Apocalypse - Josh Reynolds

by Warhammer 40K

  ‘Stop ’em gettin’ up on dat roof! More dakka dat way! Give ’em some boot levver!’

  The warlord watched a blur of red and black come sailing out of the mine; it quickly resolved into one of his boyz, a ragged hole in the chest. The body splattered and bounced noisily across a rock just in front of Ghazghkull. The ork heard a rapid-fire din above the creaks and puttering of his armour’s engine, a drawn-out rattle accompanied by a flare of orange in the mouth of the mine entrance. A swathe of orks fell to the ground, bloodied holes punched across their bodies. Through the gap, Ghazghkull saw another huge ork advancing from the mine, chain gun hurling bullets in all directions.

  The rival warlord was wearing mega-armour as well, painted a garish yellow and decorated with black flames. Compared to the rusty joints and oil-spattered pipes of Ghazghkull’s suit, the newcomer’s armour was spotless, haphazardly inlaid with chunks of gold and – Ghazghkull sneered at the ostentation – dozens of ork teeth.

  ‘Wot a show-off,’ the warlord muttered as he levelled his gun at the newcomer.

  Ghazghkull opened fire, spraying the remaining contents of the magazine at the enemy warlord. Bullets skipped off the floor and walls of the mine tunnel, and a few found their mark, rattling over the plates of his foe’s mega-armour. The Bad Moon warlord – such gaudy displays of wealth were unmistakeable – turned his own weapon on Ghazghkull as a series of empty clicks from his gun echoed around the chamber.

  ‘Oh zog!’ grunted Ghazghkull.

  He was engulfed in a firestorm of flashing projectiles. A particularly vicious burst caught him in the right shoulder, sending slivers of metal spinning in all directions. The armour’s engine gave an alarming cough but continued working, although with a new rattle.

  The two warlords closed in on each other, the boyz parting to allow their leaders to get to grips, the ground trembling under the combined thudding of metal-shod boots.

  Ghazghkull struck first, swiping his power claw across his foe’s chest, shredding metal. He winced as the Bad Moon smashed his own long claw onto the top of Ghazghkull’s armoured head. A boot found Ghazghkull’s knee plate, which clattered off to the right. Ghazghkull brought down an elbow spike onto his opponent’s left shoulder, driving it hard between the armoured plates, but was thrown back a moment later by a knee-trembling blow to his gut.

  Parted for a moment, the two warlords locked glares. Around them the fighting between the rest of the orks died away to some desultory shooting and the occasional punch or kick. Dozens of red eyes were turned towards the pair, expectantly awaiting the combat to recommence.

  ‘Zog off!’ roared Ghazghkull. ‘Dis is my loot!’

  ‘I woz ’ere furst!’ the other warlord bellowed. ‘You zog off!’

  ‘’Ow?’ asked Ghazghkull. ‘I ain’t seen no uvver ship. ‘Ow did yoose get ’ere?’

  The Bad Moon rippled back his thick lips in a grin.

  ‘Dat’s fer me ta know, innit?’

  ‘Don’t you knows ’oo I am? I’m Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, da proffet of Gork an’ Mork. I’m da biggest, baddest warlord dere is. Ya got ta tell me!’

  ‘I ’eard of you,’ said the other, stepping back another pace. ‘You gave da humies a good kickin’, I ’eard. You might be da proffet of Gork an’ Mork, but nobody makes betta proffet dan me.’

  Something in Ghazghkull’s memory tinkled into place: Bad Moon warlord, stupidly rich, plenty of dakka.

  ‘Nazdreg?’ he snarled.

  ‘Dat’s da wun!’ beamed his opponent. Nazdreg’s eyes narrowed slyly. ‘I ’eard yoose a bit special, bit of a finker.’

  ‘Dat’s right,’ said Ghazghkull. ‘I ’ear da wordz of Gork, or mebbe itz Mork, itz ’ard ta say. Dey tell me clever stuff, and dat’s why I’m da baddest warlord dere is.’

  ‘I got an idea fer ya, Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘We can fight dis out until wun of us iz dead, in good orky fashion…’

  ‘Sounds good ta me!’

  ‘…or we can come ta some kind of deal.’

  Ghazghkull looked hard at Nazdreg and his boyz. There were quite a lot of them. He was sure he could probably beat them, but… It’d taken him ages to get enough boyz together after being chased around by that Mork-cursed humie boss, Yarrick, and it did seem a bit of a waste to be killing other orks when he could be killing the hated humies.

  ‘What you offerin’?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘I’ll tell ya ’ow I got on dis rock wivout a ship, if you and yer boyz come wiv me on a li’l job I got planned.’

  Ghazghkull suddenly became aware that he was the centre of attention from both sides. He waited for a while to see if Gork or Mork had anything to say on the matter. There were no voices in his head, so he guessed that they didn’t care either way. He took a deep breath and lowered his power claw.

  ‘I’m lissenin’…’

  Blue-feathered gulls circled screeching above the wall.

  Tauno followed them against the dismal grey sky, humming quietly to himself. As one of the birds dipped past, Tauno looked back across Kadillus Harbour. Surrounded by the high curtain wall, the city squatted on the steep coast of the volcanic isle, a mess of grey and silver against the dark rock. The raised landing platforms of Northport jutted out from the wall a few kilometres away; an orbital craft the size of a city block rose from the starship dock, smoke and plasma wreathing protective blast ramps, while atmospheric craft buzzed and growled to and fro, borne aloft by jets and rotors.

  From the gatehouses, highways of cracked ferrocrete cut through sprawling tenements and smoke-wreathed processing plants, converging at the central plaza. Next to the square loomed the spire of the Dark Angels basilica, a towering edifice of buttresses and gargoyles broken by stained-glass windows and ornate balconies. The buildings around the basilica seemed cowed by its presence, none reaching higher than three storeys, as if to be higher would be an affront to the spectacle of the Space Marines’ temple-keep.

  Past the basilica, Kadillus dropped steeply towards the harbourside. The sea was little more than a glinting blur on the horizon, obscured by a tangle of cranes and gantries that stooped over the high warehouses. A dozen wharfs stretched into the ocean, where supertrawlers three kilometres long unloaded their harvests.

  Tauno heard a grunt of confusion from Meggal next to him in the watchpost.

  ‘Have a look at this,’ said the other sentry, handing Tauno the magnoculars. ‘Looks like a dust storm or something.’

  Tauno looked through the magnoculars and could see a thick wall of dusty cloud coming towards Kadillus Harbour, still at least half a dozen kilometres away.

  ‘Anything from the comm?’ he asked, not looking away.

  ‘Nope,’ replied Meggal. ‘Come to think of it, aren’t Kendil and his lot meant to check in from Outpost Theta?’

  Tauno flicked his blond hair from his face, increased the magnification and tried to hold the magnoculars as steady as he could, peering into the dust storm. He could see nothing save the cloud billowing up from beyond a rise in the ground. He caught movement, a darker shape within the dust. Resting his arms on the parapet he concentrated, trying to focus the magnoculars.

  Suddenly in pin-sharp clarity he saw figures emerging from the dust. Steadying himself again, he gently thumbed the focus rune a little more. More and more shapes emerged from the haze, churning up the dirt in their wake, a great crowd of figures on foot: stooped, green-skinned, waving weapons in the air. As the seconds passed, Tauno could see the columns advancing steadily in a seemingly endless procession. There were thousands of them.

  ‘Emperor’s balls…’ gasped Tauno, the magnoculars dropping from his cold fingers.

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  A Black Library Publication

  First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Black Library, Games Worksh
op Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

  Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

  Cover illustration by Neil Roberts.

  Apocalypse © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2019. Apocalypse, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.

  All Rights Reserved.

  A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978-1-78999-416-2

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  For Elodie.