He looked for his blades, but did not see them. Through the smoke, he spied the lean shapes of drukhari raiders passing through the node, following in the Tower’s wake.
Looks like you failed, dog-brother.
He’d failed.
It did not hurt as bad as he’d thought it might. There was almost a relief to it. He turned, one arm wrapped about his chest, and stumbled back towards the gate. If he could make it – get back through – he might be able to reach the Chief Apothecary’s side. Something told him Fabius would need him now more than ever before.
You can only keep a man from death for so long, Briaeus said.
‘I do not recall asking your opinion, brother,’ Arrian grunted. His armour was damaged – or maybe his spine – slowing him. He could feel the analgesics flooding his veins, keeping him upright.
The gate rose up before him, a delicate escarpment, covered in intricate carvings that shimmered with alien light. Unnatural as it was, there was a strange beauty to it. It had been grown and shaped in the same manner as he used with his flowers.
Your mind is wandering, brother. You lack clarity.
He turned. Briaeus walked beside him. And not alone. Telegar, Morgev and the others were there as well. He looked down at their skulls, and saw that they were gone. Shattered perhaps, when he’d been thrown from the wall.
If I were a superstitious man, I’d say it freed our souls. Then, you don’t believe in souls, do you, Arrian?
‘Soul or hallucination, I am glad to see you,’ Arrian said. ‘I’m having trouble walking. Can one of you help me?’
You know we can’t, dog-brother. No help for you now.
‘You always were a fatalist, Briaeus.’ Arrian forced himself on. Something was definitely broken in his leg. It was like walking on shattered glass. He tried to ignore it.
Realist, Briaeus said. Dead men know their own.
Before Arrian could reply, he spotted something moving in the smoke. As it thinned, he saw wracks stooped among the dead, taking samples.
One spied him and pointed. Another issued a shrill cry, and several massive shapes bounded forward. Grotesques. Too many to fight. And too fast to escape from.
Looks like you’re not going to make it to your master’s side, dog-brother.
Arrian smiled. Slowly, he deactivated the chem-pumps that controlled the flow of calmatives and pain suppressors into his system. The Nails bit instantly, as fresh as the day they’d been inserted.
He prised a sputtering chainaxe from the grip of a dead war-mutant. The weapon was heavy, but he lifted it easily.
It ends as it began, eh, dog-brother?
‘So it seems, Briaeus,’ Arrian said. Flashes of pain danced across his mind and coiled tight about his spine. His grin widened as a flood of adrenaline flushed the last of the calmatives from his system.
I always knew you’d come back to us.
‘Yes. Do you forgive me?’
What is there to forgive, dog-brother? Now, enough talk. There’s killing to be done.
‘Yes.’ Arrian revved the chainaxe as the first grotesque loped towards him.
With a howl, he leapt to meet it.
Igori crouched atop the broken spire-tower, watching as her people trudged into irrelevance. Homo novus, built to replace the faded humanity, was going into the darkness without even a whimper. Just another failed experiment. She wanted to cry out, to stop them. To lead them away from the tomb the Benefactor had so lovingly prepared for them. But she said nothing. Did nothing. She simply sat and watched.
There were hundreds of them. More than even she had been aware of. Some looked the part – heavy with gene-enhanced muscle, faces chiselled to icy perfection, just like her own. Others more resembled the species they were to replace. But their eyes gave them away. There was something of the Benefactor in them. He was their father in more ways than one. And like loyal children, they followed his commands without question.
So intent was she on the evacuation, that she almost missed the tell-tale scrape of movement from behind her. She smiled and her hand fell to the shuriken pistol holstered on her hip.
‘Is that you, granddaughter?’
‘It is me, grandmother.’
Igori rose and turned, hand still resting on her pistol. Mayshana stood at the apex of the spire, looking down at her. She had not drawn a weapon. Igori sniffed the air, detecting familiar scents – the smell of family. Her great-grandchildren, and the grandchildren of her brothers and sisters. They would be close, watching the confrontation and ready to intervene, should it become necessary.
‘Come to bring me back then?’ Igori said.
‘He wants you to be safe.’
‘That has always been his favourite excuse.’ She turned. ‘Have you ever seen it? This hidden kingdom he has made for us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it a fitting home for our people?’
‘Why not see for yourself?’
Igori smiled and shook her head. ‘No. I think not. I am too old to start a new kingdom.’ She looked up at Mayshana. ‘I gave the orders for my people to go, however. Before I came to see you.’
Mayshana frowned. ‘Then why the pretence?’
‘To see what he would say. To see if he would argue. If he would explain.’ Igori drew her pistol and weighed it in her hand. ‘Instead, he sent you. That has always been the way of it. The Benefactor speaks softly, but his words are iron even so.’
Mayshana stared down at her. ‘Then why do you resist?’
‘Because I am too old to play the hound.’ Igori swung her pistol up. Mayshana tensed, but did not duck for cover. Nor did she draw a weapon of her own. ‘I am too old to play the role he has laid out for me, in his benevolence.’ She sighted down the barrel, aiming at her granddaughter’s heart. ‘And I am too old to obey him.’
‘He is the Benefactor,’ Mayshana said, her voice almost a whisper.
‘And I am Igori.’
Mayshana growled softly. ‘You are… ungrateful. You have always been ungrateful. He saved you. He forgave you… and you betray him again.’
‘I do not betray him. I am doing as he made me to do.’ Igori lowered her pistol, and after a moment’s hesitation, holstered it. ‘As are you. As do we all. We cannot do otherwise.’ She looked at her granddaughter. ‘He sent you to take me to Omega Redoubt. I do not wish to go. Will you force me?’
‘If I must.’
‘Then I challenge you.’
Mayshana hesitated. ‘What?’
‘I challenge you. As you challenged me, all those years ago. I challenge you for control of your packs. If you win, I will go in peace. If I win…’
‘If you win, what?’ Mayshana snarled.
‘If I win, you will bare your throat to me, granddaughter.’ Igori drew her knife. ‘Now show me your fangs, child.’
Mayshana drew her own blade and swept it through the air with a flourish. Igori smiled and made a come-hither gesture. Her granddaughter leapt, and Igori rose to meet her. They fought across the circumference of the spire-tower, moving fast, their blades scraping against one another in a flurry of sparks.
Mayshana drew first blood – a thin gash across Igori’s bicep. In return, Igori broke the younger woman’s nose. Mayshana bounced across the roof and scrambled to her feet, blood streaming down her face. Igori gave her no chance to recover.
She leapt–
And the world shuddered. There was a great rumbling, and then a roar of rending masonry. Igori turned as a towering leviathan of flesh erupted from the apothecarium, rising on coils of bleeding meat. It was immense – larger than any god-machine. She could smell its stink even from where she crouched.
‘Grandmother.’
The monstrosity lurched into the streets, sweeping aside several smaller buildings in the process. There were weapons on it – or in
it. These loosed salvoes against the surrounding ruins as swarms of drukhari raiders spilled upwards into the air in the thing’s wake. Too many to count. The enemy had come.
‘Grandmother!’
Igori looked down. She realised that the edge of her knife was pressed to Mayshana’s throat. ‘I yield,’ Mayshana said.
Igori lifted the blade away, and stood. She offered Mayshana her hand. ‘Up, granddaughter. The Benefactor needs us.’
Mayshana hesitated, but only for a moment. She caught Igori’s hand.
‘Lead the way, grandmother.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Last Ditch
The battle had been lost from the first.
Fabius had read it in the data that spooled across the strategium feeds. Hope was a vice he rarely allowed himself to indulge in, but for a moment – a single instant – he’d thought it might work.
‘Hope leads to damnation,’ he said.
‘What?’ Savona asked. She braced herself on a cogitator console as the chamber shuddered again. Great cracks had formed in the floor and ceiling.
‘Something our Imperial cousins say. I’ve never really understood it, until now.’
Dust drifted down from the ceiling. The Tower’s eruption had shorted out most of the apothecarium’s systems. But the rest were still running, albeit on backup power.
‘Any word from Arrian?’
‘None. The vox is down,’ Savona said, as another shudder wracked the chamber. ‘That thing is too big to stop. The whole palace is going to come down on top of us.’
‘If we’re lucky.’ On the remaining displays, Voidraven bombers streaked across the sky as raiders navigated the streets. Everywhere, warriors of the Third clashed with drukhari. Explosions dotted the city, shaking it to its foundations. The Tower lurched through the streets, raining indiscriminate destruction on its surroundings. Gorgus and his hounds had moved to confront it, Titan to Titan. He adjusted the vox frequency, trying to re-establish contact with someone, anyone. For long moments, the only response he received was static. Then, a familiar voice.
‘–m in position. Repeat, in position.’ Saqqara. Fabius rerouted power from the nonessential displays, boosting power to the vox.
‘Saqqara, it is time. Do what you must.’
Silence followed, and for a moment, Fabius feared he’d lost contact. Then, finally, ‘Acknowledged. And on your head be it, Fabius.’
Fabius cut the link without replying. Savona looked at him.
‘What are you up to?’
‘I never expected us to be able to do more than distract them,’ Fabius said absently. ‘So that is what we are – a distraction. The real blow will come from elsewhere.’
Savona frowned. Then, understanding filled her gaze. ‘Neverborn. You’re having him summon Neverborn, the way he did on Lugganath.’
‘I thought it fitting. I am in this situation because of the gods, after all. It is only right that they contribute in some small fashion to the war effort.’ His smile could have cut glass. ‘I expect it will make little difference in the end.’
‘Then why risk it?’
Fabius laughed. ‘What do we have to lose?’
The vox crackled. ‘–abius? Answer me!’
‘I am here, Gorgus,’ Fabius said hurriedly. ‘What is your status?’
‘This beast is the biggest I’ve ever hunted!’ Gorgus sounded excited, but his voice was ragged – filled with pain. ‘It’s already killed two of my hounds.’
Fabius winced. Gorgus was the sole mind in control of a quartet of Titans. The three Warhounds were as much a part of him as his hands. If two of them were down, the neural feedback would be excruciating.
‘Retreat if you must, Gorgus. There is no shame in letting such prey escape.’
‘The hell with that. I only contacted you to thank you. This is the most fun I’ve had in years.’ Gorgus laughed again. ‘I’ll say this for you, you always know how to show your guests a good time, Clonelord.’
With that, the signal dissolved into static. Fabius sought through the sensory feeds, trying to find a picture of what was going on outside the palace. Brief flickers of battle crossed his display – of Gorgus’ Reaver reeling, bleeding plasma, its void shields running like water. The Tower had more weapons than he remembered. It was as heavily armed as a battle cruiser, and better armoured.
The Reaver staggered, swinging up its gatling blaster. Ropey tendrils of flesh slammed down, causing the void shields to flare and buckle. The gatling blaster whirred, spitting a fusillade of destruction. The Tower twitched and swayed, like a tree in a high wind. The Reaver lunged, power claw raised. The claws tore red canyons in the Tower’s dermis, but it did not fall. Instead, it convulsed, and spat beams of destructive energy that danced across the Reaver’s hull, leaving smoking craters in their wake.
Fabius felt a surge of pride. He’d constructed the Tower to endure almost anything short of a direct orbital strike. It was among the crowning achievements of his career.
More tendrils curled about the Reaver, seeking its weak points. The Apocalypse missile launcher atop its carapace pivoted, and spat a volley of explosive fire. Tendrils coiled about the weapon, crumpling it as it expended its load. There was a flare of light – blinding and painful. The displays fell to static one by one.
Alarm klaxons sounded.
Savona cursed. ‘They’re all over this blasted ruin – we can’t put up a concentrated defence, thanks to that godsdamned tower. We need to regroup.’
‘You go, if you wish. I will remain here – if I can get the systems back up, we might be able to organise a proper withdrawal from the city.’ He turned. ‘I need more time.’
‘A resource that is in distressingly short supply,’ Savona said. She paused. ‘I don’t think I’ll see you again, old monster.’
Fabius looked at her. ‘No. I expect not.’ He smiled. ‘All in all, you lasted longer than I thought you would.’
‘I take that as a compliment,’ she said. She raised her maul in salute. ‘Goodbye, lieutenant commander.’
Fabius turned back to his display and gestured dismissively. ‘Be helpful and go kill something, will you?’ But he was smiling as he said it.
She was gone a moment later, and he quickly sealed the hatch. The longer it took them to find him, the longer the attack on the apothecarium would last. The longer his creations would have to evacuate.
‘A bit more time,’ he murmured. ‘Just a bit more time.’
Saqqara’s display crumbled into static as the Reaver’s plasma reactor went critical. An apocalypse of heat and light rippled outwards, engulfing the closest buildings. Saqqara turned, sheltering behind the shattered archway. The tower shook down to its roots, losing pieces of itself.
His flasks rattled against his chestplate, and he endeavoured to cover them as best he could. If they were to escape now, they might well turn on him in a frenzy. There was too much death in the air, too much pain and fear.
The air stank of burnt plasma when he rose from his crouch. The horizon had been seared purple and red. Shriekers rose in screaming flocks from their fiery nests, their flesh burning, making them resemble comets in reverse.
Saqqara turned back to the cryo-cask he’d spent the last hour dragging to the top of the tower. It was heavier than it looked, given what it contained, and one of twelve – each the same size and weight. He sank down beside it and tapped the code into the rune-pad. It opened with a hiss, venting chill gases.
He looked at the huddled form within. It gasped slightly as it stirred from the slumber of stasis and blinked uncomprehending eyes sleepily. There was nothing behind that lavender gaze, no intellect. But there was a soul, of sorts. Barely formed and untainted.
‘Madness,’ Saqqara said, as he looked down at the clone of his tormenter. It was young. Fabius as he would have been on his day of choosing
, when potential aspirants were at last handed over to the Legion’s Apothecaries. He helped the creature stand, and it did so without complaint.
‘This is madness,’ he said, more softly. He looked at the thing, and forced down the flicker of pity its empty gaze elicited. He drew his sacrificial blade – and slowly thrust it into the clone’s belly. The innocent eyes widened, and the thin mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Saqqara twisted the blade and withdrew it. The clone instinctively grabbed at him, but he easily fended it off. He thrust the knife in again and again, feeling no pleasure in the act, though it was one he’d dreamed of for centuries.
As the clone slumped to join the rest, mewling softly, he raised the blade and made the ritual gestures as he had eleven times before. ‘By betrayal, I sanctify this place,’ he murmured. He stripped blood from the blade and cast it to the eight cardinal directions. ‘By innocence’s sundering, I open the way. Hear me and come forth.’
There was only silence, at first. Even the din of battle seemed to have become muffled. Then, the soft clash of cymbals. The skirl of pipes. Bells rang, as if to celebrate a most joyous occasion. He stepped back as twelve bodies lurched upright, heads dangling, jaws slack. Flaccid hands fumbled at the largest of the wounds he’d made in their bellies, gripping the ragged edges. Slowly, awkwardly, the dead clones began to wrench their wounds ever wider. Something moved within those gaping holes. Many somethings. A daemonic tittering slithered from the wounds. Coloured smoke, reeking of incense and sour blood, spilled forth to swirl about him in almost coquettish fashion.
Saqqara bowed low, hands folded. ‘My lords and ladies, I beseech thee to come forth and I welcome thee in the name of him whose flesh is to be your meat and drink.’
He straightened and smiled.
‘Your promised revel awaits.’
Savona slammed her maul down, bursting the grotesque’s armoured skull.
Another of the lumbering horrors lunged out of the smoke, iron claws slashing at her. She caught the blow on her pauldron and rolled with it, letting the creature fling her out of arm’s reach. She struck the ground and rolled upright, charging back towards her attacker an instant later. The grotesque reared back and her power maul caught it in the abdomen.
Manflayer - Josh Reynolds Page 37