by Ben Counter
A plasma pistol spat a tongue of liquid fire that wreathed an enemy soldier from head to foot, but the man kept fighting, sweeping his halberd down to cut deep into one of Lucius's men before another Astartes ripped off his head with a chainsword.
Lucius pivoted on one foot from a halberd strike and hammered the hilt of his sword into his oppoВnent's face, feeling a tight anger that the faceplate held. The guard staggered away from him and Lucius reversed his grip and thrust the blade through the gap between the glass plates at the guard's waist, feeling the blade's energy field burnВing through abdomen and spine.
These guards were slowing the Emperor's ChilВdren down, buying precious moments with their lives for something deeper in the palace. As much as Lucius was revelling in the sensations of the slaughter, the smell of the blood, the searing stink of flesh as the heat of his blade scorched it and the pounding of blood in veins, he knew he could not afford to give the defenders such moments.
Lucius ran onwards, slicing his blade through limbs and throats as he ran. He fought as though following the steps of an elaborate dance, a dance where he played the part of the victor and the enemy were there only to die. The Palace Guard were dying around him and his armour was drenched with their blood. He laughed in sheer joy. Warriors still fought behind him, but Lucius had to press on before the palace guard was able to stall their advance with more men in front of them.
'Squad Quemondil! Rethaerin! Kill these and then follow me!'
Fire sawed from every direction as the Emperor's Children forced their way towards the junction Lucius had reached. The swordsman darted his head past the corner, seeing a vast indoor seascape. A plume of water cascaded through a hole in the centre of a colossal granite dome, and a shaft of pink light fell alongside the water, sending brilliant rainbows of colour between the arches formed by the petals of the dome's surface.
Islands rose from the indoor sea that took up most of the dome, each topped by picturesque folВlies of white and gold.
Thousands of palace guards massed in the dome, splashing towards them through the waist-deep sea and taking up positions among the follies. Most wore the glassy armour of the men still dying behind Lucius, but many others were clad in far more elaborate suits of bright silver. Others still were wrapped in long streamers of silk that rippled behind them like smoke as they
moved.
Rylanor emerged into the dome behind Lucius, his assault cannon smoking and the chisel-like grips of his power fist thick with blood.
'They're massing,' spat Lucius. 'Where are the damned World Eaters?'
'We shall have to win the palace by ourselves,' replied Rylanor, his voice grating from deep within his sarcophagus.
Lucius nodded, pleased that they would be able to shame the World Eaters. 'Ancient, cover us. Emperor's Children, break and cover fire! Nasicae, keep up this time!'
Ancient Rylanor stepped out from the junction and a spectacular wave of fire sheared through the air around him, a storm of heavy calibre shell casВings and oil-soaked fumes streaming from the cannon mounted on his shoulder.
His explosive fire shredded the stone of the foreВmost island's follies, broken and bloodied bodies tumbling from the shattered wreckage.
'Go!' shouted Lucius, but the Emperor's Children were already charging, their training so thorough that ever>' warrior already knew his place in the complex pattern of overlapping fire and movement that sent the strike force sweeping into the dome.
Savage joy lit up Lucius's face as he charged, the thrill of battle and the sensations of killing stimuВlating his body with wondrous excess.
In a swirling cacophony of noise, the perfection of death had come to the Choral City.
On the southern side of the palace, a strange organically formed building clung to the side of the palace like a parasite, its bulging, liquid shape more akin to something that had been grown than someВthing built. Its pale marble was threaded with dark veins and the masses of its battlements hung like ripened fruit. From the expanse of marble monuВment slabs marking the passing of the city's finest
and most powerful citizens, it was clear that this was a sacred place.
Known as the Temple of the Song, it was a memoВrial to the music that Father Isstvan had sung to bring all things into existence. It was also the objective of the World Eaters. The word that the invasion had begun was already out by the time the first World Eaters' drop-pods crashed into the plaza, shattering gravestones and throwing slabs of marble into the air. Strange music keened through the morning air, calling the people of the Choral City from their homes and demanding that they take up arms. The soldiers from the nearby city barracks grabbed their guns as the Warsingers appeared on the battlements of the Temple to sing the song of death for the invaders.
Called by the Warsingers' laments, the people of the city gathered in the streets and streamed towards the battle.
The World Eaters' strike force was led by Captain Ehrlen, and as he emerged from his drop-pod, he was expecting the trained soldiers that Angron had briefed them on, not thousands of screaming citiВzens swarming onto the plaza. They came in a tide, armed with anything and everything they had in their homes, but it was not the weapons they carВried but their sheer numbers and the terrible song that spoke of killing and murder that made them
deadly.
World Eaters, to me!' yelled Ehrlen, hefting his bolter and aiming it into the mass of charging people
The white-armoured warriors of the World Eaters formed a firing line around him, turning their bolters outwards.
'Fire!' shouted Ehrlen and the first ranks of the Choral City's inhabitants were cut down by the deadly volley, but the oncoming mass rose up like a spring tide as they clambered over the bodies of the dead.
As the gap between the two forces closed, the World Eaters put up their bolters and drew their chainswords.
Ehreln saw the unreasoning hatred in the eyes of his enemies and knew that this battle was soon to turn into a massacre.
If there was one thing at which the World Eaters excelled, it was massacre.
'Damn it,' spat Vipus. 'We must have hit something on the way in.'
Loken forced his eyes open. A slice of light where the drop-pod had broken open provided the only illumination, but it was enough for him to check that he was still in once piece.
He was battered, but could feel no evidence of anything more than that.
'Locasta, sound off!' ordered Vipus. The warriors of Locasta shouted their names, and Loken was relieved to hear that none appeared to have been injured in the impact. He undid the buckle of his grav-harness and rolled to his feet, the drop-pod canted at an unnatural angle. He pulled his bolter
from the rack and pushed his way through the narВrow opening broken in the side of the drop-pod.
As he emerged into the bright sunshine, he saw that they had struck a projecting pier of stone on one of the towers, the rubble of its destruction scatВtered around the ruined drop-pod. He circled the wreckage, seeing that they were at least two hunВdred metres above the ground, wedged amongst the massive battlements of the Sirenhold.
To his left he saw spectacular tomb-spires encrusted with statues, while to his right was the Choral City itself, its magnificent structures bathed in the rosy glow of the sunrise. From this vantage point Loken could see the whole city, the extraordiВnary stone flower of the palace and the western defences like scars across the landscape.
Loken could hear gunfire from the direction of the palace and realised that the Emperor's Children and World Eaters were already fighting the enemy. Gunfire echoed from below, Sons of Horus units fighting in the tangle of shrines and statuary that filled the canyons between the tomb-spires.
'We need a way down,’ said Loken as Locasta pulled themselves from the wreckage of the drop-pod. Vipus jogged over with his gun at the ready.
'Bloody ground surveyors must have missed the projections,' he grumbled.
'That's what it loo
ks like,’ agreed Loken, as he saw another drop-pod ricochet from the side of a tomb-spire and careen downwards in a shower of broken statues.
'Our warriors are dying,’ he said bitterly. 'SomeВone's going to pay for this,’
"We look spread out,’ said Vipus, glancing down into the Sirenhold. Between the tomb-spires, smaller shrines and temples butted against one another in a complex jigsaw.
Plumes of black smoke and explosions were already rising from the fighting.
'We need a place to regroup,’ said Loken. He flicked to Torgaddon's vox-channel. Tarik? Loken here, where are you?' A burst of static was his only reply. He looked across the Sirenhold and saw one tomb-spire close to the wall, its many levels supВported by columns wrought into the shapes of monsters and its top sheared off by the impact of a drop-pod. 'Damn. If you can hear me, Tarik, make for the spire by the western wall, the one with the smashed top. Regroup there. I'm heading down to you,’ 'Anything?' asked Vipus.
'No. The vox is a mess. Something's interrupting it.
The spires?'
'It would take more than that,’ said Loken. 'Come on. Let's find a way off this damn wall,’
Vipus nodded and turned to his men. 'Locasta, start looking for a way down,’
Loken leaned over the battlements as Locasta fanned out to obey their leader's command. Beneath him he could^ee the diminutive figures of
Astartes fighting black-armoured warriors in streaming firefight. He turned away, desperate to find a way down. 'Here!' shouted Brother Casto, Locasta's flamer
bearer. 'A stairway'
'Good work,’ said Loken, making his way over to see what Casto had found. Sure enough, hidden behind a tall, eroded statue of an ancient warrior was a dark stairway cut into the sand-coloured stone.
The passageway looked rough and unfinished, the stone pitted and crumbling with age. 'Move,’ said Vipus. 'Casto, lead the way,’ "Yes, captain,’ replied Casto, plunging into the gloom of the passageway. Loken and Vipus folВlowed him, the entrance barely wide enough for their armoured bodies. The stairs descended for roughly ten metres before opening into a wide, low-ceilinged gallery. 'The wall must be riddled,’ said Vipus. 'Catacombs,’ said Loken, pointing to niches cut into the walls that held the mouldering remains of skeletons, some still swaddled in tattered cloth.
Casto led them along the gallery, the bodies becoming more numerous the deeper they went, the skeletal remains piled two or three deep.
Vipus snapped around suddenly, bolter up and finger on the trigger. Vipus?'
'I thought I heard something,’ "We're clear behind,’ said Loken. 'Keep moving and focus. This could.
'Movement!' said Casto, sending a blast of
orange-yellow fire from his flamer into the darkness
ahead of him.
'Casto!' barked Vipus. 'Report! What do you see?'
Casto paused. 'I don't know. Whatever it was, it's
gone now,’
The niches ahead guttered with flames, hungrily devouring the bare bones. Loken could see that there was no enemy up ahead, only Isstvanian dead.
'There's nothing there now,’ said Vipus. 'Stay focused, Locasta, and no jumping at shadows! You are Sons of Horns!'
The squad picked up the pace, shaking thoughts of hidden enemies from their minds, as they moved rapidly past the burning grave-niches.
The gallery opened into a large chamber, Loken guessing that it must have filled the width of the wall. The only light was from the dancing flame at the end of Casto's flamer, the yellow light picking out the massive stone blocks of a tomb.
Loken saw a sarcophagus of black granite, surВrounded by statues of kneeling people with their heads bowed and hands chained before them. PanВels set into the walls were covered in carvings where human forms acted out ceremonial scenes of war.
'Casto, move up,’ said Vipus. 'Find us a way down,’
Loken approached the sarcophagus, running his hand down its vast length. Its lid was carved to repВresent a human figure, but he knew that it could
not be a literal portrait of the body inside; its face had no features save for a pair of triangular eyes fashioned from chips of coloured glass.
Loken could hear the song from the Sirenhold outside, even through the layers of stone, a single mournful tone that rose and fell, winding its way from the tomb-spires.
'Warsinger,’ said Loken bitterly. They're fighting back. We need to get down there,’
The silver-armoured palace guards started flying.
Surrounded by burning arcs of white energy, they leapt over the advancing Emperor's Children, gleaming, leaf shaped blades slicing downwards from wrist-mounted weapons.
Lucius rolled to avoid a hail of blades, the silver guard swooping low to behead two of Squad Que-mondil, the charged blades cutting through their armour with horrific ease.
He slid into the water, finding that it only reached his waist. Above him, the halberd-guns of the palace guard were spraying silver fire at the Emperor's Children, but the Astartes were moving and firing with their customary discipline Even the bizarre sight of the palace's defenders did not disВsuade them from their patterns of movement and covering fire. A body fell into the water next to him, its head blasted away by bolter fire and blood pourВing into the water in a scarlet bloom.
Lucius saw that the silver guards were too quick and turned too nimbly for conventional
engagement. He would just have to engage them unconventionally.
One of the silver guards dived towards him and Lucius could see the intricate filigree on the man's armour, the tiny gold threads like veins on the breastplate and greaves and the scrollwork that covВered his face.
The guard dived like a seabird, firing a bright blade from his wrist.
Lucius turned the missile aside with his sword and leapt to meet his opponent. The guard twisted in the air, trying to avoid Lucius, but he was too close. Lucius swung his sword and sliced the guard's arm from his body, his crackling sword searing through the armour. Blood sprayed from the smouldering wound and the guard fell, twisting back towards the water.
Lucius fell with the dead man, splashing back into the lake as the Emperor's Children finally reached their enemy. Volleys of bolter fire scoured the islands and his warriors advanced relentlessly on the survivors. The palace guards were backing away, forming a tighter and tighter circle. Glass-armoured guards lay dead in heaps and the artificial lake was mddy pink and choked with bodies.
Rylanor's assault cannon sent fire tearing through the silk-clad guards, whose preternatural speed couldn't save them as the cannon shells turned the interior of the dome into a killing ground. Another silver guard fell, bolter fire ripВping through his armour.
Squad Nasicae joined Lucius and he grinned wolfishly at them, elated at the prospect of fighting more of the silver guards.
They're running,’ said Lucius. 'Keep them on the back foot. Keep pressing on.'
'Squad Kaitheron's reporting from the plaza,’ said Brother Scetherin. The World Eaters are fighting around the temple on the north side,’
'Still?'
'Sounds like they're holding off half the city,’
'Ha! They can have them. It's what the World Eaters are good at,’ laughed Lucius, relishing the certain knowledge of his superiority.
Nothing in the galaxy could match that feeling, but already it was fading and he knew he would have to procure yet more opponents to satisfy his hunger for battle.
'We press on to the throne room,’ he said. 'Ancient Rylanor, secure our rear. The rest of you, we're going for Praal. Follow me. If you can't keep up, go and join the Death Guard!'
His warriors cheered as they followed Lucius into the heart of the palace.
Every one of them wanted to kill Praal and hold his head aloft on the palace battlements so the whole of the Choral City could see. Only Lucius was certain that
Praal's head would
be his.
The Andronius was quiet and tense, its palatial rooms dark and its long, echoing corridors empty
of all but menials. The ship's engines pulsed dimly in the stern, only the rumble of directional thrusters shuddering through the ship. Every staВtion was manned, every blast door was sealed and Tarvitz knew a battle alert when he saw it.
What confused him was the fact that the Isstvani-ans had no fleet to fight.
The hull groaned and Tarvitz felt a deep rumbling through the metal deck, sensing the motion of the ship before the artificial gravity compensated. Ever since the first wave of the speartip had launched, the vessel had been moving, and Tarvitz knew that his suspicions of something amiss were well-founded.
According to the mission briefings he had read earlier, Fulgrim's flagship had been assigned the role of launching the second wave once the palace and the Sirenhold had been taken. There was no need to move.
The only reason to move a vessel after a launch was to move into low orbit in preparation for a bombardment. Though he told himself he was being paranoid, Tarvitz knew that he had to see for himself what was going on.
He made his way swiftly through the Andronius towards the gun decks, keeping clear of such grand chambers as the Tarselian Amphitheatre and the columned grandeur of the Monument Hall. He kept to the areas of the ship where his presence would go unchallenged, and where those who might recognise him were unlikely to see him.
He had told Rylanor that he wanted to renounce his position of honour in the speartip to replace Captain Odovocar as Eidolon's senior staff officer, relaying the commander's orders to the surface, but it would only be a matter of time before his subВterfuge was discovered.
Tarvitz descended into the lower reaches of the ship, far from where the Emperor's Children dwelt in the most magnificent parts of the Andronius. The rest of the ship, inhabited by servitors and menials, was more functional and Tarvitz knew he would pass without challenge here.