by Graeme Lyon
‘How did you come to this conclusion?’ asked the sergeant, disbelief tingeing his voice. ‘I don’t see–’
‘It had something to do with the other rift, at Fort Kerberos. That seems clear, as it was there. And killing the servants of the Dark Gods seems to affect the waxing and waning. It may be a long shot, but it’s the only one we have. And so I will prevail, because I must.’
Aeroth was silent for a time, and Sentina knew what he was thinking. ‘Don’t come down here, Darin,’ he cautioned. ‘Don’t make the same mistake again. Follow orders, do your duty. For the Emperor.’
‘…for the Emperor,’ echoed Aeroth. ‘Good hunting, Manet. Or goodbye.’
The vox clicked off. Sentina took a deep breath and pressed the activation stud on his crozius. He heard a rumble of stone cracking and breaking. It came closer, and he realised that whatever the daemon was that was approaching, it was big. So big, and so strong, that it was warping the structure of the narrow tunnel to heave its bulk through. He gripped his weapon tightly, and in moments, he saw his opponent.
The daemon prince entered the chamber and pulled itself up to its full height. It towered over the Chaplain, its great bloated form fully thrice his height and many times his mass.
‘Is this it?’ it thundered, its words worming their way directly into Sentina’s brain. ‘Are you all that stands in my way?’
‘I am enough,’ said Sentina. He took a step forward. ‘I am a warrior of the Emperor.’ Another step. ‘I am His force in this universe.’ Another. He stood directly before the daemon now. ‘I am His weapon, and His shield, and I will be your doom, creature of the abyss.’ He raised his crozius arcanum and pulled it back, preparing to strike. The daemon did nothing.
‘For the Emperor!’ Sentina roared, and swung one-handed, putting all his strength, all his anger and all his hatred into the blow. The eagle head of the mace smashed into the daemon’s armour above its knee and pulped flesh, passing straight through. Almost immediately, the wound began to knit.
‘Is that your best shot, Ultramarine?’ the daemon hissed.
‘No,’ replied Sentina, revealing the krak grenade he had been priming with his other hand as he struck. ‘That was just creating somewhere to put this.’ He punched the grenade into the healing wound and threw himself back as it detonated. The daemon’s leg exploded and it toppled. Sentina rolled to avoid being crushed beneath its bulk. The daemon swung out with its blade and caught him a glancing blow. He was thrown back against the wall. The daemon pulled itself up on one massive arm and looked down at its leg. A combination of blood, pus and dark, immaterial energy flowed from the wound, but it was already healing.
‘Nothing you do can kill Naracoth, mortal,’ it said. ‘I have been blessed by my master for my faithful service. I am forever.’
‘You are a tool of darkness,’ said Sentina. ‘And I am the Emperor’s light.’
The sword lashed out again, and Sentina stepped into the strike. The dark energy of the blade met the rosarius that the Chaplain wore on his chest, and the conversion field inside the arcane device activated, turning the force of the attack into a great blast of light. The dark sword shattered as the light hit it, a thousand pieces melting into thin air as if it had never existed.
‘Impossible,’ Naracoth screamed, and the word was like snakes writhing in Sentina’s head. He felt his nose bleed again and struggled to stay upright as the creature’s corruption assailed him.
‘Nothing is impossible for men of faith,’ said Sentina. ‘And you do not have faith, fiend.’
‘What need have I of faith?’ spat the daemon. ‘My gods are real. Yours is a cripple on a world half the galaxy away.’
‘The Emperor is no god, fool. My faith is in myself. And that is why I.’ Sentina swung his crozius again, and the daemon was thrown back. ‘Have.’ Another swing, another few metres. ‘Won,’ he finished, and with one final titanic blow, he pushed the daemon prince into the rift. It screamed – the universe screamed – and Sentina was thrown from his feet. He heard the daemon inside his head again and knew without a doubt that its soul, what remained of it, was being devoured by its master for its failure.
Then it was gone, and all was silence. He picked himself up, aching all over, and looked at the rift.
It was growing. In moments, it was the biggest he had seen it. And it kept getting bigger. Sentina backed away, and horror filled him.
‘Thank you…’ He heard the daemon’s voice, weak and distant, echoing in his head. ‘My first death broke the first seal and opened the rift. My second death opened the other and ensured my master’s victory. Victory…’ It faded away to nothingness, and Sentina’s world turned upside down. He had done what the daemon wanted. He had not defeated it. He had aided it.
He had failed. Orath was doomed.
NINE
The rift was expanding.
Sentina lifted Alia’s body from the ground and stepped backwards, away from the growing unlight. He could see things forming in the event horizon of the portal, the impossible forms of daemons, in infinite variety. All the forces of Chaos waited behind there, ready to unleash themselves not only on Orath, but on the entire sector. He looked down at the dead girl in his arms and felt the shame of failure, and grief. Pure grief, such as he had not felt since the deaths of his brothers at the talons of the tyranids. Alia had been brave and strong. She had saved his life, and it would be for naught. Her faith in him had been misplaced. He couldn’t save her world.
‘Emperor save me,’ he breathed. ‘I have failed. I killed the beast, and still I have failed.’
‘Have you?’
The Chaplain turned. Andronicus stood beneath the immense archway that formed the entrance to the chamber. The priest looked calm.
Sentina flung out his arm. ‘Look, priest. The daemon is destroyed, yet the darkness remains. It grows. It will consume us all, and much more besides. I have failed again, and more will die by my failure.’
‘No, Manet. You haven’t. Not yet. One last test stands before you. Fail that, and we will all be lost. But for now, there is still a chance.’
‘You speak in riddles, old man. Come, we must leave here before we are consumed.’ Sentina picked up the priest. Holding him under one arm and Alia’s corpse under the other, he ran up the stairs.
The pause was over. Whatever had stopped the daemonic hordes in their tracks for an instant had ended, and their fury was redoubled. Aeroth fired volley after volley from his grav-cannon, each wave of gravitic force tearing unnatural bodies asunder or smashing rockcrete and blasting them from their feet. It was to no avail. They were endless, and the Centurions were few.
‘On me,’ he ordered, his voice booming across the charnel ground that the courtyard had become. Oenomaus blipped an acknowledgement, as did Lentulus a second later. He heard the chatter of heavy bolters and the thunder of the titanic footsteps, and the young battle-brother came into view, his explosive rounds chewing up daemonic flesh with every step. Behind him was Lentulus. He wasn’t firing, instead using his lascannons as melee weapons, battering aberrant monstrosities aside with each blow. The pair fought their way over to their sergeant.
‘You have a plan?’ asked Lentulus.
Aeroth laughed hollowly. ‘No plan but to die as brothers, fighting side by side.’
Lentulus grunted. ‘Not your best effort, sergeant. But it’ll do.’
‘For Ultramar!’ shouted Aeroth, his words blasting from his vox-emitters across the din of battle. ‘Courage and honour!’ His brothers took up the cry as they opened fire on the daemons.
‘Courage and honour!’
‘Brother-sergeant.’ Sentina’s voice crackled across the vox.
‘Manet. You yet live?’ Aeroth couldn’t keep the joy from his tone. He turned towards the keep, searching for Sentina, crushing a pack of daemonic hounds with a gravitational blast as he did so, and firing a volley from his chest-mounted hurricane bolters. The mass-reactive shells tore apart a trio of sinister and sinuou
s daemons with features that were horrific and long claws in place of hands.
By contrast, the Chaplain’s words were tinged with darkness. ‘Not for long, brother. The rift expands. It will consume us all. Fall back, get as far from here as possible.’
‘There is no falling back, brother.’ He swung and fired another grav-blast. ‘The enemy is everywhere. All we can do is go down fighting.’
By his side, the other two Centurions poured las-fire and explosive bolts into the teeming hordes of warp creatures. ‘Is there nothing that can be done?’ asked Oenomaus through gritted teeth. ‘No way that we can close this portal and end this infernal invasion?’
‘There is always a way,’ replied Lentulus, launching a volley of frag missiles from his chest-launcher, sending shards of hot metal scything through a dozen twisted bodies. ‘But we can’t always see what it is.’
‘“Fight always with one eye on your objective and one on the reality around you. That way you can see when the path twists.” The wisdom of Thiel.’ Sentina’s voice was thoughtful. ‘Sometimes the path of light is obscured by darkness.’
‘I don’t recognise that second quotation,’ said Aeroth. ‘What are you talking about, Manet?’
‘Something the priest said.’
‘That old fool,’ spat Lentulus. ‘He’s senile.’
‘He may be wiser than any of us realise, brother. I have an idea.’
‘Is it a good idea?’ asked Aeroth.
‘No better than any of yours, Darin.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that. What do you need us to do?’
‘Keep fighting. And if this works, don’t let Orath be abandoned. Don’t let our sacrifices be in vain. Keep this world alive, brothers. In Guilliman’s name.’
‘In Guilliman’s name,’ echoed Aeroth, instinct taking over. By the time he realised that Sentina had spoken of sacrifices, the Chaplain had cut the vox-link.
‘What’s he going to do?’ asked Oenomaus.
‘Something foolish and heroic,’ said Aeroth. ‘Let’s go and help.’ Turning slowly, the sergeant backhanded a blade-wielding, blood-soaked daemon so hard that its skull burst, and began to trudge through the press of bodies towards the keep.
‘One last chance,’ said Sentina. ‘What did you mean, priest?’
They stood above the entrance to the tunnel, before the immense stone aquila. Andronicus rested against the sigil, leaning almost nonchalantly. He patted his robes and pulled out a battered canteen. Pulling the stopper out, he took a long swig before offering it to the Chaplain.
‘I don’t want a drink. I want answers. What did you mean? Is there still a way to stop this?’
‘You seem different, Manet. Why is that?’
Sentina turned, frustrated, and punched the wall. Rockcrete cracked and dust billowed. ‘Answers, old man,’ he growled.
‘I don’t have answers. I only have the questions you need. Why are you different?’
The Chaplain pointed to Alia’s body, small and frail-looking on the cold stone floor. ‘She died saving my life. She sacrificed herself for me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she believed I could save her world. Because she…’ He trailed off.
‘Because she had faith,’ finished Andronicus.
‘Yes.’
‘And what of your faith, Manet?’
‘What does that matter? Nothing has changed, and this is irrelevant. I need to close that rift. I need a… a weapon, or…’
‘Or armour?’ said the priest.
‘Armour I have. It is of no use.’
‘There is more than one kind of armour, Manet Sentina. What does your Codex Astartes have to say on the subject?’
‘Armour… You are babbling, old man. This is pointless.’ Sentina turned and strode from the chamber.
Andronicus watched him go. ‘I have taken you as far as I can. The last step must be yours. Make the leap.’ Then he followed the Chaplain out.
Sentina pulled his crozius arcanum from his belt as he stepped through the great archway into the carnage. Daemons were everywhere. The courtyard was simply a tide of them, as far as could be seen.
‘Servants of the Ruinous Powers,’ he bellowed, his vox-emitters magnifying his voice to deafening levels. ‘Come and face thy doom.’
A trio of crimson-skinned warrior-beasts were the first to turn to him. They loped forward, hellblades gripped tight in taloned hands. They attacked as one, swinging the serrated swords to cleave Sentina apart. He blocked the first, ducked beneath the second and took the third on his chest. There was a flash as the conversion field in his rosarius turned the kinetic energy into a blinding glare.
‘By the Emperor’s light shall you know me, fiends. And by His wrath shall you fall!’
He activated the crozius and swung it two-handed, relishing the shudder that went down his arms as it tore through the chest of one blood-soaked daemon and took the head from the shoulders of the second. He faced the third and smiled beneath his skull-faced helm. ‘I am His hand and I will be your doom. For the Emperor!’
He swung again, sending the daemon flying backwards. It collided with a group of vaguely feminine creatures with claws, who were knocked sprawling. Before they could stand, they were torn apart by a volley of explosive rounds.
‘For the Emperor,’ echoed the voice of Sergeant Aeroth, swiftly followed by those of Oenomaus and Lentulus.
‘Brothers,’ said Sentina. ‘If we are to die this day, let us die as heroes.’ He walked forward, and with each step, his maul swung, and with each swing daemonic flesh was rent, bones broken, corrupt blood spilled. Manet Sentina dealt death to the enemy as surely as the ancient myth his visage evoked. He fought his way to the Centurions, smashing through daemons great and small. When he reached them, Aeroth laid a huge hand on the Chaplain’s shoulder plate.
‘We may not save this world, or the sector, Manet. But we have done our duty.’
‘And only in death does duty end,’ replied Sentina.
‘And here comes the end,’ chimed in Lentulus, pointing. Sentina turned and followed his gesture. The archway entrance to the keep glowed with infernal energy. Balefire poured from it and the stone of the structure was warping and changing under the influence of the immaterial force. The rift was expanding up and out. Sentina felt a brief pang of shame. Alia’s body had been in there and he had left it. But then, it would be consumed regardless, as would they all soon enough.
‘Yes,’ said Sentina. ‘It ends here. But we have shown faith in the words of the primarch, brothers. We have fought to the end, and we shall fight on until death claims us.’
‘Manet,’ laughed Aeroth. ‘It’s been years since I’ve seen you so… fired up.’
‘I am a warrior of faith, Darin. I always was. I just didn’t always realise it until… until…’
And then he understood.
‘Until? Brother, what changed?’
Sentina didn’t answer. He was remembering the old priest’s words.
There is more than one kind of armour, Manet Sentina. What does your Codex Astartes have to say on the subject?
‘I didn’t tell him my first name,’ he said quietly.
‘Who?’ asked Oenomaus, swinging his heavy fists at a mass of flesh with too many heads and legs that was trying to stab long, pincer-like fingers into his armour.
‘Armour…’ said Sentina. ‘Armour of faith.’
‘The Armour of Faith?’ grunted Lentulus as he loosed a lascannon round at a hulking bronze beast with a howling warrior-daemon on its back. It fell, a smoking hole through its middle. ‘I haven’t heard that passage from the Codex in decades. Allegory, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ said Sentina. ‘It’s salvation.’ He turned back to the three Centurions. ‘I can do it. It’s all about faith, Darin. Alia’s faith saved me. Now mine can save her world. I just have to make a leap of faith. Goodbye, brothers.’
He turned and strode slowly towards the expanding mass of the portal. Daemons flock
ed to him, as if drawn by what he was about to do. He wrenched his helm from his head and mag-locked it to his belt. He wanted to look his fate in the eye. He swung his crozius, again and again, and began to chant.
‘Clad yourself in full with the Armour of Faith, that you might take your stand against the foe.’
A gaggle of ever-shifting beasts in all the hues of the rainbow, and many never seen in nature, loped at him, witchfire burning around them. As they reached for him, as they touched his armour, they burned brighter for a moment and exploded. Faith was his shield now.
‘For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the Ruinous Powers of the benighted warp and against the spiritual forces of evil in that infernal realm.’
A huge plague daemon lumbered towards him, foul fluids dripping from its horns, rotten innards dragging along the ground behind it. The cruel blade clenched in its broken-fingered grasp hissed and bubbled with corruption, and tiny daemonlings capered around, on and even inside it. It meant to kill him before he could reach his goal. It would fail. Sentina ducked beneath its slow and clumsy swing and pushed forward, ramming the winged head of his mace into its stinking body and pulling upwards. The daemon burst apart in a shower of foul-smelling gore. Where it fell, it burned like acid, on stone and daemon alike. None of it touched Sentina, dissolving into vapour millimetres from his body. He strode on.
‘Therefore, clad yourself in full with the Armour of Faith, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground and after you have done everything, to stand.’
He stopped before the rift. It was immense now, stretching into the sky. The one above was huge too, reaching down to connect with the other, to form a greater portal into the realm of the Ruinous Powers. Sentina turned briefly and sketched a salute to his battle-brothers.
‘This is my stand,’ he shouted. ‘This is where the path of my faith has led.’ He turned back and stepped forward to be consumed by the rift, quietly mouthing his last words.
‘For Macragge. For the Emperor. For–’