The remaining Warhounds increased their speed, using their agility to better evade, and each engine’s princeps displayed a healthy respect for the accuracy of the Magma City’s gunners.
Blizzards of weapons fire strafed the defenders, a furious storm of high explosive shells that tore through all but the heaviest fortifications, wreaking unimaginable havoc within the packed knots of Zeth’s Protectors, skitarii and tech-guard. Artillery pieces exploded and ammo parks detonated explosively as the Warhounds’ fire tore through them.
The elation that had gripped the defenders upon seeing a Warhound brought down evaporated instantly in the face of the destruction unleashed by its brothers. Terrified, insensate survivors staggered away from the shrieking, smoking, flaming hell of explosions, some clutching severed limbs, others holding in spilling intestines or dragging the shredded carcasses of their comrades away from the firestorm.
As a flood of panicked men and women fled the fortification lines, the adamantium blast doors of a hardened bunker slid aside and an Ordinatus machine rolled forwards on heavy gauge rails. A gargantuan artillery piece so large it needed a strengthened chassis, a crew of hundreds and specialised generators just to power its enormous gun, the Ordinatus was a weapon of such power that an adept counted himself lucky if he had even one such weapon in his arsenal.
Its crew locked in the targeting auspex, working on a firing solution on one of the larger war engines, an impetuous Reaver that had broken from the pack of marauding Titans.
A searing beam of blinding, unwavering energy erupted from the Ordinatus and struck the careless Reaver square in the face. Instantly its shields screamed and blew out in a froth of sparks and whipping arcs of discharged energies that vaporised hundreds of mutant skitarii advancing in its shadow. The Ordinatus beam continued to play over the Reaver’s body, obliterating armour plates and body shielding in a flurry of actinic explosions.
Flames bloomed from inside the enemy machine and as the reactor core was breached, the Reaver vanished as a newborn sun flared into life. Voids scraped and howled as the Reaver’s accomplices felt the violence of its death, but none were damaged beyond shrapnel scars.
Its work done, the Ordinatus machine began to roll back into its protective bunker to recharge its main gun. It never got the chance.
The towering, dreadful form of Aquila Ignis opened fire with its monstrous annihilator cannon and the giant Ordinatus vanished in an expanding mushroom cloud of nuclear plasma.
Shock at the death of such a magnificent machine rendered the defenders immobile for a heartbeat, but that was all the Mortis engines needed. As the Ordinatus was consumed in a sea of roiling plasma, the opportunistic Warhounds darted forward and smashed through the crumbled remains of the defensive line.
Amongst the defenders, the Warhounds barked their triumph from carapace-mounted augmitters and began the killing. Mega bolters blitzed and chewed up exposed soldiers in a furious storm of explosive rounds through which nothing could survive. Turbo lasers incinerated flesh and melted armoured units as the cackling beasts crashed the tiny figures that stood before them.
Drank with slaughter, the Warhounds raced onwards, crashing the few pitifully burned or shredded survivors as their slower pack members stomped over the walls between the worker habs and outerworks of Adept Zeth’s mighty forge, as easily as a child might step over a fallen branch.
In the close-packed confines of the sub-hives, the Warhounds snapped and killed like hunting raptors, guns rippling with fire and their horns screaming with the elation of the kill.
One engine worked in solitude, methodically reducing block after block of habs and forge temples to ruin with its weapons and bulk. Walls broke apart, smelteries collapsed and great coolant towers were brought down in tumbling cascades of rockcrete and steel.
Two others worked as a pair, one demolishing buildings with concentrated blasts of fire, while the other raked the rubble to slay any survivors. Together, they left a wake of destruction such as had never been seen in the Magma City’s history.
Dust billowed in vast clouds and the sound of collapsing structures overpowered even the cackling glee of the Warhounds as they cleared a path for the larger engines.
The solitary Warhound was the first to die.
Its crew never saw its killer, but its sensori felt the auspex lock a fraction of a second before its voids were blown out in a devastating volley of las-fire and it was obliterated in a rippling series of missile impacts.
The other two Warhounds felt its demise and furiously surged into the ruins in search of its destroyer. Darting forwards in a series of loping bounds, they came upon its smouldering carcass and swept the area with aggressive bursts of their targeting auspex.
The lead engine caught a return from behind a shattered steelworks and opened fire without waiting for a lock, hoping to drive its quarry into the open where its twin could finish it off.
The ironworks dissolved into a mist of pulverised rock fragments and shattered steel, but instead of forcing the engine behind it to run, it had the opposite effect.
Lunging though the fiery debris, a towering monster in cobalt blue armour came at the Warhounds, its fists blazing and a heroic challenge issuing from its warhorn.
Deus Tempestus crashed into the astonished Warhound, smashing it to the ground and stamping down hard with one enormous foot. The smaller engine was crushed like a tin can beneath the mighty Warlord, the First God Machine of Legio Tempestus.
‘Engine kill,’ said Princeps Cavalerio high up in the liquid depths of his amniotic tank.
The second Warhound fled at the sight of the larger engine, turning and sprinting for the support of its fellows like a bully confronted by a gang of his former victims.
It ran straight into the guns of Metallus Cebrenia and Arcadia Fortis, who caught it in a lethal crossfire that ripped away its voids and gutted it in a furious hurricane of turbos.
Behind the two jubilant engines, the Tempestus Warhounds, Vulpus Rex, Raptoria, Astrus Lux and the Warlord Tharsis Hastatus moved into position within the hab-blocks, ready to defend the Magma City against the might of Legio Mortis.
Surveying the smashed wreckage of the slain war machines, Princeps Cavalerio smiled.
FROM THE CHAMBER of Vesta, high atop the silver pyramid in the centre of the Magma City, Adept Zeth read the inloaded data of the four destroyed Warhounds. The arrival of Tempestus two nights ago might have prompted her to believe in the providence of the Machine-God, but she knew she owed her city’s continued survival to Princeps Cavalerio’s honourable heart.
Even without the terrible threat of the Mortis Imperator, the Tempestus engines were dreadfully outnumbered and outgunned, yet still Cavalerio had come. Had he not been interred within an amniotic tank, she would have hugged him in a rare outburst of emotion.
The first blow had to be struck from ambush in an attempt to even the odds, and though Zeth keenly felt the loss of so many soldiers and artillery, their sacrifice had been necessary to lure the engines of Mortis in with the promise of easy kills. Four Warhounds and a Reaver was an impressive tally, but gun for gun and engine to engine, Tempestus was still grossly outmatched.
The gracefully curved sheets of burnished steel and crystal of the roof structure displayed images of the fighting around the landing fields and container port, and as much as she relished the killing of her enemies’ Titans, she lamented the loss of such precious technology. No adept of Mars could fail to be moved by the destruction of so perfect a mechanism that combined the best of steel and flesh.
As deadly a threat as Mortis represented, they were not the only foes ranged against the Magma City. The cohorts of the Fabricator General had returned in full, swarming like an army of roaches on the far shores of the magma lagoon in preparation for an all-out assault. An attempt had already been made along the Typhon Causeway, a host of armoured units and hideously altered infan
try storming the Vulkan Gate with gravity rams and conversion beamers.
A sally from the Knights of Taranis had broken the assault, but three of their precious Knights had been torn down to win the fight. Though they had killed well over a thousand enemy soldiers and destroyed a brigade’s worth of armour, it was but a tiny dent in the vast force arrayed before them.
Other screens displayed similar scenes of war.
The equatorial refinery belt burned as running battles between engines and thousands of skitarii clashed in the blazing ruins. A ring of fire encircled Mars in imitation of the iron ring in orbit.
The hive assembly yards of Elysium, once the domain of Magos Godolph, were a silent tomb, the tens of thousands of skilled adepts having committed mass suicide in some awful ceremony to honour unknown gods.
Eridania, once the home of the most ancient and revered orders of Archivists, the Brotherhood of the All Seeing Eye, bore witness to scenes of unimaginable slaughter as the skitarii of Magos Chevain clawed their way into the kilometres-deep repository only to unleash the pestilential scrapcode. Data wheels, memory crystals and realbooks all died as the scrapcode infected every system and flooded the sunken library with corrosive gases.
‘So much history and knowledge lost,’ said a voice from above her, and Zeth lifted her head to look at the roof panels where her noospheric guests observed the fighting.
One panel projected the flickering image of Adept Maximal’s helmet, another the handsome features of Fabricator Locum Kane.
‘Some knowledge is best forgotten, Maximal,’ she said.
‘Don’t say such things,’ replied Maximal. ‘Knowledge is power and no price is too high to pay to preserve it. The accumulation of knowledge should be our one and only goal, Zeth. You of all people should appreciate that. Was the Akashic reader not built for that very purpose, the accumulation of all knowledge?’
‘It was,’ conceded Zeth, using haptic motions to zoom in on the lumbering brutes of Legio Mortis. The carapaces and hulls of these once glorious engines were hung with black banners depicting vile, unthinkable arts of butchery. The head sections, once fashioned as stalwart warrior helms, were now leering, twisted and bestial things. ‘But any knowledge that creates something like this is best deleted without hope of recovery.’
Maximal sniffed, a petulant affectation to show his disagreement.
‘Enough,’ said Kane. ‘Save such discussions for when this crisis is over. We need to focus our attentions on how we plan to survive before we lament the loss of knowledge. Lord Dorn of the Imperial Fists sends word of an expeditionary force en route to Mars to fight our enemies. We must hold on until they reach us.’
‘What else do you know?’ asked Zeth. ‘When will they get here? Tempestus and the Knights of Taranis have given my forge a chance to hold out for a time, but Mortis will attack again and we may not turn them back this time.’
‘And my forge suffers daily attacks,’ said Maximal. ‘My skitarii units and war engines continue to hold, but the hordes pouring from the darkened hives of Olympus Mons are without end. I fear for what will be lost when we are overwhelmed.’
Kane nodded. ‘I am aware of your tactical situation and have apprised Lord Dorn. Elements of the Imperial Army and the Saturn Regiments have been tasked with the relief of your forges.’
‘And the Astartes?’ demanded Zeth. ‘What of them?’
Kane hesitated before answering, and even over the noospheric link, Zeth sensed his reluctance to speak. ‘Captain Sigismund will make planetfall at my forge of Mondus Occulum and Captain Camba-Diaz will assault Lukas Chrom’s Mondus Gamma facility.’
‘Then the Astartes do not come to aid us at all,’ protested Maximal. ‘They seek to secure their own supplies of weapons and armour! Intolerable!’
‘Agreed,’ said Zeth. ‘We need the Astartes if we are to defeat Kelbor-Hal’s minions.’
‘Captain Sigismund has assured me that once the armour and weapon production facilities are secured, his warriors will come to your aid.’
‘Then let us hope they are swift in their conquests,’ said Zeth.
‘Indeed,’ said Kane, either missing or ignoring her caustic tone. ‘In the meantime, do all you can to hold on. Help is on the way and I will exload information to you both as I receive it. Good luck and may the Machine-God guide you.’
The image of Kane faded from the glass, and Zeth returned her attention to the scenes of war and death inloading from all across Mars.
Adept Maximal remained as a ghostly presence flickering from the burnished plate above her, and Zeth regarded him quizzically.
‘You have something to add, Maximal?’
‘Ts there any word from your wayward protégé?’
Beneath her mask, Koriel Zeth smiled. Even with his forge besieged and facing destruction, Ipluvien Maximal still hungered for knowledge.
Zeth shook her head. ‘No. Rho-mu 31’s biometrics ceased transmitting somewhere in the Noctis Labyrinthus and I can find no trace of them. I fear he may be dead.’
‘So Dalia Cythera is probably dead as well?’ asked Kane.
‘That is probable, yes.’
Maximal’s sigh of disappointment matched her own.
THE INTERIOR OF the tunnel was not dark as Dalia had feared, but alive with a soft illumination. The rock itself glowed, as though carrying some form of bioluminescent current. The air was cold and their breath misted before them as Rho-mu 31 led the way. The tunnel was narrow, its cross-section like that of a leaf-shaped arch, and they were forced to travel in single file as it sloped ever deeper into the planet’s surface.
Dalia reached out and touched the walls to either side of her; they were warm and though they looked smooth, she felt minute imperfections in the surface, as though a million tiny picks had chipped away at them.
They walked for what felt like an age, winding through serpentine passages and multi-coloured galleries of translucent stalagmites, and across glittering bridges of smooth crystal. Dalia wondered what manner of internal geological transformation could alter so great a portion of the subterranean landscape.
‘What could cause something like this?’ she asked, making the question sound light.
‘Geological metamorphosis I’d imagine,’ said Zouche. ‘Aeons of pressure and heat can cause some rock types to change their state. Looks like that’s what’s happened here.’
No, realised Dalia, that’s not it at all. It’s something buried here that’s leaching outwards.
She said nothing and continued to follow Rho-mu 31 as the internal illumination of the rock began to recede behind them and their little group bunched up around the solitary light from the Protector’s weapon stave.
At length, Rho-mu 31 held up his hand, halting their group.
‘Do you hear that?’
Dalia could hear nothing at first, but as they all came to a halt and slowed their breathing, she could make out the faint sound of movement.
‘What do you think it is?’ asked Caxton.
Rho-mu 31 shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think anything remained here.’
‘Well we didn’t come this far to turn back,’ said Dalia, easing past Rho-mu 31 and heading towards the sound with more confidence than she felt. Her heart beat loudly in her chest and she squinted as she saw a bright light from up ahead.
Dalia emerged into a wide laboratory chamber, carved from the rock of the cliffs and roughly rectangular in shape. One wall was festooned with thousands of colourful sheets of parchment like a children’s collage, and at the far end of the chamber was a darkened passageway. Bare girders of red iron supported the ceiling, from which dangled a host of gently swaying cables, some inert, some twisting with fizzing sparks.
Against one wall was a surgical table, surrounded by banks of respirators, intravenous drips and a number of steel tables laden with unpleasant-looking machinery. Next to this was a complex device that resembled a giant rock drill, with mechanisms formed from stained brass and tarnished steel. Rus
t plated its sides and glass generator globes sat atop looping coils of rigid golden wire. A silver wheel-like apparatus sat on a conical mount at the front of the device, each of its four spokes fitted with a small emitter dish.
Each of the dishes was aimed at an upright slab on the far wall with the imprinted shadow of a human body upon it and leather straps at the wrists, ankles and neck.
‘Now this just can’t be good,’ said Caxton.
Dalia paid the device no mind, walking over to examine the parchment scraps on the wall.
‘What are these?’ wondered Severine, plucking one from the wall and handing it to Dalia.
The parchment was glossy and depicted a human silhouette limned with a rainbow of colours. Reds, greens and blues danced around the subject’s body, but Dalia saw that on the right arm, the colours faded from the elbow down, as though the strength of whatever was producing the colours had faded.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Dalia. ‘Some kind of electrography?’
She made her way along the length of the wall, seeing hundreds of pictures, all displaying elements of human bodies with glowing, colourful auras surrounding them. Like the first picture, each silhouette showed a loss in colour at one extremity, be it a leg, arm or a head.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Zouche as he examined the machine. ‘Reeks of dark technology. Forgotten science. Like the kind that almost destroyed mankind before Old Night.’
‘You don’t even know what this does,’ said Caxton, stepping in front of the silver wheel.
‘Don’t stand there!’ shouted Dalia, dropping the image she held.
‘What? Why not?’ asked Caxton. ‘I don’t think this machine’s worked in centuries. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Ha!’ said Severine. ‘The last time you said that we almost died when that battle robot attacked the mag-lev.’
Caxton shook his head, but moved away from the strange machine, smiling at Zouche as the machinist examined what looked like a steel control panel with a number of gem-like buttons, a brass radial dial and a long lever.
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