‘Kergis!’ Kor’sarro motioned the company champion forwards as a wave of militia swarmed up the front of the Predators. Kergis bounded onto the rear deck of the nearest vehicle. In an instant, the champion was face to face with a militia sergeant who was desperately trying to pry open the turret hatch with an improvised crowbar. The two leaders sized one another up. Then a chainsword flashed, and the two halves of the traitor sergeant’s body fell to the ground on either side of the tank.
A dozen more of the troopers clawed their way up the tank’s frontal glacis plate. One was firing an autopistol at point-blank range into the driver’s vision block, emptying an entire magazine in a couple of seconds. The act had little effect, for the driver’s sights were constructed of thick armoured glass, made to stand up to far stronger attacks. Another trooper was ramming a grenade into one of the four exhaust units on the side of the vehicle, an action that could feasibly damage the tank’s engine systems. Kergis drew his bolt pistol, and exploded the man’s head with a single, almost point-blank shot.
The troopers died as more of Kor’sarro’s warriors opened fire. Sparks flew as bolter rounds exploded or ricocheted from the armour after ripping devastatingly through traitor flesh. The vehicle’s white livery ran red with the blood of the enemy, and no militia troopers were left alive within twenty metres. Along the line the other Predators were likewise cleared of the enemy, freeing the tanks to concentrate their own fire on the horde of traitors still surging forwards.
In seconds, no more traitors remained. The ground in front of the White Scars was a charnel plain of broken and shattered bodies. The sudden cessation of shouting and gunfire was almost shocking, allowing the other sounds of the war-torn city to press in. From overhead came the roar of a Thunderhawk’s mighty engines, and still more of the gunships could be heard further out. Explosions spoke of hellstrike missiles pummelling their targets from afar, while the sharp crack of boltgun fire told of the rooftop battles the Raven Guard were even now winning.
The route ahead would not remain clear of enemies for long, and the brotherhood was soon under way again. As before, the Predators led the way, their turrets scanning back and forth. The force passed the area strewn with the blackened bones of the enemies caught in the plasma fires unleashed when the gate fell. Soon, however, the White Scars found the ground so covered with the remains of those gunned down by the Predators that the tanks had to grind a path through the bodies which the bikers and other units followed. Kor’sarro had witnessed many grisly sights throughout his years of service, but riding through a mire of blood and body parts was amongst the more unpleasant.
Finally, the ground up ahead cleared of corpses and the force spread out. Consulting Moondrakkan’s command terminal, Kor’sarro oriented himself with his objective, the Cathedral of the Emperor’s Wisdom, where Shrike’s contact had suggested Voldorius and his mysterious prisoner were waiting.
The terminal displayed a two-dimensional map of this part of the city. Up ahead lay a large, open area labelled as the grand square. Kor’sarro ordered the bike squads to press on towards it at full speed. The slower Predators and other vehicles followed up behind, dealing with any serious resistance by using their heavy weapons.
Soon, the force was closing on the grand square. A sturdy barricade had been erected at the end of the street and the White Scars prepared to engage more militia troopers. But the barricade was facing in the wrong direction, not defending the grand square against attackers approaching along the street, but to contain a foe in the square itself. Furthermore, the barricade was entirely unmanned, even in the midst of the battle that now embroiled the whole of Mankarra.
The lead Predator slowed in its progress, and its commander emerged from the turret hatch. Kor’sarro brought Moondrakkan alongside the tank, and shouted up to the other warrior. ‘Clear the way, brother-sergeant, then spread out.’
The tank commander saluted his khan before voxing the order to his crew. A moment later, the turret-mounted autocannon opened fire, round after round exploding across the armoured barricade until its entire structure disintegrated into fragments of twisted metal. The lead tank prowled forwards and ground slowly over the remains of the barricade, making a path for the remainder of the force.
Kor’sarro allowed the other armoured vehicles to pass through the ruined barricade and spread out into the grand square before he led the bike squads through. As soon as he entered the square, Kor’sarro brought Moondrakkan to a halt as a scene of utter devastation confronted him.
The grand square covered a massive area, and was surrounded on all sides by the bunker-like structures that dominated the city. But what drew Kor’sarro’s gaze were the hundreds of thousands of corpses strewn across the entire square. This whole city appeared at that moment to be populated by the dead, or in the case of the militia, the soon to be dead. Anger rose within Kor’sarro, mingled with hatred of Lord Voldorius. The reign of the daemon prince had to end, he swore, and this entire place had to be cleansed, so utterly had it fallen to death and devastation.
If passing along a street of recently slain traitors had been disgusting enough, then the sight before Kor’sarro was far worse. The corpses that were scattered across the grand square were not those of soldiers, but of ordinary citizens. It was evident that these people had been made an example of, and simply left to rot as a dire message to their survivors.
‘This goes further than mere slaughter,’ Qan’karro said flatly. His voice was choked with a disgust that, if possible, exceeded Kor’sarro’s. ‘He did this not just as an example.’
‘Explain please, old friend,’ replied the Master of the Hunt.
‘He did this to gain power. To reap the souls of the innocent, and to offer them up to the Great Enemy.’
Kor’sarro looked out across the sea of twisted corpses, righteous anger seething inside. ‘To what end?’
‘That I can only guess at, huntsman. The vile one is gifted of great power, of that we can be sure.’
‘And this… atrocity… fuels that power still further?
‘Aye. It lends him strength, and gains him favour. Dwell no more upon it, Kor’sarro. Leave such things to the Stormseers.’
Kor’sarro looked into the eyes of the man who was his old friend and his most valued counsellor, and nodded his understanding. ‘The wise man knows the limits of his knowledge.’
Qan’karro’s leathery features were split by a rare smile at Kor’sarro’s recounting of ancient Chogoran wisdom. ‘Indeed he does,’ replied the Stormseer. ‘And you will know,’ he continued, ‘when the time comes.’
‘Then let that time be soon,’ said Kor’sarro, gunning Moondrakkan’s engines. ‘Let us hasten to end this.’
At Kor’sarro’s signal, the brotherhood pressed outwards into the grand square. The corpses were not so densely packed as the slaughtered militia had been in the street leading to the grand square, so he was not forced to ride over their pulped remains. The stink of decay, however, was all but overpowering, even for a veteran of a thousand battlefields and sieges.
Gaining speed, Kor’sarro led his bike squads out towards the centre of the grand square, leaving the Predators and other armoured vehicles to carry on behind. As he passed by clusters of bodies, he judged that the slaughter had taken place several weeks before, and turned his gaze away in revulsion.
Then, he looked back to one particular pile of corpses, having thought he had noticed movement there. He sneered as he imagined the local scavengers crawling over the bodies, and cursed Voldorius all the more for bringing such a thing about.
As the bikers roared onwards towards the far side of the square and the road that would lead them towards their objective, more furtive movement stirred amongst the piles of corpses. Kor’sarro knew they must be crawling with vermin, but he was reminded of an especially morbid Chogoran legend that warned that improperly buried corpses might somehow rise again to slay the living. He cast the notion from his mind – he had witnessed many vile blasphemies in
his time, but surely such a thing was beyond even the power of Chaos?
The White Scars were three quarters of the way across the grand square, weaving around pile after pile of decaying corpses, when a figure rose up before him.
Kor’sarro had no time to manoeuvre around whoever, or whatever, it was that blocked his path. Instead, he gritted his teeth and ploughed on, crushing the figure beneath Moondrakkan’s wheels with a sickening crunch.
In the instant before the impact, Kor’sarro had briefly seen a twisted face set into a hateful, gargoyle-like leer. The legends of Chogoris came fully to mind, and then as one, a hundred other figures arose from the piles of corpses all about.
Kor’sarro slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt. A moment later, his bike squads had done likewise. Sixty Space Marine riders formed up into a laager, Kor’sarro and his Command squad in the centre.
A circle of ragged figures stood amongst the corpses. Each was impossibly emaciated and clad in filth-encrusted rags. The eyes were expressionless pits and their mouths dripped gore, which streamed down their fronts. The bodies of many were twisted and contorted, while others had overlong arms that ended in serrated claws encrusted with long-dried blood.
‘Carrion-eaters,’ spat Brother Kergis.
‘Mutant filth,’ said Kor’sarro.
‘I thought for a moment they were–’ continued Kergis.
‘Aye,’ interjected Kor’sarro. ‘I too. But they are living, and so can be killed.’
‘Brothers!’ Kor’sarro called out to his assembled warriors, checking the ammunition levels of the twin bolters mounted in Moondrakkan’s fairing. ‘We have no time to waste here!’
As one, every engine in the company roared to full power and the White Scars brought their bikes around to align themselves with Kor’sarro and the banner of the 3rd that waved beside him. Even as the bikes roared, still more of the mutant cannibals arose from their vile lairs amidst the rotting bodies, until they pressed in from every quarter.
The mutants were unarmed, but would clearly present a threat, for many sported wickedly sharp talons that could only be the work of some vile biomancer. The bodies of others were covered in distended spines and barbs. While Kor’sarro had initially taken their bodies for malnourished and emaciated, on closer inspection each mutant was possessed of a wiry frame, with whipcord muscles that would grant them blinding speed in battle.
Moondrakkan leapt forwards and Kor’sarro thundered down on the mutant horde, his warriors close behind. As the range closed a Thunderhawk gunship swooped low overhead and opened fire on the outer edges of the horde. He sent up a silent word of thanks for the timely fire support, and knew too that the Predators the bikers had left at the edge of the grand square would not be far behind.
Every twin bolter in the force opened fire as the charge closed. Dozens of the mutants were struck down, but Kor’sarro noted that many more were somehow able to weather the storm of mass-reactive death. He had no time to wonder what sorcery had made their skins as hard as iron.
Kor’sarro found himself surrounded by the vile mutants. Though the face of each was slack and vacant, their bodies moved with lightning speed. Even as the Master of the Hunt raised Moonfang high, a barbed talon swept towards his face before he had even seen it coming. Kor’sarro only barely managed to duck in time, yet still the talon scored a deep cut along his shoulder plate. In that brief moment, he knew that the power of the warp animated these hideous walking blasphemies.
Kor’sarro brought Moonfang down to take the head of the mutant that had struck him, but somehow the vile creature leapt backwards beyond his attack, and then darted inside his reach. The mutant’s next attack would be aimed at his exposed torso, and Kor’sarro reacted by instinct, twisting his body around so that the impossibly sharp talon struck only a glancing blow.
He had avoided the full force of the mutant’s strike, but Kor’sarro immediately bit back a curse as he felt the claw penetrate his armour and gouge a raking wound across his chest. Had he not twisted his body at the last possible moment, the talons would have punched directly through his chest armour and, in all probability, through the other side.
The mutant was fast and strong, but it was not nearly as skilled a combatant as the Master of the Hunt. His enemy had overstretched itself, allowing Kor’sarro to bring Moonfang down in a great sweep that severed the mutant’s head in an explosive shower of black blood.
Even as the mutant’s body collapsed to the ground, more pressed in from all sides. Kor’sarro knew that to become bogged down amongst them would be to invite a meaningless death, for he had a far greater mission to perform than to slay these fell deviants.
‘Ride through!’ Kor’sarro bellowed, opening Moondrakkan’s throttle and powering forwards. A dozen mutants were crushed beneath his mount’s wheels, and more died as Moonfang slashed and cleaved in every direction. It was crude, bloody work, and Kor’sarro’s armour was cut in a dozen places and his cloak torn almost to shreds by the time he had broken through the mutant’s ragged line.
Kor’sarro’s warriors followed his example, powering their way through the press of mutants until the last of the White Scars bikers burst forth from the swirling melee.
At least three of Kor’sarro’s warriors had fallen to the mutants. He bellowed in rage as the vile creatures descended upon the white-armoured bodies, ripping the noble sons of Chogoris asunder and biting deep into their flesh. It appeared in that instant that the mutants were so absorbed in their feeding frenzy that they had forgotten about the rest of the White Scars.
Kor’sarro checked the ammunition levels of his bike-mounted boltguns. They were dangerously low. He longed to pump every last round into the mutants, but he could spare neither the ammunition nor the time were he to face his ultimate foe, Voldorius.
The air was split by a sonic boom and a Raven Guard Thunderhawk swooped in low.
‘Give our brothers space!’ Kor’sarro bellowed, and the White Scars roared forwards and within thirty seconds were closing on the far side of the grand square.
The gunship unleashed a salvo of missiles directly into the mass of mutant cannibals. Kor’sarro said a silent prayer for his fallen brethren, hoping they would be consoled by the fact that their bodies and wargear would be reduced to ashes and defiled no more.
Then the missiles struck, great explosions erupting across the centre of the grand square. Mutant body parts were thrown high into the air, their broken corpses mingling with those they had preyed upon. The gunship streaked onwards towards Kor’sarro’s position, and as it passed directly overhead, a number of black-armoured forms leapt from an open hatch and descended upon screaming jets to land on the ground near the Master of the Hunt.
It was Captain Shrike and his Command squad. Before the squad had entirely touched down, Shrike was ordering the gunship to return for a second pass, to ensure that not a single one of the horrific creatures could possibly have survived.
‘Brother-Captain Kayvaan Shrike,’ Kor’sarro addressed his compatriot. ‘Much has been settled this day already,’ he continued, referring to the many frictions that existed between the two Chapters. ‘Yet as far as my rank allows, I cast all debts aside.’
Shrike reached up and removed his helmet. ‘Never mind that, brother-captain.’
Kor’sarro regretted his words the moment Shrike gave his reply, and was on the verge of unleashing a torrent of invective when Shrike pressed on. ‘My forces have located the prisoner the contact mentioned. I am assembling a detachment to kill that prisoner.’
Kor’sarro’s wrath was forgotten as soon as it had appeared, as is the way of all Chogorans. ‘Where?’
Shrike paused as the shockwave of his gunship’s second attack run struck the Space Marines, causing his long black hair to whip across his pale face. Then he continued. ‘A detention cell, adjacent to the subterranean cathedral.’
Kor’sarro’s mind raced. He had no idea who this prisoner was, but if they were as valuable to Voldorius as Shrike�
��s contact insisted, then the matter should be investigated. And besides, Shrike appeared as keen to eliminate the prisoner as Kor’sarro was to slay the daemon prince. His gaze fell across the square, where he saw Third Company’s armoured column approaching. His eyes alighted upon one of the Rhino transports.
‘Kholka,’ he muttered.
‘Brother-captain?’ Shrike replied.
‘Scout-Sergeant Ultas Kholka, Raven Guard,’ Kor’sarro grinned slyly as he replied. ‘The man who detected your presence at the landing site.’
‘Only barely…’ Shrike replied. ‘But I’m sending my own men in. We don’t need help.’
Kor’sarro pressed on. ‘Kholka could penetrate the detention cells,’ he continued. ‘And free or slay the prisoner, according to his judgement.’
‘I am sending my own men in,’ Shrike repeated.
‘You said yourself, brother-captain. Kholka is good.’
Kor’sarro felt the eyes of another upon him and saw that the Stormseer Qan’karro was approaching, the Chaplain Xia’ghan at his side. The two had just dismounted from their Rhino transport, and behind them Scout-Sergeant Kholka was doing likewise. Though the Stormseer could not possibly have overheard the exchange between the two company captains, both saw the message in his eyes. It was unmistakable.
‘Your Scouts go in,’ Shrike said darkly. ‘But my man goes too.’
‘Agreed, brother-captain,’ Kor’sarro replied.
‘Brother Meleriex and two others shall accompany your Scouts,’ said Shrike, turning to one of the members of his Command squad and nodding. ‘Meleriex is my nominated second, and he speaks with my voice. He knows what to do.’
‘Then let it be so,’ Kor’sarro replied, holding out his hand towards the Raven Guard captain. The two grasped forearms in the manner of the warrior common amongst such men the length and breadth of the galaxy. ‘Let it be so,’ Shrike repeated, both men turning as Sergeant Kholka and his Scouts approached.
‘It will submit to the process,’ the red-hooded, renegade tech-priest hissed, his voice dry and coldly mechanical. ‘Or it shall undergo the nerve-shrive. Again.’
Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1 Page 26