the ramparts of the defensive galleries, heavy culverins and arquebuses directed towards the enemy. Guided by the will of Gevren in the command module below them, the anti-aircraft batteries blazed, surrounding the oncoming craft with fire and smoke. One of the alphas suborned the noospheric connection.
Alpha Hakreda:
Exasas-tactical passed on the request, sliding back into the noosphere for Gevren’s attention. A quick assessment demonstrated that any change in the fire patterns was not likely to have a significant effect before the enemy were able to deploy their troops, if the moderatus prime even considered the suggestion.
‘Stand by to repel boarding parties. Direct coordinated salvos and then retreat – they will attempt to use frag launchers and landing jets to clear the ramparts.’
The white-coated squads lining the outer wall raised their weapons, awaiting the command from their alphas. Sparks flared along the wings of the incoming gunships, and the drake-like monstrosities accompanying them opened their fanged jaws, revealing whirling energies within their gullets. Arcane lightning spat from the mouths of the half-mechanical beasts as rockets seared from the gunships towards the waiting skitarii. Sorcerous blasts shrieked across the armour of the tech-guard, cooking their flesh. Even as the warp-blasts scythed through them the skitarii remained stoically at their positions, their resolve bolstered by the imperatives Exasas projected across the noosphere.
Point defence guns opened fire, quad-mounted heavy stubbers that blazed thousands of rounds at the incoming attack. Black detonations marked the sky as they intercepted a handful of rockets. The detonations of those that passed through the fusillade erupted along the wall, tearing apart Exasas-tactical’s warriors with a storm of shrapnel and razor-sharp metal fragments.
Exasas-tactical impelled the survivors with the attack imperative. They blazed with arc rifles, radium carbines and plasma calivers in ongoing volleys of multicoloured fury. The dragon-engines screeched and veered away, driven back by the weight of fire, but the blocky gunships ploughed through even as plasma blasts and scintillating beams scoured across their hulls and canopies.
Scanning the gunships with a variety of visual and others senses, Exasas-tactical detected several patterns of bolter weapons and other anti-personnel armaments. They would be in range of the Imperator’s akropoliz in a few seconds.
‘Fall back.’
With the verbal command Exasas-tactical broadcast the withdrawal order. The alphas responded instantly, each a tactical vector that disseminated the magos dominus’ needs into their squads. As a wave of white, the skitarii turned and ran. Just a second later, the gunships raked fire across the parapet where the defenders had been. A few skitarii that had been slowed by flesh wounds were caught in the onslaught. Bolts detonated inside their bodies, hurling out chunks of flesh, broken cybernetics and tatters of white fabric.
Ghelsa stifled a cry as yet another gunship circled overhead, spilling armoured warriors onto the upper parapets. The reek of charred flesh carried on the wind, rank in her nostrils, as the acrid smoke of the warpflame stung her eyes. The bark of weapons turrets had lessened, the gunners overcome as more traitor legionaries made breaches into the akropoliz.
The magos dominus led a counter-attack, scything down the power-armoured renegades with a volley of phosphor fire. The skitarii concentrated the pulses of their arc rifles against the superhuman troopers, driving them back from the main gates.
‘This is our only chance,’ said Harkas. He hauled himself through the crenellations and rolled down to the courtyard.
Ghelsa found herself alone, holding onto the rampart while gunships and warp-dragons blazed with shells and rockets around her. It must have been barely a minute since the first attack wave had screamed down onto the akropoliz, but it felt like hours, so intense was the experience.
Panting, she pulled herself after Harkas, dropping down to the ferrocrete flags beside him. Explosions hurled chunks of the akropoliz wall across the open space, a plume of dust billowing over skitarii and Space Marines alike. The inquisitor dashed into the miasma and Ghelsa chased his half-seen outline, illuminated by an occasional flash of light as a bolt round sparked past or a radium blast slashed through the smog.
Others also retreated, many of them wounded or helping those that had been, their withdrawal covered by a constant pulse of weapons fire from squads positioned at the gates and firing ports on the upper levels. Anonymous among the wave of soldiers pressing back through the main portal, Ghelsa and Harkas slipped into the akropoliz.
‘Ready your ground,’ commanded Exasas-tactical. He delineated a defensive line across the vision of his skitarii while the alphas re-established their squad connections and assimilated the survivors of formations whose tech-priests and alphas had been slain. Like a self-repair diagnostic, the magos dominus’ host reorganised itself into the positions decreed, while Exasas-tactical calibrated his heavy weapons and aimed at the closest gunship.
Plasma jets flared as the craft burned off speed, slewing sideways to allow fuselage-mounted weaponry to rip fresh volleys against the upper towers of the akropoliz. Rapid-firing autocannons coughed shell after shell into the carapace fortification while the transports peeled away behind the tempest of fire.
Two dipped towards the rampart, their prows opening like the maws of monstrous raptors. Four more banked into the upper levels, spewing a stream of gaudily armoured Space Marines. The bright flare of jump packs flashed across Exasas-tactical’s visual sensors, slowing the descent of the Heretic Astartes as they plunged towards the akropoliz. He impulsed fresh commands to the platoon guarding the gunnery areas, sending them to the gateways and firing ports to unleash a hail of phosphor rounds and radium beams.
The two assault craft at the level of the magos touched down just inside the parapet. Even as the billowing heat wash and dust of their landing flowed over the defenders, more gene-enhanced warriors charged down their assault ramps. Among the roar of bolters came the discordant whine of sonic weapons building to lethal harmonies.
‘Eliminate.’
The simple command leapt from Exasas-tactical’s cogitation to the assembled skitarii. A wall of fire crashed across the rampart to meet the onrushing Traitor Space Marines. Exasas-tactical opened fire along with his soldiers, spewing a long burst from the phosphor blasters and a fusillade of large-calibre bullets.
Jets snarling, the gunships rose again, freeing their weapons to provide support fire for their disgorged cargo. Traitors with brightly patterned armour wielding the archaic sonic weapons strode to the fore, strumming and triggering their armaments. Artificial squeals and rising shrieks carved erratic vortices through the smog of battle, and where these disharmonic emissions passed over a skitarii they tore apart armour, stripped flesh to the bone and pulverised organs. Caught
in overlapping soundwaves, the flayed corpses seemed to dance in death, until their skeletons shattered into thousands of deadly shards.
More conventional bolt rounds accompanied the sonic onslaught, the flicker of propellant dimmed by the smoke, almost lost among the actinic flare of arc rifles.
Exasas-tactical [imperative]:
The noospheric signal connected to the cadre of tech-priests dedicated to short-range assaults. Electro-priests leapt forward from the ranks of the skitarii to meet the first warriors of the attacking force. Fulgurite devotees lashed with their electrified staves, their bodies flaring with energy discharges as the Space Marines swung chainswords and knives in return. Arcs of power leapt from the thoracic generators of the corpuscarii, their whole bodies lighting like active circuits as they hurled blasts of raw electricity into the Heretic Astartes.
Exasas-tactical joined the counter-offensive even as he transmitted the withdrawal order to the skitarii platoons. Having discharged their prepared volleys, the tech-guard were best employed defending the portals of the akropoliz itself rather than becoming entangled in a sprawling melee for which they were not suited.
A Space Marine that Exasas-tactical identified as a squad leader charged at the magos dominus with a power axe upraised. Exasas-tactical expended a small portion of energy to fuel his arc repulsor – a device of his own invention completed to confirm his elevation to the rank of magos. The arc repulsor belched forth of a wave of bluish force that flowed towards the traitor sergeant. At the moment of contact the diffused energy wave contracted, imploding upon itself to deliver a hammer blow impact that threw the Space Marine back, chest plastron and abdominal armour shattered open.
Exasas-tactical stalked forward and stood over the fallen foe to drive his powered blade into the sergeant’s exposed midriff, parting secondary heart and all three lungs with a single blow. His heavy weapons rasped fresh volleys into the squad that leapt forward to avenge their leader, muzzle flare and phosphor lighting them like crazed lumen globes.
