The bolt pistol was raised for another shot, but the White Consul’s arm was shattered by a heavy double-handed blow of Ashkanez’s power maul, splinters of broken bone gleaming brightly within the messy wreckage of power armour and flesh. The First Acolyte’s return blow crunched down upon the Consul’s white helmet, killing him in a splatter of gore.
“Apostle!” growled Ashkanez in warning, and Marduk turned, hissing at the pain in his shoulder, but managed to lift his crozius up to deflect a buzzing chainsword that was aimed towards his neck. He smashed his own chainblade up into his attacker’s groin, and blood sprayed as the hungry teeth of his daemon weapon ripped through power armour.
The White Consul fell to the deck, his plate armour covered in blood, and Marduk spun away from him, deflecting the thrust of a combat knife before stepping in close and ramming his elbow into the Consul’s face.
“Guilliman’s weakness resides within you, brother,” sneered Marduk. Still, the warrior was Astartes, even if he was descended from the False Emperor’s bastard lapdog primarch, and he recovered quickly, spitting teeth and blood from his mouth. With a roar he hurled himself at Marduk, lunging for the Dark Apostle’s neck with his combat knife.
Marduk battered him aside with his crozius and struck out with his chainblade in a blow intended to rip his enemy’s neck apart. The Astartes warrior felt Marduk’s intent a fraction of a second before the attack was launched, and lifted an arm into the path of the daemon weapon. The weapon screamed as it tore through ceramite and flesh, biting deep into bone. The White Consul grimaced in pain, but dragged the chainsword away from his neck and lashed out with his knife. Marduk threw his head back, avoiding the worst of the blow, though a deep slash was carved across his face just under his left eye.
“Heathen filth,” snarled Marduk as hot blood ran from the wound, and he brought his crozius crashing down upon the White Consul’s shoulder, pummelling him to the ground. Before the warrior could rise, he stepped forwards and brought his weapons together, catching the warrior’s head between them.
Behind him, Burias-Drak’shal grabbed hold of the Techmarine’s servo-arm and lifted the Space Marine off the ground, smashing him into a wall. The red-armoured adept lost his grip on his weapon and fell to the floor, the sheet plating of the wall behind him a crumpled ruin. He reached for his gun, but before he could lift it Burias was on him, snarling and spitting. He grabbed the Techmarine’s head in one hand and rammed the talons of his other into his face, transfixing him to the wall for a moment before the possessed warrior ripped his talons free with a tortured wrench of metal.
One of the Razorbacks was thrown into reverse, its engines roaring, but Kol Badar held it in place, his power talons digging deeply into its fore armour. Tracks squealed as they spun, and smoke rose from the vehicle’s engines, but Kol Badar held it firmly in place, allowing his chainfist-wielding Anointed brethren to close in, carving a gaping hole in its side. Heavy flamers roared, filling the interior and cooking the driver and gunner inside.
Smoke was pouring from the other tank from grenades that had been hurled into wrenched open hatches.
Anointed brethren with roaring chainfists had moved on to the blast-doors and begun to carve through its thick layers, but their progress was slow, and Marduk snarled in frustration. In the time it would take to breach the doors their position might have been overrun or, perhaps worse, the bridge might have fallen to Ankh-Heloth’s boarding party, coming at it from a different angle.
“Quickly now!” snarled Marduk.
He cast another glance down the corridor, seeing the White Consuls inching their way forwards there. The enemy were gathering for a counter-attack from the rear, but they were holding back as they waited for more reinforcements.
“What are you waiting for, you whoresons?” he roared. “Come to us and die!”
He was answered almost immediately. Red light began to strobe from a pair of warning beacons mounted in sconces thirty metres back down the corridor. Grinding gears announced the arrival of two service elevators, and steam and smoke belched from within them as their doors clattered open. The deck shook beneath heavy, reverberant footsteps, and Marduk swore under his breath.
From out of the steam and smoke, a pair of immense shapes emerged.
“I think they may have heard you,” said the Black Legion sorcerer dryly, and Marduk cast him a dark look.
“Dreadnoughts,” snarled Kol Badar.
These were clearly the reinforcements that the White Consuls had been waiting for, and the battle-brothers of the hated Chapter began to advance behind the two behemoths, bolters roaring.
One of the Dreadnoughts was armed with an assault cannon that whined as it began to spin, muzzle-flare spitting from its barrels. Its exhaust stacks belched fumes as it heaved itself forward with titanic steps, its massive power claw clacking open and shut in eagerness. Its sepulchre was carved in the likeness of a stylised winged Astartes warrior, bolter clasped in its hands.
The other Dreadnought was draped in regal blue banners depicting scenes of victory. It planted its heavy feet and stabilising maglocks slammed down, rooting it in place. A second later it began to lay down a withering barrage, missiles streaming from launchers and superheated blasts screaming from the scorched double barrels of its multi-melta.
Marduk threw himself into a roll as the newcomers’ fire tore across the breadth of the corridor.
Bolters roared in response, spraying the enemy Dreadnoughts, and Reaper autocannons tore chunks out of their hull plating, yet they were barely scratched. The floor shook as the advancing Dreadnought’s momentum increased, while the screaming of its assault cannon reached a deafening pitch.
Melta guns integrated into combi-bolters fired, blurring the air with waves of heat, causing blistered welts to appear upon the Dreadnought’s ceramite plates. Cables and servos melted, dripping steaming gulps of liquefied metal onto the deck floor, but the Dreadnought did not slow.
Still firing its assault cannon, it grabbed the first Anointed brother it reached, its massive paw closing around his Terminator-armoured body and lifting him into the air. The warrior slammed his power axe into the mechanical beast’s armoured forearm, embedding it deep, before he was hurled away.
The Dreadnought smashed another cult warrior aside with a sweep of its massive arm, knocking the Terminator into a pillar. Even such a blow was not enough to finish the heavily armoured Chaos Marine, and he rose to one knee and blasted white-hot plasma from his combi-bolter into the Dreadnought’s sarcophagus. It was merely a last-ditch act of defiance and the damage it caused was negligible. The Dreadnought’s assault cannon roared and the warrior was torn apart. The mechanised behemoth’s armoured bulk rotated towards Marduk, and it began to advance upon him, stitching the corridor with lines of fire.
Krak missiles streamed up the corridor, obliterating all they touched in devastating explosions. Ignoring the danger, XVII Legion warriors moved to interpose themselves between the advancing Dreadnought and their hallowed Dark Apostle, but they were swatted aside like children and cut down by the torrent of fire spitting from the whirling barrels of its assault cannon. The torso of one warrior, a battle-scared veteran who had fought as part of the Host since its inception, simply disappeared in a cloud of bloody vapour as a multi-melta blast struck him square on. The super-heated mist of blood splattered across Marduk, who stood snarling up at the Dreadnought as it bore down upon him.
Ashkanez leapt past him with a defiant roar, smashing at the Dreadnought with his power maul. He scarcely dented its armoured plates, and the Dreadnought swept him aside with a heavy blow. He crashed into an exposed girder, which buckled beneath his weight, and fell heavily to the deck floor.
Servos and pneumatics wheezing, the White Consuls Dreadnought drew back its massive power fist. If it struck, it would crush Marduk utterly. The Dreadnought struck with a speed that belied its bulk, and Marduk only barely avoiding the blow, throwing himself into a roll that took him beneath the strike. Th
ere was a mighty crash and the sound of wrenching metal, and as Marduk came to his feet, he saw the Dreadnought’s fist embedded deep in the buckled metal of the blastdoors.
It struggled to pull itself free, and with one arm still embedded in the metal door, it dragged its assault cannon around, tearing up everything in its path as it sought to bring the heavy weapon to bear on Marduk.
With a curse, Marduk threw himself flat as thousands of rounds ripped across the corridor, leaving a smoking line of impacts where they struck.
Another warrior was melted beneath the intense heat of the other Dreadnought’s multi-melta, fusing him to the thick armoured blast-doors. Missiles roared from the launch tubes, engulfing a Coterie in a series of explosions that tore them to pieces.
Marduk heard Kol Badar’s coldly detached and calm orders to the Host, the Coryphaus confident of victory even when faced with such odds. He was directing the other assault parties, advising them and passing on fresh orders as enemy dispositions came to light.
Burias-Drak’shal and his possessed kindred were leaping towards the advancing White Consuls, tongues lolling from distended jaws and claws gouging deep furrows in the deck in their eagerness to close with them. Bolters tore great chunks out of their armour and flesh, and more than one was cut in half by concentrated fire, but only killing shots dropped them. They shrugged off lesser injuries and tore into the hated descendants of Guilliman.
The Icon Bearer himself closed the distance with the enemy Dreadnought with bounding leaps. The hulking construct fired a trio of krak missiles at Burias-Drak’shal. With unholy speed, Burias ducked beneath the first two missiles, and swung his horned head to the side to avoid the last, which missed him by less than half a hand’s breadth.
Maglocked stabilisers unhooked themselves from the deck and the Dreadnought began to back up, attempting to put more space between it and the possessed warrior bounding towards it. Its multi-melta screamed, but Burias-Drak’shal swayed to the side to avoid the blast and launched himself into the air.
He landed on the Dreadnought’s chassis, claws digging in deep. With a bestial roar, he drew back one fist and smashed it into the armoured sarcophagus. The blow did not breach the thick armour, but he clung on as the Dreadnought swung from side to side, trying to shake him loose. Nor did his second or third blow penetrate the Dreadnought’s armour, but his fourth produced a crack.
More possessed warriors, their hulking bodies rippling with mutation, closed in around the Dreadnought. Like a rabid pack, they snarled and roared as they leapt upon its massive form, tearing armour plates loose, ripping at cables and wiring.
Marduk grinned as his chainsword carved through the midsection of a charging White Consul, relishing the rich taste of Astartes blood as it sprayed onto his lips. Blood was eagerly sucked up into the innards of his daemon blade, the beast within gorging on this feast and roaring its pleasure in the revving motor of the chainsword. He could feel the daemon pulling at his hand, urging him to kill again.
Burias-Drak’shal punched a talon into the widening crack of the Dreadnought’s sarcophagus, still clutching on to the front of the immense war machine like a horrid gargoyle. He hooked the claws of both hands into the crack and heaved at it, his entire body straining. Muscles mutated and swelled to twice their size as Burias-Drak’shal sought to rip open the sarcophagus.
More White Consuls were moving up steadily now, and a flamer was brought to bear on the Icon Bearer, liquid promethium spraying across the front of the Dreadnought. Even as his armour and flesh caught fire, Burias Drak’shal continued straining, using all his warp-enhanced strength to tear the Dreadnought’s armoured shell apart.
With a series of violent yanks, the possessed warrior tore off a cracked section of the sarcophagus, sending it clattering to the deck floor. With a roar of victory, he reached inside, grabbing the shattered form of the White Consul within and kicked off backwards, tearing the pitiful semi-living corpse from its protective housing.
He landed five metres away, patches of his skin still on fire, and looked down at the thing clutched in his talons. It was pathetic to think that once it had been an Astartes warrior.
It had no arms or legs, and its head was that of a cadaver, flopping limply over its wasted, skeletal chest. Its troglodytic skin was pulled taut across its bones, pallid and lifeless. Its eyes were sutured closed, though Burias-Drak’shal could see them moving spasmodically behind the eyelids, like a man trapped in a nightmare. A wealth of cables and wires protruded from its body, emerging from plugs inserted along its spinal column and seemingly at random all over its torso and head. Torn from the life-support and internal controls of the Dreadnought, they leaked stinking milky paste and oily fluid.
Burias-Drak’shal snarled in disgust as the thing twitched in his hands. With a powerful wrench he corkscrewed its head from its shoulders and tossed it aside.
The Dreadnought was lifeless now, as if waiting for the shattered master that made it whole to return. Marduk saw Burias-Drak’shal grin in feral satisfaction.
A bolt took Burias-Drak’shal in the thigh half a second later, and he snarled in anger and pain as he dropped to one knee.
Marduk gunned down a White Consul and ducked back behind a pillar as carefully laid down bolter fire pushed him and the Coterie members around him back.
They were taking heavy casualties now. From the reports flooding in from the other areas of the ship it was the same story: Word Bearers and White Consuls selling their lives dearly, with an XVII Legion warrior falling for each loyalist scum that was killed.
The assault cannon-armed Dreadnought was still struggling to free its fist, allowing a Coterie to approach its exposed rear. Arming melta bombs one-handed, they closed in and affixed the potent grenades to the Dreadnought as it strained to turn to face them, almost tearing its arm off at the shoulder.
Finally it freed itself with a sickening sound of protesting metal, and staggered around, assault cannon screaming as it raked its attackers with fire. Then the melta bombs detonated. The Dreadnought stood for a moment, half its engine and drive mechanics melting down its legs onto the floor, before it tipped forwards and collapsed, belching black smoke.
The deck shuddered as the monster fell, and as if this were a signal, the locking mechanisms of the immense blastdoors were suddenly released, mag-locks grinding. Interlocking serrated teeth unclamped, and like the jaws of a yawning beast the doors parted, retracting into the floor and ceiling to reveal the bridge of the Sword of Truth.
There in the doorway stood the figure of a White Consul. A tall white crest rose above his gold-edged helmet. His pristine white armour was heavily artificed, and a rich blue cloak with gold thread was thrown back over his shoulders. Gleaming claws slid from the sheaths of his power gauntlets, energy dancing along the elongated, gently curved blades. Behind this defiant warrior stood a semi-circle of veterans, their helmets regal blue and their spotless white armour swathed in blue tabards. One held aloft their company standard, and all were bedecked with purity seals and military decorations.
Marduk licked his lips in relish.
“For Guilliman!” the captain of the White Consuls bellowed, a cry echoed by his bodyguard before he broke into a charge, leading his warriors into the ranks of the Word Bearers. The other Consuls pressed in behind them shouting war cries of their own.
The warrior brothers of the 34th Host welcomed this test. It had been too long since they had met foes their equal. The prospect of killing the enemy Chapter’s captain was intoxicating. With verses of hatred upon their lips, the brethren of the XVII Legion surged forwards to meet their foe head on.
Ashkanez smashed one of the charging veterans from his feet with his double-handed power maul, and Marduk brought his crozius crashing down on a White Consul’s arm with a sickening crunch. The warrior’s arm flopped uselessly, blood leaking from his ruptured power armour, and Marduk ripped his chainsword across his warrior’s throat as he staggered. The eager revving of the chainsword rose to a
fever-pitched squeal as adamantium teeth shore first through armour and flesh, then vertebrae.
Marduk was battered sideways as a charging veteran slammed a crackling storm shield into him. Recovering quickly, Marduk parried the warrior’s follow-up thrust, batting a power blade away with his crozius, and he swayed aside to avoid a hissing burst from the bulbous barrel of a plasma pistol.
A Word Bearer nearby spat a curse as he was impaled upon a humming falchion blade, and another died as the back of his head exploded, a bolt fired at close range detonating inside his helmet.
Another warrior brother staggered back, clutching at the thick ropes of innards spilling from his abdomen. The captain of the White Consuls came after him, energy dancing across the tips of his lightning claws. Cradling his intestines in one arm, the Word Bearer lifted his bolter towards the captain. With a blinding slash, the arm was severed, falling to the ground, and in a heartbeat the warrior brother was dead. The captain’s fist smashed up under the Word Bearer’s chin in a brutal uppercut; the blades of his lightning claws penetrated his brain and speared out through the top of his helmet.
Marduk blocked another stabbing blow and launched a lightning riposte, which his enemy took on his crackling storm shield. The percussive shock of the impact jolted Marduk’s arm, numbing it to his shoulder. At his side, First Acolyte Ashkanez flattened a veteran with a heavy overhead blow of his flanged power-maul and turned on Marduk’s opponent. A two-handed blow clubbed the storm shield-wielding Consul to his knees, and Marduk dispatched him with a heavy blow to the side of his head that splintered his helm.
The captain of the White Consuls took down two more Word Bearers. The first fell heavily, half his head sliced away. The second died as the Space Marine captain’s lightning claws sank deep into his chest. The Word Bearer was lifted off his feet and hurled contemptuously away. Marduk snarled in rage and moved towards the enemy captain.
[Word Bearers 03] - Dark Creed Page 12