Warhammer 40K - [Dawn of War 01] - Dawn of War

by C. S. Goto - (ebook by Undead)

  As he ran, Gabriel saw one of the Chaos Marines suddenly throw up his arms, casting his bolter to the ground, and then slump forward onto his face. Standing in his place, her curving blade dripping with blood as lightning flashed behind her, an eldar warrior paused for a moment, throwing back her head and letting out a cry of victory. The cry rose shrilly, gathering volume and power until it drowned out even the sound of the storm and the chanting of her brethren.

  The Chaos Marines on either side of the eldar warrior collapsed to the ground, clutching their hands to the sides of their helmets, shaking their heads in insane agony. As they fell to their knees, the eldar snapped back into motion, spinning into a pirouette with her blade outstretched, taking the heads of both Marines in a single fluid movement.

  Gabriel was closing now, swinging the hammer above his head in preparation for the combat to come as he stormed over the uneven terrain. The Chaos Marines were in disarray, trying to deal with the slippery eldar in their midst and with the charging Blood Raven all at once—they snatched bolter fire in all directions, snapping their weapons from side to side whilst drawing their chainswords ready for close-range combat.

  Diving forward into a roll, Gabriel cleared the last few strides in an instant as bolter fire zinged off his armour and flew over his head. He flipped back onto his feet, bringing the hammer down vertically on the head of one of the Chaos Marines, shattering his spine as the hammer flared with power. To his left, the eldar warrior was dancing and springing between Marines, slicing into their armour with her blade and spraying out shuriken from her pistol. For a brief moment, the eldar and Blood Raven came to rest, back to back in the midst of a ring of Alpha Legionaries.

  Looking up, Gabriel could see the figure of Sindri, suspended above the floating mountaintop, hanging by tendrils of power that seemed to pulse, feeding him with the energy of the storm. Time was running out, and he leapt forward towards the Marines that blocked his path up the summit, sweeping the daemonhammer in front of him and clattering through their outstretched chainswords. He felt a movement breeze past his shoulder as he started to run forward, and then the eldar warrior landed lightly in front of him, having somersaulted over the Blood Raven’s head.

  Skrekrea bounced into a spin, flashing her blade out in every direction, slicing into the Chaos Marines all around, but leaving Gabriel completely unscathed. As she danced through the combat, she opened a gap in the line of Marines, and Gabriel barged through it, dropping his shoulder and pulling the weight of the daemonhammer behind him. He knocked two Alpha Legionaries off their feet as he crashed through them, and then leapt up the slope towards the peak, the way ahead clear.

  A wail of agony from behind him made Gabriel pause. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the eldar warrior skewered on the blades of three Chaos Marines. Her head was thrown back and a death cry was gurgling unevenly from her throat as the Marines twisted their blades. Gabriel turned to face them, his blood boiling and rage flooding into his head, and he brought the daemonhammer crashing down against the rock at his feet. The hammerhead exploded with power as it pounded into the rock, ripping a crack into the islet and rendering it asunder, breaking the platform under the Chaos Marines free of the mountain summit and sending it tumbling down into the sea of flames below. The Alpha Legionaries scrambled to keep their footing on the plummeting platform, but the rock flipped end over end, throwing the traitorous Marines screaming into the daemonic firestorm.

  Gabriel watched them fall, and then turned back to the mountaintop, looking up as Sindri started to glow with power, radiating purple light from his body as the blood of the dead Marines blended with the swirling ocean that consecrated the tainted ground of Tartarus. The Blood Ravens captain swung the hammer over his shoulder and started to climb up towards the emergent daemon prince.

  * * * * *

  “YES!” CRIED THE bellowing voice of Sindri as the storm pulsed through his veins, filling his body with the oscillating energies of the warp. A great ring of purple flame blew out from his position, rippling across the fragmented mountaintop in concentric circles, dousing the combatants in warp energy. The Alpha Legionaries roared with renewed passion as the power washed over them, and the Blood Ravens staggered under the tidal onslaught. But Matiel blasted over the waves with his jump pack spilling orange flames into the sea of fire. He roared towards the Chaos sorcerer, determined that his Space Marines would not meet their end at the hands of such a foul creature. His bolter coughed and spat shells, and his chainsword spluttered in readiness as he barrelled through the hail and wind, yelling his determination into the storm: “For the Great Father and the Emperor!”

  Gabriel pulled himself up onto the summit just in time to see Sindri turn his head towards the sergeant, as he seared through the air towards him. A sudden javelin of purple flashed out of the daemon’s eyes, punching into the jetting form of the Blood Raven and halting him in midair. Sindri shrieked with pleasure, immersing himself in the daemonic energies that flowed through him as a conduit into the material realm.

  Matiel was held for a moment, suspended in the onrush of warp fire, held high above the frantic battle that raged on the sundered mountaintop. His arms snapped out to his sides, and his weapons fell away from his hands, as he was held in a blaze of agony for all the warriors to see.

  “No!” yelled Gabriel, hefting the daemonhammer onto his shoulder and crouching, ready to pounce. “Matiel!”

  Suddenly, a blue fireball hissed through the sleeting rain and punched into the levitating form of the Chaos sorcerer, knocking him back. Sindri, the emergent daemon prince, snapped his gaze back round to face the eldar farseer, raking his flaming eyes in a great arc of destruction across the islets of the mountaintop, exploding rock and incinerating Marines as his stare touched them. The purple river crashed against the figure of the farseer, splitting into a series of streams that ran around her, as she stood defiantly against the current.

  Meanwhile, released from the daemon prince’s thrall, Matiel tumbled out of the sky, crashing down against a rocky outcrop far below.

  “No!” yelled Gabriel, as he launched himself into the air, swinging the daemonhammer up in a vertical arc and throwing himself towards the pulsating form of Sindri. He jumped three metres into the sky, carried upwards on the back of the eldar chants, the chorus of the Astronomican, and the righteous will of the Blood Ravens themselves. The daemonhammer seemed to drag him higher and higher, pulling him into the eye of the storm as though it were a guided missile, as though it had a will of its own.

  Sindri narrowed his eyes, concentrating the river of fire into a torrent that crashed into the farseer as she staggered back under the daemonic onslaught. But she would not fall, and the daemon prince roared his rage into the storm, bringing down forks of purple lightning and ravaging the mountain with hurricane force winds. Just at the last minute, he saw Gabriel out of the corner of his eye. But it was too late.

  The daemonhammer swept up and around in a spiralling blur, dragging Gabriel in a loop around the daemon until he was suspended in the eye of the storm alongside the husk of Sindri. Without even a moment’s hesitation, Gabriel shouldered the hammer and spun his whole body, bringing the daemonhammer around with all his strength. The ornate, rune-encrusted hammerhead flared with blinding light as it punched into the chest of the emergent daemon, driving straight through its body in an explosion of warp fire and gore. Sindri’s body was rent in two, as his chest crumpled into nothing and then exploded out of his back, leaving his head hanging momentarily in the air above his stomach.

  The storm itself seemed to reel in agony as its eye was shattered by the captain of the Blood Ravens. The clouds whipped into a giant whirlpool, pulling the lightning into spiralling streams that seemed to be sucked back in towards the core, dragging the energy of the immaterium back through the Chaos forces in an immense backwash that left the Alpha Legionaries boiling within their armour. The storm was collapsing back on itself, as Gabriel tumbled down towards the rocky summit of
the mountain, and the floating islets of rock themselves started to fall back into place on the mountaintop.

  As Gabriel crashed into solid ground, he pulled himself to his feet and watched the maelstrom raging all around him. The remaining Blood Ravens were struggling to maintain their balance as the mountain shifted and rocked, spilling the boiled Alpha Legionaries and the treacherous Guardsmen into fiery chasms that were quickly sealed as the mountaintop reformed. Further down the mountainside, Gabriel could see the remnants of the orks turning tail and fleeing down into the valley. Then, with an earth-shattering crack, the Maledictum dagger thudded into the stone at his feet, its curved blade biting into the rock with the hilt holding the stone itself.

  He hoisted the daemonhammer for one last strike, but a thought stayed his hand, pressing into his mind.

  Human! Do not destroy the stone… you will doom us all!

  Gabriel paused with the hammer held aloft, poised, ready to crash down on the Maledictum. He could see the eldar farseer, shining like an angel in the spiralling maelstrom of the collapsing storm. She was staring at him, willing him not to crush the stone. There were a few eldar warriors standing beside her, a couple of wraithguard and a warlock. The eldar had paid a heavy price for the souls of the Tartarans.

  “Captain!” came a shouted voice from behind him. “Destroy the stone before it leads others to ruin—it lies at the root of the damnation of Tartarus!” cried Mordecai, straining his voice against the torrential storm, standing on the edge of a nearby islet.

  Gabriel shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to find some calm in the eye of the storm, searching his soul for the guidance of the Astronomican. But there was nothing but fire and darkness swirling behind his eyelids.

  You know not what you do… came the thoughts of Macha once again, but this time they were accompanied by a rain of shuriken and blasts of wraithcannon. I cannot let you destroy it.

  The fire zinged against Gabriel’s armour, ricocheting in sparks, but he did not move. He stayed silent and still, waiting for calm, waiting for certainty. The hammer hummed in his hands, hungry for destruction. His mind was congealing with disparate images: he saw flickers of the silver choir transforming into the tortured faces of the people of Cyrene; he saw Isador’s eyes burning with fury and hatred; and he saw the disfigured form of Brom, a bullet hole fresh in his forehead.

  Opening his eyes, not even wincing at the sleet of shuriken that peppered his armour and sunk into his flesh, he looked down into the Maledictum. Something dark and shadowy moved within, and inchoate whispers reached for his mind.

  “No!” he cried, bringing the daemonhammer crashing down on the stone, driving the dagger down into the rock below but shattering the Maledictum into a rain of tiny shards. A immense explosion detonated as the hammer struck the daemonic stone, sending concentric shock-waves of warp energy radiating out from the mountaintop. The explosions knocked everything flat, rippling down the mountainside after the fleeing orks. Then, with a sudden reversal, the Shockwaves were sucked back up the mountain, gathering in the storms, the hail and the lightning, dragging the darkness back to the hilt of the curved dagger, and sucking them into the abrupt implosion.

  The twin-peaked mountain was thrown into sudden silence, leaving the motionless, prostrate forms of Blood Ravens and Biel-Tan eldar lying on the rocky summit. The clouds parted, and the dusky red sun shone warmly through the cold, still air.

  EPILOGUE

  “THE THUNDERHAWKS ARE on their way, captain,” reported Corallis, finding Gabriel bent over the body of Sergeant Matiel. “Matiel was a fine Marine, Gabriel. He will be missed,” he added, kneeling at Gabriel’s side.

  “Yes, sergeant. We have lost many fine Marines on Tartarus. The Blood Ravens have suffered greatly for their part in this debacle,” said Gabriel gently.

  “It is our role to suffer, so that others will live,” replied Corallis. This has always been the way of the Adeptus Astartes. It is what makes us better than our foes.”

  “But even the Blood Ravens must survive, sergeant,” said Gabriel, rising to his feet. “We must collect the gene-seed of our fallen battle-brothers, ready for transportation back to the Litany of Fury. We will burn the bodies in a pyre on the mountain top, so that the evacuated civilians in orbit will see the flames of those who sacrificed themselves to save their planet. Their legends will live on, even as their souls ascend to the side of the Golden Throne itself.”

  “Yes, captain. It will be done,” said Corallis, nodding a slight bow.

  “Did the young Sergeant Ckrius survive the fight against the orks?” asked Gabriel, slightly preoccupied with other things.

  “Yes, captain. He was badly injured, but Tanthius has recommended him for battle honours,” replied Corallis. Like many of the other Blood Ravens who had seen the young trooper fight, Corallis was impressed and proud of the boy’s achievements.

  “Good. Make sure that he doesn’t die, and see to it that he receives medical care aboard the Fury. We have to look after the future of our Chapter, Corallis,” said Gabriel, smiling faintly.

  “Yes, captain,” nodded Corallis, returning Gabriel’s smile. “I will inform Tanthius at once—he will be keen to see to these arrangements himself.”

  “Very good, sergeant,” said Gabriel, turning away and scanning the desolate scene in the dying light. The mountaintop was littered with the bodies of Alpha Legionaries and the mutated corpses of treacherous Guardsmen. Interspersed with them were the red-armoured forms of fallen Blood Ravens, and Gabriel shook his head painfully.

  “Well done, captain,” said Mordecai, striding through the killing field towards Gabriel. “I knew that I was right about you.”

  Gabriel looked at the inquisitor, unable to return his familiar tone. Something still did not feel right about this episode, and he was certain that Mordecai had more to answer for than he was letting on. The Inquisition never released more information than they needed to—and knowledge is power, as the Blood Ravens knew well.

  “What happened to the eldar?” asked Gabriel, keen to fill in some of the missing pieces.

  “They disappeared after you destroyed the stone. They simply vanished,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Gabriel stared at the hand for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he realised what the inquisitor was waiting for, and he slapped the shaft of the daemonhammer into Mordecai’s gauntlet. He snorted inwardly, utterly unsurprised by the actions of the inquisitor.

  “And the orks?” he asked.

  “As you know, most of them were drawn to the mountain by the commotion of battle. And those that were not dispatched by your Terminators were seen to by the explosion. The Tartarans from Magna Bonum are mopping up the few survivors,” replied Mordecai, almost gleefully, feeling the weight of the daemonhammer in his hands.

  “Good,” said Gabriel uneasily, nodding a quick bow to the inquisitor before turning away from him. “I must find Chaplain Prathios,” he added as an explanation, striding away.

  HUGE FLAMES LAPPED out of the massive funeral pyre on the summit of the mountain, filling the night sky with dancing fire and shadows. The bodies of each Blood Raven had been removed from their ancient armour, with their gene-seed carefully extracted, and then laid onto the pyre with every dignity. Gabriel had stood before the bodies with a torch burning in his hand, the surviving Marines and troopers arrayed behind him, each kneeling respectfully Then he had thrown the torch in a spinning parabola, flipping over and over through the darkness until it landed in the heart of the pyre, which erupted into blossoms of flame immediately. Plumes of dark smoke wafted up into the night, blotting out the stars in an otherwise clear sky.

  Gabriel watched the smoke rising slowly, feeling the heat of the flames against the skin on his face. The smoke swirled and eddied in the breeze, gyrating into transient shapes before dissipating.

  He hung his head slowly, his heart aching with the amount of blood that had been shed over the last few days.

  Kneeling in prayer, Gabri
el closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, knowing that the rest of the Blood Ravens would be doing exactly the same thing behind him. Over to the side of the funeral pyre, standing on his own, Gabriel knew that Mordecai was watching the ritual with disapproval—there were some aspects of the Adeptus Astartes that the Inquisition simply had to tolerate, and ritualised cremations of Marines were one of them.

  From the silence in his mind came a single, solitary voice. It was a soprano, soaring quietly into the heights. One voice became two, the second low and rumbling, plunging into the ancient depths of his soul. Then another voice joined the harmony, and soon the silvery chorus filled his head once again. It was pure and clear—the majestic music of the Emperor himself, guiding Gabriel’s soul and purging his sins. At last, it seemed that Gabriel was at peace.

  Then, one of the voices faltered, and the soprano shifted into a piercing scream. The silver lights started to tinge with red, and Gabriel screwed his eyes closed tightly, trying to shut out the invading images. But the silver ran with blood, and the faces of the angelic choir started to melt and ooze, rendering themselves into perversions of Imperial grace.

  He twitched his head from side to side, trying to shake himself free of the vision, but something held him there, trapped inside his own head. Isador’s face flashed past his eyes, whispering to him that he should not falter. Myriad faces exploded into sight, speckling his consciousness with the visages of Cyrene and Tartarus. The faces started to merge and swirl, spiralling together as though stirred into an emulsion. And then, peering out of the curdling mess came a familiar voice, laughing and cackling with amused triumph.