He had no time to reload the pistol; besides, he needed a weapon that took life at a faster pace and didn’t rely on ammunition. Brother Omar unsheathed his combat knife. Neophytes trained with the honourable gladius but were not deemed worthy of an Adeptus Astartes blade until they attained the rank of Space Marine. With its clip point, cross guard, machete-length and cleaver-like cutting blade, a ‘Scout’s-only-friend’ – as Squad Whip Keturah called them – was still a graceful taker of lives.
Brother Omar slashed and hacked through the wall of rabid flesh. He clipped heads and limbs from torsos; he cut blades from shovels and improvised clubs in half; he sliced, speared and stabbed, gutted and butchered his way through the horde. His cloak was heavy with gorespill and the ivory sheen of his Scout carapace was stained claret-red with the sheer volume of blood gushing, spraying and spurting about him. Wiping blood from his eyes all he could see were further faces, screwed up with malice presenting eyes that glinted murder.
Omar’s blade suddenly hit something solid. Something that didn’t slice like flesh or merely tug at the blade like cleaved bone. The Scout had swung with all his superhuman might and struck stone. The combat blade had cut into the corner of a gargoyle-encrusted vault, a small building in the shadow of which the melee had raged. Surrounded as he was, the ringing up his arm was the first the neophyte had known of the crypt entrance. When a flick of the wrist failed to retract the broadness of the blade, Omar tugged on the hilt with both hands. The stone refused to surrender the blade, however, and once again the degenerates closed in. Teeth sank through his field smock and into the flesh of his arm, while his carapace back presented the savages with an irresistible opportunity. The Scout soon felt the weight of scores of the maniacs on him, and looking up, watched more scrawny shadows tumble down to join them from the vault roof.
Releasing the blade, Omar snatched at the wretches and tossed them away. Others he brained with his fists and tore limb from limb. Stumbling about like a hunchback under the sheer weight of crazies with their teeth and nails in him, the Scout began to buckle. A wretched specimen bit into his ear and ripped it off, prompting the Space Marine to clench his head in one fist. Omar took the degenerate’s skull and hammered it into the crypt wall, pounding it until it shattered, crumbled and spilled its insides like an egg. The masses moved this way and that about him, each blood-mental savage wanting Adeptus Astartes blood on their hands.
Omar suddenly lost his footing, the ground seeming to disappear beneath him. Falling onto his back with literally hundreds of squirming and thrashing degenerates, the Scout came to the conclusion that he had tumbled into a hole. A freshly dug grave. A common enough sight on the cemetery world. There, with teeth in his thigh-flesh, arms and bloody face – with murderous hands around his neck, tearing at and under his shredding carapace – Brother Omar, Scout Marine and Excoriator, realised his fate. To be buried alive in mortal flesh and to be slowly clawed and mauled to his death.
Chapter Eleven
By the Blade
Zachariah Kersh stood atop the tower-steeple of the Basilica of Our Lady of the Sepulchre. It was much higher than the tiny hermitage tower of the Excoriators’ dormitory. It had the second tallest spire and the best vantage point in the city. The tallest – the Obelisk – had suffered too much structural damage during the Scourge’s battle with the daemon, and Pontifex Oliphant had given the order for his Ecclesiarchical palace to be carefully demolished. The colossal dome of the Umberto II Memorial Mausoleum commanded the best view in the city, but Palatine Sapphira of the Order of the August Vigil had forbidden use of the sacred site as a strategic consideration, the building and the remains of the Ecclesiarch and High Lord of Terra within rendering the ground holy. It wouldn’t have taken Kersh much to countermand the Sister and force his agenda, but he needed the Adepta Sororitas onside and so allowed the Palatine the illusion of a refusal.
From a maintenance portico, with a pair of magnoculars to his one useful eye, Kersh surveyed the declining roofline of domes, cupolas, spires, monuments and bell-gables that gave Obsequa City its distinct Ecclesiarchical character. Kersh looked out across the darkness, dialling through the optical spectra of the device. A thermographic representation of the city bleared into view. There were fires everywhere. Running battles between psychotic mobs and the Certusian Charnel Guard could be seen in the streets, the telltale glares of las-fire revealing the true scale of the problem. Kersh could hear the bark of enforcer shotguns even in the streets nearby and imagined Kraski’s men putting down fellow Certusians with scattershot and bitterness.
Out across the expanse of Necroplex-South, Kersh could see the throngs of cemetery worlders, with simple lanterns and flaming torches dotted through their numbers, pouring into the city along arterial lychways. Kersh had sanctioned the strategy but that wouldn’t have mattered. With the reports he was receiving regarding the nightmarish barbarism afflicting the burial ground communities, the corpus-captain had fully expected common Certusians to flock to the seeming safety of the planetary capital. Whether this was due to the spiritual sanctity they expected the relic-remains of the Ecclesiarch to provide, or the simple security offered by stone walls and thick narthex doors, was unclear. They had arrived in their thousands, and continued to do so. Much of the Charnel Guard were engaged in urban pacification and hastily organised ‘Misery Squads’ – so called for their unhappy duty of hunting and putting out of their misery cemetery worlders who had succumbed to the gall-fever and become a danger to themselves and other citizens. This left few ceremonial Guardsmen to man the city Lych Gates and process the stream of Certusian refugees. In response Kersh had despatched the Fifth Company’s serfs and bondsmen – including his own – to take charge of the admittance and temporary housing of the masses in the crowded city.
Kersh tracked the powerful lamps of a Scout bike surging up along the columns of cemetery worlders towards the city. Lifting the magnoculars at the roar of engines overhead, he watched the Thunderhawk Impunitas pass above the city and bank. With all three of the company’s remaining gunships now repaired and at his disposal, Kersh had ordered one standing by on the rockrete of the Memorial Space Port, one to remain with the Angelica Mortis in orbit and one to maintain constant airborne patrols of Obsequa City and the surrounding necroplex.
Lowering the magnoculars, Kersh turned his head. Beneath his boots he could feel the supernatural cooling of the stone. He heard it cracking and blistering. Behind him stood the revenant in its ghoulish black plate, rippling with the rachidian contours of rib and bone. It waited like a thing eternal, as though it had all the time in the universe.
‘Ready?’ the Scourge said finally and disappeared through the maintenance arch followed by his solemn and silent haunter.
Down in the basilica nave, surrounded by pillars crafted in the baroque likeness of Imperial saints, and under the stained-glass gloom of the God-Emperor sat upon the Golden Throne in lead-lined representation, the corpus-captain had called a gathering. Kersh walked past Erasmus Oliphant, the young pontifex holding his crippled side awkwardly in the simple throne his frater menials had brought in for his comfort. Palatine Sapphira stood by his side, flanking the throne with two of her cobalt-plated Sisters, each armed with their distinctive Godwyn-Deaz-pattern bolters. Behind them huddled a small group of confessors, priests and deacons who were either too loyal to their pontifex to flee, or had been too late to arrange passage off-world with their Adeptus Ministorum colleagues. Kersh heard the hurried scuff of boots on the polished marble floor of the basilica, noting a shabby and tired-looking Proctor Kraski and Colquhoun’s replacement, Lord Lieutenant Laszlongia, enter the chamber via a side-arch.
With the mortals to his back, the corpus-captain stepped out before his Excoriator brothers. Kersh had assembled the significants of the Fifth Company, as well as the silver-haired squad whip of the Tenth Company Scouts, Silas Keturah. The whips of Squads Cicatrix, Castigir and Censura all stood in assembly, with squad second whips standing behind th
em. Uriah Skase held himself with unusual stiffness, his shoulders reclined, chestplate thrust forwards and fingers interlaced behind his back. Kersh wasn’t fooled by the chief whip’s seeming respect and attention. The Scourge had seen the stance before and had indeed indulged in it himself. It came from a rawness and sensitivity of the back, where flesh itself had been flayed during the worst of ‘the purge’s’ attentions. As Kersh suspected, Skase had continued to punish himself – pushing ritual observance beyond its primarch-communing function and into the dark realms of a shame-cycle and flagellation for flagellation’s sake. Whips Ishmael and Joachim demonstrated no such deference, pretend or otherwise, and instead busied themselves with furtive glances and conspiratorial mutterings between themselves and the second whips.
Kersh stood, anger slowly building in the tautness of his scarred face as he waited for the squad whips to present themselves to their corpus-captain. While they did, with insolent tardiness, the Scourge’s eye fell across Ezrachi and the skull-helmed Chaplain Shadrath on the opposite side of the nave. Keturah was with them. Last in line was Techmarine Dancred with his Thunderfire cannon, Punisher, which seemed to follow him everywhere. Only the Librarian, Melmoch, was missing. Brother Micah, the company champion’s young face a nest of cuts, stitches and bruising, took his position at his corpus-captain’s side. Beside him was Brother Novah, Brother Toralech’s hasty replacement as company standard bearer. Young, like Micah, but quiet and uncertain, Novah held the battered and tattered standard of the Excoriators Fifth Company in one hand. Micah had assured Kersh that he was a first class warrior, and having originally fought in the same squad as the champion, was one of the few brothers he could trust. In the darkness of the aisle, the armoured revenant melted into the shadows.
‘Brothers,’ the corpus-captain began, ‘I have gathered you here to share my resolutions, so that we may commit to a course of action and see it through.’
‘Rumour has it,’ Skase interrupted, his voice echoing about the basilica’s columns, ‘that we are abandoning our pursuit of the renegade Alpha Legion and pointlessly garrisoning this pile of grave dust.’ Murmurs of assent proceeded from the Excoriators about him.
Kersh would not be drawn.
‘Chief whip, I have called members of this company to order and you will respect that.’
‘I only–’
‘Hold your tongue, damn it!’ Kersh roared at him. ‘When I want your insights I will be sure to ask for them. In the meantime you will act in accordance with your rank and responsibility, sir.’
The chief whip tensed and bridled, but Kersh saw Ishmael grab at his wrist. Skase shook free of the squad whip’s grasp but remained silent, his jaw rigid with anger and eyes glistening.
With similar difficulty, the corpus-captain continued.
‘The Angelica Mortis confirms that the Keeler Comet has passed Certus-Minor. I think we can assume that the comet’s infernal influence is responsible for the mayhem and bloodshed on the planet surface. The cemetery world will pass through the comet’s tail in the next eighteen hours, however, and only the Emperor knows what might happen then. Long range sensors and pict-scans confirm that an enemy armada has reached the outskirts of the system, trailing the comet at sub-light speed. We can assume this to be the Cholercaust Blood Crusade. We have little intelligence to go on in respect of the armada’s numbers or composition. I won’t lie to you. No world has survived the Cholercaust’s attentions. The dead tell no tales. Estimates vary wildly from fifty to a thousand vessels. The Imperial Navy has verified sightings of cruisers belonging to the World Eaters…’ Kersh allowed confirmation of their dread enemy to sink in before continuing. ‘So we can assume Traitor Legionaries to be at the head of their numbers.’
The clockwork whir of Brother Dancred’s face preceded the Techmarine’s contribution. ‘You intend the Fifth Company to remain on Certus-Minor?’
Kersh paused.
‘I do, brother.’
A ripple of discontent washed through the squad whips and their seconds. ‘Corpus-Commander Bartimeus’s estimates place the Keeler Comet on a trajectory for the Segmentum Solar. We cannot afford the Blood Crusade’s further progression, nor allow its strength to grow by another conquered world. Not with Ancient Terra as a possible future target.’
‘What about the Vanaheim Cordon?’ Squad Whip Joachim ventured, his young eyes boring into the corpus-captain.
‘Be under no illusion,’ Kersh told them all, ‘the decision to stay is mine and mine alone. I will not surrender this part of the Emperor’s Imperium, no matter how small, to the Ruinous Powers – nor will I abandon the Emperor’s subjects, those who we were bred to protect, to torment and certain slaughter. This is, of course, largely academic. We have no astropath to call for reinforcement and without a Navigator, we cannot reinforce the Vanaheim Cordon with our own numbers.’
‘The Avignor Star?’ Ezrachi asked.
‘Their Navigator is dead,’ Kersh informed the Apothecary. ‘He inexplicably started bleeding from his mouth, his ears and his eyes. The ship’s surgeon tried his best but the Navigator could not be saved.’
‘The Angelica Mortis could make short-range jumps,’ Dancred said.
‘Yes,’ Kersh agreed. ‘And I have spoken with Corpus-Commander Bartimeus on the matter, but I have another destination for the strike cruiser. In the meantime, we have to face the reality of an imminent attack. With our number we can only afford to hold one strategic location and the city is our only real option. Pontifex Oliphant and I have arranged the recall of all Certusians from burial grounds and communities across the planet surface. They have made and continue to make their way here under the instruction of the Tenth Company Scouts. Whip Keturah, I believe you still have a number of your contingent outstanding.’
Silas Keturah fixed his corpus-captain with his single bionic eye.
‘Brothers Taanach, Omar and Iscarion are still outstanding,’ Keturah reported. He nodded his acknowledgement to the Techmarine beside him. ‘Brother Iscarion reported issues with the vitality of his vehicle’s machine-spirit.’
‘I will apply the necessary oils and benedictions,’ Dancred assured the squad whip.
‘Taanach and Omar have made no vox contact,’ Keturah informed the Scourge. ‘Which is unusual.’
Kersh nodded his agreement. ‘Go out with the Impunitas. Find them, Silas. We will need every brother in the dark hours to come.’
‘You have a battle plan?’ Ezrachi asked.
‘One that was good enough to serve our ancestral brothers and parent Legion at the walls of the Imperial Palace,’ Kersh told him. ‘Brother Dancred will oversee the demolition of all buildings on the city exterior.’ The Scourge paused, turned and looked at the young pontifex. He expected the ecclesiarch to offer some objection regarding the ancient lineage of the buildings or the holiness of the ground upon which they were to be collapsed. Oliphant hesitated and then nodded. The pontifex had seen up close the monstrous enemy that the Excoriators would be facing. ‘We’ll assume that an attack could come from any and all directions. The necroplex itself will impede large vehicles and slow the progress of mass charges on the city. There our bolters will do their worst.’
Several Excoriators nodded in grim appreciation. ‘Rubble mounds from the collapsed architecture will provide cover and elevation for our shooters, but more importantly an unbroken perimeter obstacle for our assailants should we have to fall back to the next line of buildings.’
‘What about the remaining citizenry?’ Oliphant asked through one side of his mouth.
Kersh hesitated. ‘The city is small but we simply do not have enough Excoriators, Charnel Guard and Adepta Sororitas to hold the line alone,’ he said.
‘You don’t have any Adepta Sororitas,’ Palatine Sapphira informed him with cool conviction. ‘My Sisters and I will be in the vault below the Memorial Mausoleum with the relic remains of his Reverence, Umberto II.’
‘I need your bolters on that perimeter.’
‘You
can’t have them. I’m sorry.’
The Excoriator and Sister looked hard at each other.
‘You will be when we’re overrun by the enemy.’
‘You have your orders, corpus-captain, and I have mine.’
‘My orders invariably focus on saving the living.’
‘I’m afraid mine don’t,’ Sapphira told him harshly. ‘That many might fall today is regrettable, but nothing compared to the comfort and spiritual fortitude Umberto II’s sacred bones will give to future billions. See, corpus-captain – you must worry about the living but I must look to the yet to live.’
Kersh’s lip curled. He would get nowhere with the Sisters of the August Vigil.
‘The cemetery worlders will have to provide the extra coverage,’ Kersh said with regret.
‘And how do you propose they do that?’ Palatine Sapphira came back at him. Her voice was cold and cautious.
‘We will arm them from the city auxiliary armouries,’ the corpus-captain returned.
‘Impossible, that’s–’ Oliphant piped up, half out of his throne and tripping over his words.
‘Heresy,’ said Sister Sapphira, supplying the word for him. ‘That would break the Decree Passive. Should we survive the oncoming Cholercaust, we would all simply be executed for treason of faith.’
Kersh nodded, recalling his time at St Ethalberg.
‘Which is why Laszlongia would recruit them as Charnel Guard conscripts. They would be probitors, whiteshields – under the command of the lord lieutenant and the pontifex only in his role as planetary governor.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Sapphira said after a short pause. ‘It still smacks of insidiousness.’
‘I’m not asking you to like it,’ Kersh bit back. ‘And I’d simply call it expedience.’ He looked to the freshly promoted leader of the Certusian Charnel Guard.
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