Corax: Soulforge

by Gav Thorpe

  They covered the first three hundred metres in fifteen seconds, coming together again atop the corner towers of a keep-like outpost overlooked by the gate guns. To their right, out of sight, more detonations shook the buildings as Chamell’s concealed plasma mines took out the lead walkers. Agapito’s enhanced hearing and all-frequency scanner picked up the panicked shouts and garbled comm-chatter of the shocked skitarii.

  He led the Raven Guard on without any need for an order to be given; they all knew what to do.

  The twenty legionaries fell upon the rear squads of the column, frag grenades announcing their arrival as they plunged towards the road with jump packs and bolters blazing.

  Agapito landed squarely upon a soldier with a bionic arm, crushing him with his armoured weight. He lashed out with his sword, chopping through the midsection of another. The tower guns on the temple perimeter stayed silent, prevented from firing by their automated friend-or-foe protocols as the Raven Guard shredded the rear echelon without effort. Agapito could easily imagine the desperate tech-adepts inside the defence towers frantically trying to override those protocols.

  With more than fifty foes slain in a few seconds, Agapito ordered his squads to relocate, leaping back up to the rampart of the outer tower seconds before the cannons of the temple wall opened fire, obliterating a score more of their own fighters. Someone evidently had disarmed the protocols.

  Several heavily armoured walkers had turned back towards the attack on their column and were raising their turret guns towards Agapito’s position.

  ‘Split by fives, quadrants three and four,’ he ordered, activating his jump pack to launch himself towards the incoming walking tanks.

  The Raven Guard broke apart into their combat squads, fanning out to either side of the column, using the cover of the rooftops to close the distance as the walkers opened fire. Incendiary shells and plasma missiles slammed into the buildings, smashing ferrocrete and turning plasteel to molten splashes of red. The legionaries were too fast to track, sprinting and leaping towards the Syrbotae.

  Each squad fell upon a different target, melta-bombs in hand as they plunged down onto the slab-roofed war engines. Stubby point-defence guns spat hails of bullets as the crews of the walkers tried to bring fire against their attackers, but the response was too slow; the legionaries were atop the armoured Mechanicum creations in moments.

  Agapito landed heavily as one of the machines reared up to meet him, amber warning signals flaring across his vision while impact compensators strained in the legs of his armour. Grunting through the dull ache in his knees he slammed a discus-shaped melta-bomb onto a hatchway and stepped back. A second later the charge detonated, punching through the cupola to leave a ragged, vvhite-edged hole. The charred corpse of a crewman who had been preparing to open the hatch fell to one side as Agapito pushed his plasma pistol through the breach and fired towards the driver’s compartment. The Syrbotus shuddered as though injured, and came to a stop.

  Two frag grenades went down into the hole to ensure that nobody survived to take the dead driver’s place.

  Around the commander the rest of the Raven Guard were blasting and tearing their way into the other Syrbotae. Las-fire from the accompanying infantry sliced from their power armour and pattered against the armoured hulls of their targets. Several of the legionaries turned their attention to the escorts, firing back with hails of bolts that tore through the armoured breastplates and padded suits of the unaugmented infantry.

  One by one the remaining Syrbotae were felled by detonations from within, crew slain and vital mechanics destroyed. From further down the road came a fresh storm of fire, aimed not at the Raven Guard but at their enemies. Laying down a barrage with plasma fire and rockets, Chamell’s warriors covered Agapito and his squads as they broke free, withdrawing once more to the rooftops.

  As expected, more forces poured from the temple gates over the following minutes. Open-topped transports carrying squads of heavily armed praetorian infantry, accompanied by multi-turreted crawlers, ploughed onto the streets, unleashing a storm of shells and lascannon fire as Agapito’s and Chamell’s warriors fell back from the attack, fading into the night.

  Gun towers further up the huge temple pyramid rained down balls of plasma and incendiary charges onto the city below, shattering buildings as the tech-priests spewed forth their spite, inconsiderate of the damage they were wreaking upon their own city. A few legionaries were caught in the open, armour broken by shell detonations, bodies seared by white-hot promethium explosions, but the commander led most of them to safety.

  Using rooftops and alleys to shield themselves from the vengeful machine-cultists, the Space Marines withdrew from their objective. To the Mechanicum defenders, it looked as though the Raven Guard assault on the gate towers had been foiled.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth.

  ABOVE ATLAS, CORAX circled, his flight pack aided by the thermals rising from a score of burning buildings. He watched the scene unfolding below with a calculating gaze; Raven Guard squads collapsing back towards Third District as skitarii regiments loyal to Loriark and his companions moved eastwards, holding the brunt of the counter-assault from Second District.

  There appeared to be a fatal error in the retreat, an opening that Vangellin evidently saw: a column of tanks and warriors advanced down a wide boulevard like a red spear aimed away from the rebel temple. A handful of Raven Guard lobbed plasma charges and fired missiles from the shelter of broken doorways and shattered windows, forcing the part-machine praetorians to bail out of their transports and giving the illusion that the attack had not been abandoned altogether. The legionaries retreated into the shadows before the return fire of blast-carbines and crackling lightning guns, drawing the Magokritarch’s forces onwards for another few hundred metres.

  At the far end of the boulevard the ruddy sky shimmered, the night clouds lit by the flames of the burning city. There was a deeper haze between the advancing column and the Third District temple, almost undetectable even though Corax knew it was there.

  As though coalescing from the shroud of smoke that lay upon Atlas, the Warlord Titan Castor Terminus disengaged its newly adapted reflex shields, powering up its weapons.

  The immense walker straddled the boulevard like a colossus of legend, its white and pale blue livery stark against the night sky as search lamps blazed into life and cockpit canopies in its head lit up like gleaming azure eyes. Constanix did not have a Titan Legio of its own, but several war machines from the Legio Nivalis, the Ice Giants, were stationed amongst the planet’s cities. Modifying the war engine’s void shields with Kiavahran reflex technology had allowed the Titan to move unseen by the sensors of Vangellin’s forces, traversing four kilometres from its arming bay in the south of Third District.

  Castor Terminus opened fire with all four of its main weapon systems. A multi-barrelled las-blaster hanging from the right shoulder mount chewed through half a dozen tanks, lighting up engines and ammunition stores with a flurry of white beams. The macro-cannon of the left arm pounded out immense shells, obliterating dozens more of the onrushing vehicles. From the Titan’s crenellated carapace, micro-munitions dischargers launched hundreds of guided explosive darts into the air, the detonations of which rolled along the street like a hurricane of fire, engulfing everything in their path.

  The tanks and praetorians were taken completely by surprise and barely a shot was loosed in return during thirty seconds of fire and fury. Wrecks and corpses littered the wide street, secondary detonations and burning fuel lighting up the boulevard, the cracks of Popping metal and burning rounds ringing from the buildings.

  As quickly as it appeared the Castor Terminus disappeared again as the reflex shields engaged once more. Corax caught a last glimpse of the immense war engine turning away towards the east as the great guns of the temple started to rain shells down onto its position. Without void shields, surprise had been the Titan’s greatest defence and now the princeps would retreat, his miss
ion completed.

  ‘Dive!’ the primarch commanded, arrowing groundwards. There was no time to lose; Vangellin had realised that his counter-attack was failing and was drawing back forces to protect the temple.

  Behind the primarch, a Shadowhawk gunship plunged from the fume clouds contained within Atlas’s weather-shield, a blur of black against the dark sky. Four sets of triple-mounted heavy bolters opened fire, impacts rippling along the street as they scythed through a flood of infantry surging back towards the gatehouses.

  The Shadowhawk’s strafing run was just the last in the long series of feints, drawing streams of tracer fire from the temple’s anti-air turrets as it swept past, bright flashes tearing through the drop- ship’s wake but missing their mark.

  Unnoticed, Corax dropped down towards the upper storeys of the temple.

  He aimed for a balcony on the highest tier of the ziggurat, in front of a tall arched window. The primarch allowed himself a grim smile; he often mused that if he had possessed such a flight pack during the uprising on Deliverance, then he could have taken the Ravenspire himself and saved weeks of bitter fighting.

  Barely slowing, Corax crashed into the temple feet-first, shattering the inches-thick crystalflex with clawed boots. Luxurious carpet and stone beneath were torn to shreds as he dragged himself to a halt on the floor within.

  Standing in front of a massive display screen was Vangellin, the Magokritarch obvious by his long red robes stitched with golden Mechanicum runes. He held a cog-topped staff of office in one hand; the other was a hooked claw that twitched spasmodically as the ruler of Atlas turned towards the intruder.

  Three hulking combat servitors lumbered towards Corax, weapon barrels spinning up, chainblades screeching. Overpowering his talons, the primarch sent sparking arcs of energy into two of the half-machine brutes. He leapt to the right as the third opened fire, diving over the stream of las-bolts that erupted from its twin cannons. A step and a jump sent Corax past his mechanical foe, lightning claw carving through its midriff from gut to spine, cutting the servitor in half.

  As blood and fuel spewed across the room Corax turned his attention to three tech-priests at the bank of consoles to his right, only now reacting to the intruder in their midst. There was no time for subtlety, to gauge their individual tolerances to injury; killing blows were unfortunate but necessary.

  His next strike took the head off the closest - a female adept reaching for a pistol at her belt. Behind her the next tech-priest clenched an articulated metal fist. The bionic appendage was sent flying across the chamber as Corax’s following sweep took the Mechanicum cultist through the shoulder and sank deep into his tube-pierced chest. The third, eyes replaced with goggle-like ruby lenses, opened his mouth to shout a warning moments before Corax’s claw jabbed up through the bottom of his jaw, erupting from the top of his scalp with a spray of bluish fluid.

  Corax pulled his weapon free and turned to the Magokritarch. The primarch wanted him alive.

  Vangellin thrust his staff towards Corax, a spew of energy bolts erupting from its tip. Corax had been warned of the weapon by his allies and was ready, dodging a fusillade that shattered dials and gauges behind him. A leap and a kick sent the Magokritarch flying across the chamber to crash into a panel of screens with an eruption of cobalt sparks.

  Looming over Vangellin, reflected in the polished ebon plate that made up almost half of the Mechanicum magos’s face, Corax raised his claw in readiness for another blow.

  ‘Stand your warriors down, and yield,’ he snarled.

  Vangellin’s remaining eye regarded the towering primarch with all-too-human fear. Oily blood trickled from a gash across the tech-priest’s forehead, pooling around the rivets that ran in a line down the centre of his face.

  ‘Enough,’ wheezed the lord of Atlas. ‘You have my surrender.’

  IV

  ATLAS’S MAIN TEMPLE chamber was filled with tech-adepts, attending to the damage control circuits and mechanisms that commanded and monitored the barge-city’s defences, energy grid and a dozen other vital systems. Agapito had escorted Loriark and the other magi of Third District to Corax a few minutes earlier, along with an entourage from other precincts. These were swiftly led back out again as they bombarded the primarch with questions and demands. Now only Loriark, Firax and Agapito remained, and between them sat the former Magokritarch Vangellin, hunched in a chair with his natural hand held across a dented metal chestplate. He glowered at Corax.

  ‘Your victory will be short-lived.’ Exposed by his ripped robe, his sallow skin was covered with spots of thick, drying blood. ‘Do you think I freely gave in to Delvere’s demands? He wields a power greater than even a primarch.’

  ‘The power of the Omnissiah?’ said Agapito, standing beside his lord. ‘Your Machine-God will save him from vengeance?’

  ‘The power of the warp.’ What little could be seen of Vangellin’s cracked lips twisted in a sneer. ‘The warp unchained.’

  ‘You have seen this for yourself?’ grated Loriark. ‘What manner of creations is the Archmagos forging on Iapetus?’

  ‘What did you learn from the memory stores of your companion?’ Corax asked, ignoring the Magokritarch’s posturing. ‘Did he know what Delvere is planning?’

  ‘Nothing more than we could have guessed,’ replied Loriark with a shake of the head. ‘Delvere is long-studied in the mechanics and arts of the warp and with the aid of the Word Bearer, Nathrakin, is creating new engines to harness its power.’

  ‘Not only to harness it, but bring it to life, to give it divine mechanical form!’ snapped Vangellin. ‘The warp sustained - yes, that is what he has achieved. The synthesis of material and immaterial. The symbiosis of the physical and the incorporeal. Even as he threatened me with its power, he showed me the heights of greatness to which Constanix can now aspire. We will rival Anvillus, Gryphonne, perhaps even Mars itself when our power is revealed.’

  ‘More powerful... than the sacred... Red Planet?’ Even with his laboured words, Firax’s incredulity was plain to hear. ‘If you believe... such lies then you... are a fool. It is rights, that we resisted your... delusions.’

  Corax turned away from the others and stared out of the shattered remains of the window. Dawn was spreading across Atlas, now strangely peaceful in the pinkish light. Vangellin had been true to his word of surrender, formally handing power to Loriark in exchange for his life. The fighting had lasted only a few minutes more as word had spread that order had been restored, the speed of the command network as swift to restore peace as it had been to break it. Loriark had sent a brief statement to the outer districts explaining that Vangellin had been accused of techno-heresies and would face judgement by his fellow magi in due course. Freed from the threats of Vangellin the other district temples had been swift to acknowledge Loriark’s claim, backed as it was by more Raven Guard arriving from orbit in the dawn hours.

  Squads of soldiers and battle engines had been withdrawn, to be replaced by teams of labourers and repair equipment. Cranes and grav-lifters, cyber-reticulated work crews and myriad other men and machines were clearing the rubble, shoring up damaged buildings and dousing the flames left by just three hours of close fighting.

  ‘If Delvere’s studies into the warp are so advanced, how can a legionary of the Word Bearers help him?’ Agapito asked. Corax glanced over his shoulder to see the commander standing over Vangellin, arms folded across his chest. ‘What could this Nathrakin know of the warp that the Archmagos doesn’t?’

  ‘The wrong sort of knowledge,’ said Corax before Vangellin could answer. ‘You remember the Word Bearers at Cruciax? Or those poor creatures on the Kamiel. The hideous beasts that came at us on Isstvan Five?’

  Agapito’s grimace showed clearly that he remembered the mutated warriors who had followed Lorgar during the dropsite massacre. Corax knew that there had been whispers and rumours ever since of mysterious powers at play.

  He had been too focused on rebuilding the Legion and then striking back at Ho
rus to quell the chattering, but now it was time to make certain truths known. Truths that had been revealed to him directly by the Emperor; truths that even now were hinted at in the recesses of his mind where the last memories the Emperor had passed to Corax still dwelt, like shadows at the bottom of a gorge.

  He trusted Agapito, and had done so since they had first stood together so many decades ago. Though hot-headed of late, he needed to know the nature of the foes they were now facing; all of the Raven Guard deserved that after suffering so much at their hands.

  ‘There are creatures that live within the warp,’ said Corax. Agapito nodded in understanding and was about to reply but the primarch cut him off. ‘Things not just in the warp but of the warp. The creatures that can consume a ship if its Geller fields fail. The creatures that the Navigators call the empyrean predators, and the Emperor calls daemons.’

  Agapito muttered with distaste while a cruel laugh erupted from Vangellin. The other tech-priests listened with interest, seemingly detached from concern.

  ‘Yes, daemons,’ said Corax. ‘Beings not of flesh but of the stuff of the warp itself.’

  ‘But what has that got to do with the Word Bearers?’ asked Agapito.

  ‘I saw the power in them, and I saw it written in the eyes of Lorgar as I confronted him. There is another name of the warp, which the Emperor knew and I now remember. Chaos.’

  There was a flicker of recognition in the eyes of Agapito as he heard the word that had been whispered amongst the ranks, but never spoken outright. Corax continued.

  ‘The daemons of Chaos cannot exist in our world without a conduit. They are made up of the warp and so reality leeches their power. The Word Bearers we have fought, the twisted warriors that we faced, made themselves such conduits. They gave up a portion of their flesh, parts of their minds, so that these creatures could reside within them.’