by C Z Dunn
I pick up the crozius and, black pearls gleaming in the artificial light of the chamber, charge towards the chained-up corpse. I swing back the power weapon before thrusting it forwards into the dead traitor’s chest. The fused bones of his ribcage shatter and while the sound of the impact still echoes around the chamber I have dropped the crozius to the floor and drawn my combat knife. Embedding it at the point where I expect the ribcage to terminate, I use both hands to push the blade up through the mass of ruined flesh and bone.
Withdrawing it once it reaches the base of his throat, I place both hands into the rent in his upper torso and move them in opposite directions, peeling open his chest to expose the cavity beneath. Just as I have seen so many times before as the result of battlefield injuries, it folds back to reveal twin hearts – neither of them beating – nestled between a multi-lung and other organs vital to the creation and survival of a Space Marine. I retrieve my weapon of office from where I unceremoniously dumped it on the floor and activate it, ramping it up to full power.
Then I thrust it up into the gaping hole I have just made in my prisoner.
His eye opens instantly and the scream he emits is distorted by the convulsions wracking his body. I lower the intensity of the weapon’s power, leaving just enough energy coursing through him to keep his hearts beating and his brain activity functioning.
‘For the last time, how is the ritual carried out?’
‘Please… please… just let me… die.’ His remaining teeth are gritted as he says this.
‘Answer my question and I’ll make it so.’
‘Sacrifice… a blood sacrifice.’
‘That’s not a proper answer. What kind of blood sacrifice?’
‘That’s… why the Balethu lured us to their home world… why they had us lure you here too… sacrifice… has to be a Space Marine. Now please… let me die…’
I’m already on my way out of the chamber as he utters that last sentence and as I stride down the corridors of the Sword of Caliban to vox a warning to the Dark Angels on the planet below, the gentle rumble of engine noise abates as the prisoner begins to scream once more.
Company Master Balthasar
‘Acknowledged, Interrogator-Chaplain Seraphicus.’
Though not entirely unexpected, the information just relayed to me adds a new urgency to our mission. I open the general vox-channel.
‘We are to proceed on the assumption that Arion is still alive and being held captive by the Crimson Slaughter. Interrogator-Chaplain Seraphicus has finished interrogating the prisoner and has determined that the Hellfire Stone is a Khornate altar upon which a blood sacrifice is to be made in an attempt to draw forth a daemon of the warp.’ I do not need to add that Arion is to be that sacrifice, as the inference is clear.
Upon hearing this, the remnants of Squad Raphael and Squad Barachiel increase their pace, not only eager to rescue their brother but also keen to prevent an otherworldly abomination from being called forth from the aether. The terrain begins to harden the deeper into the forest we venture and the undergrowth thickens to such a degree that at times we are forced to run in single file behind the four hulking Terminators. Conversely, the trail of our prey is easier to follow as bark and branches have been stripped from trees where the path has narrowed to less than the width of an armoured Space Marine, and lengthy gashes are carved in the soft earth, presumably left when they’ve had to drag Arion.
The light breaking through the canopy above intensifies and as the path through the trees widens to allow two of us to walk abreast it is evident that we are approaching another clearing.
‘Contact,’ Sergeant Barachiel’s voice booms over the vox a split second before the report of bolter fire issues forth from fifty metres or so along the path.
A dozen bolter shells impact against the sergeant and Varhmiel, standing next to him in formation, but they all detonate harmlessly against their suits of Tactical Dreadnought armour. Adapting to the situation on the fly, both lead Terminators crouch down to allow Dardariel and Narcariel clear sight of the enemy. Storm bolters and autocannon hammer the enemy position, forcing the crimson shapes up ahead to duck back behind the cover of the massive trees.
‘Up, up! Keep moving,’ I yell over the vox-link.
The Terminators heed my order but face an even sterner barrage as more of the Crimson Slaughter add their firepower to that of their brethren. Bolter shells find their mark and servos are destroyed in both Varhmiel and Narcariel’s suits slowing their progress even more. Dardariel’s assault cannon glows red hot as it sprays the enemy with shot and his tenacity is rewarded when one of the Crimson Slaughter number goes down after taking a succession of rounds to the head.
The enemy response is instant, though, and a concentration of fire aimed at the heavily armed Terminator finds a weak point in his armour and shreds flesh and bone at his knee. He falls prone but without hesitation both Angelus and Oriphiel fill the void he has left in the formation and lend their bolters to the effort.
Another figure appears in the opening to the clearing ahead to replace the fallen Traitor Astartes, though it is no transhuman who takes his place. Instead, a cultist strides boldly up to the enemy lines, flamer at the ready waiting to jet promethium over the blue starter flame and turn this section of forest into an inferno.
‘The cultist, take down the cultist!’ My voice is barely audible in my helmet over the din of battle.
The three Terminators left standing pool their fire in the direction of the newcomer but, though several shots find their mark including one straight through the crude rebreather apparatus he is wearing, as his body pitches forwards his final act is to depress the promethium activator.
The forest in front of me glows bright orange as gouts of flame make contact with dry bark and ignite the trees either side of the narrow path. Thick black smoke billows forth as the sap below starts to burn, laying down a screen through which the Crimson Slaughter and their lackeys can fire with impunity. Firing blind, we return it in kind but with no way of picking out targets, none of our shots hit home.
Then, just as I’m about to give the order to charge, the situation evolves into something much worse.
The rapidly spreading flames not only move towards us but also in the other direction, back towards the clearing and the enemy position. As they creep ever closer to the Crimson Slaughter, the corpse of the flamer-wielding cultist becomes bathed in fire and the promethium tank on his back heats to critical levels. The resulting explosion kills not only two of the Crimson Slaughter Chosen and the three remaining cultists but also fells two cyclopean trees across our path, creating a burning barricade preventing us from reaching the Chaos Lord, the Hellfire Stone and Arion.
With all other courses of action closed to us, I speak directly into Turmiel’s mind and issue the order of last resort.
Sergeant Arion
I awake to the sound of an explosion and the smell of smoke. I blink my eyes open and my vision resolves to reveal a blanket of blue interrupted only by daubs of white, and I realise that I am staring at the sky. I attempt to lift myself into a sitting position but my motion is inhibited and all I succeed in doing is raising my head a few centimetres from where it is resting. I look down at my body to find that I am bound to some kind of stone with thick iron chains.
The Hellfire Stone? Is this what the Crimson Slaughter have been seeking all this time?
I turn my head to the side and take in my surroundings. I am in a clearing, not unlike the one I was in when I activated the teleport homer, and on the far side a handful of red-armoured figures are firing their bolters into a burning forest. Two loud cracks ring out that I initially mistake for shotgun fire but they are soon followed by a pair of thunderous crashes, signalling that a couple of trees have been felled. The fire from the Crimson Slaughter ceases.
I struggle against my bonds, but they are pulled so tight against my ar
mour that the only part of my body with any mobility is my head. Frustratingly, my chainsword sits in its scabbard by my side but I have no way of reaching it.
With combat over, the Crimson Slaughter now turn their attention to me. Only five of them remain now and the one in the blue cloak and the horned helm, presumably their leader, draws his power sword and starts to advance upon me.
‘Well, well. We only needed a Space Marine to complete our ritual but a member of the esteemed Dark Angels Second Company, a sergeant at that, is an unexpected bonus,’ he says in a voice that does not belong to him. ‘But tell me, Ravenwing, I thought you were supposed to be quick? Not quick enough to outrun your fate, were you?’ The four Crimson Slaughter beside him laugh by way of response.
Is this what Seraphicus meant all those years ago? Is this the fate that the Lion and the Emperor have had destined for me all along?
‘Do not worry, Ravenwing. You won’t have to live with your shame for much longer,’ he says, eliciting more laughter from the Chosen flanking him on either side. ‘In moments you will be dead and our master will grant us our just reward.’
I hear the sound of metal grating on metal and, impossibly, I look down to see the chains that so tightly bind me gradually slipping away. It is followed by a tiny clunk as the metallic catch of my scabbard undoes, seemingly of its own accord.
The Lion give you strength to do what you have to do, brother.+
No. This was the Emperor and the Lion’s plan for me. This is why I had been spared. Not to enable the Hellfire Stone’s activation but to prevent it.
As if sensing what is happening the Chaos Lord picks up his pace and raises the sword above his head. ‘No! I have come too far. You will not rob me of this!’ he screams, launching himself at me.
I roll sideways from the sacrificial stone, reaching down for my chainsword as soon as my arms are clear of their shackles. The Chaos Lord’s power sword strikes the position where, until scant milliseconds before, I had been lying helpless and embeds itself in the Hellfire Stone in a shower of sparks. My thumb hits the activation stud of the chainsword and as I slide clear of the stone, I twist my body and bring my weapon up. Gravity does the rest as the blade bites easily though the breastplate of my armour and pierces the first of my dual hearts. I land with the sword beneath me, adjusting the angle of the blade to allow the force of impact to drive it up through my secondary heart. My blood flows freely but in throwing myself clear, I ensure that none of it bleeds onto the stone and completes the blasphemous ritual.
The Chaos Lord’s primal howl of frustration still rings out as my world goes black again for the final time.
Company Master Balthasar
The five Crimson Slaughter traitors disappear in a bright flash of light as I enter the clearing, leaving their after-image burned on my retina for several seconds afterwards before my occulobe compensates, preventing permanent eye damage. Squads Raphael and Barachiel emerge from the jungle behind me, along with Turmiel who makes straight for the Hellfire Stone and the body of Arion.
‘Sword of Caliban. The enemy have just teleported away from our position. Commence scanning – they must have a craft somewhere nearby,’ I say, opening up the vox-link to the orbiting strike cruiser. All around me, Terminators and other Space Marines are securing the area, searching the undergrowth fringing the clearing for booby traps or sign of ambush.
‘We’ve been monitoring constantly ever since you made planetfall, my lord,’ the voice of the ship’s captain says in my ear. ‘We haven’t detected any sign of other… Wait. Just now. A massive energy flare from the far side of one of the planet’s moons. They must have held orbit there to mask their presence from our auspexes.’
‘Do you have a firing solution?’
‘Negative, my lord. The moon is blocking our line of sight and they’ll have made warp translation by the time we can manoeuvre the Sword of Caliban into position. I have a fix on your position and can teleport you aboard the enemy ship if you require but that window of opportunity will only remain open for the next seven seconds before they are out of range.’
I look around the clearing at my battle-brothers. At Barachiel and his three Terminators, their armour pitted and dented from enemy bolter shells, Dardariel barely able to stand, blood drying on the greaves of his armour. At Tennin, his breastplate ruined by the three claw-marks running across it. At Angelus, Joash, Kerael, Orion and Simiel, their armour in almost as poor a state as the Terminators’, green giving way to bare metal by way of battle decoration. At Heskia, his plasma cannon now useless through overexertion, helmet and pauldrons spattered with the molten remains of the Helbrute. At Turmiel, his tattered cloak fluttering in the breeze as he recites a benediction over the corpse of the Ravenwing sergeant. At myself, battered and bloody but, like my battle-brothers around me, alive to fight another day.
‘Lord?’ the captain queries in my ear.
‘Negative.’ I open up the general vox-channel so that the Dark Angels planetside can hear my next order too. ‘Stand down. I repeat, stand down. We are in no state to teleport blindly aboard an enemy ship. Vengeance will be ours, but not this day.’
On the other side of the clearing, Barachiel turns away from his search of the undergrowth and nods his assent.
The Thunderhawk idles in the centre of the clearing, the backwash from its engines swaying the saplings and young trees on the borders of the forest. Interrogator-Chaplain Seraphicus moves among the bodies of our dead, commending their souls to the Lion and the Emperor, and, in lieu of an Apothecary, removing their progenoids to ensure the succession of our Chapter. Though not trained in the healing arts, the Chaplain does a serviceable job and at least some of the gene-seed may remain intact until it can be borne back to the Rock.
Two servitors carefully lift the Hellfire Stone from where myself, Sergeant Raphael and Sergeant Barachiel have removed it from its resting place, before loading it into the back of the Thunderhawk.
The survivors of the two squads, both Fifth Company and Deathwing alike, look on as Seraphicus performs his mournful but noble task. After each slain Dark Angel’s genetic legacy is bequeathed to the Chapter, their corpse is reverently carried aboard the awaiting craft by their battle-brothers, the act of sending the dead on their final journey too venerated to be left to mere servitors or Chapter serfs.
Turmiel stands apart from the group, watching impassively from beneath the ragged hood of his cloak. Though Arion’s sacrifice is understood by those who survived him, the Space Marines under my command are not stupid and realise that the Librarian must have had a role to play in the Ravenwing shedding his bonds. My fear is that the already aloof psyker may have ostracised himself even more from those he has to fight alongside. I will speak more of this with Seraphicus once we are back on board the Sword of Caliban.
Our mission and duties to the dead complete, the Dark Angels retrieve their weapons and prepare to board the Thunderhawk but find me standing halfway along the boarding ramp, barring their entry. I raise a hand to both halt and silence them.
‘Dark Angels. Our mission of the past few months draws to a close and Master Zadakiel is avenged, his killer dead at the hands of Brothers Heskia and Turmiel.’ I pause and allow the two Space Marines their moment of adulation, noting that only the two sergeants congratulate the Librarian directly. ‘But as this mission ends, so another begins. Seven more of our brothers lie dead thanks to the Crimson Slaughter and though even in death they will still serve the Chapter through their genetic legacy, seven more names will be added to the Grimoire of Remembrance on the Rock and seven more souls cry out for vengeance.’ Every set of eyes is focused on me, every jawline set hard in defiance.
‘Let not their deaths be in vain. Let the memory of their deeds and heroism be your spur. Let the sorrow of their passing drive you to even greater heights and grant you the strength to hunt down and slay those who would strike at the heart of our great an
d noble Chapter.
‘Remember too your own heroism this day. That you thwarted the schemes of the arch-enemy and prevented a being of unspeakable horror being called forth from the immaterium, saving not only more of your brothers’ blood being shed but also this world and those around it. Remember this and draw upon it the next time your brethren or the worlds of the Imperium are imperilled, when all seems lost and the situation calls for even the greatest sacrifice to be made.
‘Remember all this as we go now back out among the stars, towards further glory, further honour and further death. Remember this as we go once more in search of vengeance!’
As my battle-brothers pass me on their way aboard the Thunderhawk, I look each of them square in the eye, reinforcing our bond of brotherhood and honour before taking my place alongside them and leading them once again into the unknown.
Brother Turmiel
In 3.7 seconds I will follow my battle-brothers in boarding the Thunderhawk. Although there is plenty of room on the craft, Squad Raphael stow their kit on several of the empty seats and force me to sit apart from them. Nine minutes and 12.2 seconds later the Thunderhawk will rendezvous with the Sword of Caliban, and during that time Master Balthasar will be the only soul on board to either speak to me or acknowledge my presence.
Within one hour of being back on board the strike cruiser, Master Balthasar will contact the other elements of Fifth Company operating within the Draconis System and arrange to extract them from their theatres of battle. Within one Terran week Fifth Company will be back up to nearly full strength and we will head out of system to rendezvous with Fourth and Sixth Companies along with elements of the Scout Company.
It will take us a further week of warp travel to join up with the other companies as we will receive new orders en route and divert to an abandoned gas-mining moon. Only Master Balthasar, Interrogator-Chaplain Seraphicus, Squad Barachiel and the veteran sergeants will make their way down to the moon and after three days of intense combat they will return minus two of the sergeants and one of the Terminators. The Chaplain will lock down fully half the decks of the Sword of Caliban with nobody save the Company Master and Deathwing allowed access. When we finally do meet up with our battle-brothers, Interrogator-Chaplain Seraphicus will commandeer the Sword of Caliban and, along with the three remaining Deathwing, will return to the Rock. Fifth Company will transfer to the battle-barge Angel of Retribution, which Fourth and Sixth Companies have been using as a mobile base of operations, and Company Masters Boaz and Tigrane will cede command of the mission to Master Balthasar due to his familiarity with the enemy rather than seniority or rank. Those brothers who fell during the Battle of Bane’s Landing will be replaced as Scouts from Tenth Company swell the ranks of Fifth and embark upon their careers as fully-fledged Space Marines.