Warhammer 40K_ Fall Of Damnos Part 31

The names of his wife and daughter were on Adanar's cracked lips. The sheer side of the monolith loomed, filling the view-slit with black.

'I am coming...' he whispered, and closed his eyes. he whispered, and closed his eyes.

An explosion lit up the battlefield. Falka saw wreckage and fire, but he was too busy fighting for his life to make out details. It was the sound more than anything that arrested his attention.

To his right, a conscript pulled a frag grenade and was halfway through a throw when a blast caught him in the neck. He fell and the grenade went off, filling the area around him with noise and hot metal. Falka's vision faded to black. He was dimly aware of being on his back and a damp sensation over his torso and legs. The dirt was soft and all sound slowly bled away to a soft susurrus. Through the encroaching darkness he thought he could see angels coming through the white mist...

Victory was at hand. Iulus had been in enough battles over his decades of service to realise this. Attacked on both sides, at one a reserve battalion primarily made up of human soldiery, and the other a breakout force of Ultramarines, the necrons were well beaten. Smashed between such desperate and inviolable warriors, the mechanoids phased from the battlefield and left only the bodies of Imperial fallen in their wake.

He held his chainsword aloft, gazing around at the carnage they had reaped. 'Victoris Ultra!'

Every s.p.a.ce Marine, every conscript and Ark Guard trooper raised their fists.

'Victoris Ultra!'

'And the glory of d.a.m.nos!' he added, seeking out Kolpeck amongst the exultant ma.s.ses. The trooper was nowhere to be seen. Iulus had no time to think further on his ebbing sense of triumph the captain and his honour guard approached.

Sicarius clasped him in a firm embrace. 'Well met, brother.' He withdrew and held onto Iulus's shoulder guards to help convey his delight at their arrival. 'Well met!'

Humble, Iulus bowed. He saw Praxor just behind the captain and caught his gaze.

'All is in readiness back at Kellenport?' Sicarius pressed, letting the sergeant go.

Iulus confirmed this.

'Then we had best make haste.' Sicarius turned to indicate the larger necron army behind them. The Ultramarines had put ground between them and small longer range skirmishes were still going on between the a.s.sault squads and the necron gun-platforms, but the majority of the phalanxes had slowed to a crawl. 'The overlord rebuilds his forces but will continue the advance. We must reach the staging ground before he meets us.' Something flashed behind the captain's helmet lenses; either retribution or anger, but Iulus couldn't tell which. 'I vow this will be our last retreat.'

With that, Sicarius left him. It allowed only the briefest of reunions with Praxor.

'I am pleased to see you still alive, brother,' Iulus said genuinely. The two sergeants clasped forearms.

Where Iulus gave off a reserved ebullience, Praxor's mood was dark. 'Many are not.' From the reduced ranks of the s.h.i.+eldbearers, it was obvious that his squad had suffered.

'Death or glory, brother,' said Iulus. 'It is our way, our lot.'

'We have chosen death.' Praxor saluted, though the gesture was perfunctory and intended to end the brief discourse, and tramped away with his battered squad.

The Dreadnought, Agrippen, followed in his wake.

'Immortals indeed,' said the venerable warrior, appraising Iulus's men.

'We are too stubborn to die, old one.'

'When we reach the walls of Kellenport to make our stand, that trait will be tested, I feel,' Agrippen replied before walking on.

Iulus looked out into the advancing necron sea, a silver waste bringing ruin to everything in its path. Ixion and Strabo were withdrawing too, having neutralised the vanguard of gun-platforms. The necrons were consolidating their forces. They had time and growing numbers on their side.

'Yes,' his answer came, too late for the Dreadnought to hear. 'Yes it will.'

Turning, Iulus saw the conscripts and Ark Guard gathering too. He stopped a corporal on his way. 'You!' The man looked up fearfully at the imposing cobalt warrior-knight. 'Where is Trooper Kolpeck?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, bolters locked and ready, blades drawn and gleaming with the rising of the moon.

Before them, the third wall, its gates laid open for the sally of the d.a.m.nosian defenders. The humans were behind them now, tucked into their firing holes, pressed against their battlements and looking down on their champions arrayed in the Courtyard of Xiphos.

Praxor did not turn to look, he didn't need to. The humans had made their last act of defiance; it was up to the Ultramarines to become the true saviours of d.a.m.nos now.

'Do you remember our words about King Vidus?' asked Sicarius. The s.h.i.+eldbearers were next to the Lions of Macragge in the line.

'A legend of triumph over adversity, my lord,' Praxor replied.

'Indeed, brother-sergeant.' Sicarius pointed to the third wall and its open gates, an expansive gesture of his sword-arm encompa.s.sing the courtyard. 'This is our Thermapylon, and we the seven hundred whose blades and courage blunted the cruel ambition of a tyrant. History repeats itself, Sergeant Manorian, it always does. We stand at the cusp of it now.'

The Lions stood straighter at their liege's words. Vandius thrust the banner of the Second higher and it caught the wind. Daceus sent a crackle of energy through the fingers of his power fist. Gaius Prabian drew the blade of his sword against his s.h.i.+eld, making the metal sc.r.a.pe in a wordless challenge.

This was what it meant to be a Lion. It was utter devotion; it was obedience and blind trust without equal. Sicarius only brought those who followed his will without question into his inner circle. Ironically, this was the closest Praxor had ever been to joining them and it was also the moment he knew he never would.

Agrippen was close, on the other side of Sicarius's honour guard. His eternal gaze was on the battlefield ahead. The Dreadnought was not here on d.a.m.nos to report on the captain of Second Company's actions, nor was he following any agenda Agemman had set. He was merely here to fight, to honour the Chapter's name and lineage.

'I am my Chapter's unsheathed sword,' said Praxor at last.

'Then make your blade ready, brother,' Sicarius answered, the Tempest Blade held before him, 'for the enemy comes! Courage and honour!'

The Ultramarines took up the bellowed cry, their voices in unison, their purpose as one.

'Courage and honour!'

Necron raiders were the first to breach the wall. As they did so the charges Iulus had set all those hours ago ignited, filling the Courtyard of Xiphos with rock and fire.

Tonnes of rock and plascrete descended on the necrons. Many metres thick, several kilometres long, the third defensive wall of Kellenport was obliterated in the blast burying everything around it. Dust and dirt rose in a ma.s.sive pall to blanket the advancing necron forces. It churned across the courtyard, brus.h.i.+ng against the a.s.sembled Ultramarines and colouring the edges of their armour. The s.p.a.ce Marines let the debris cloud roll over them, unmoving. It only took a few minutes for it to be swept away on the breeze and an echoing silence to eclipse them. Seconds later, green balefire orbs resolved in the gloom as the next line of mechanoids thrust into the rubble.

With much of the vanguard crushed, the necron overlord had little choice but to press his elites into the breach. By now, the phalanxes rerouted to destroy the Ultramarines had been gathered. Necron immortals stumbled over the wreckage of the wall to be met by a stern barrage of bolter fire. They were beyond mere raiders though, and weathered the storm with impunity. Gauss-blasters answered in rapid-fire bursts that s.h.i.+mmered like green pyrotechnic across the snowy courtyard flagstones.

Falka watched it all through his firing slit on the wall. A thick bandage was wrapped around his torso from where the shrapnel had hit him. Despite the c.o.c.ktail of drugs in his system keeping him upright and battle-worthy, the wound hurt like all the h.e.l.ls. Others weren't so lucky. Pelk lost most of his throat to the blast; Hiiken, an eye and the back of his skull. Men had died, but Falka lived. Perhaps the Emperor had blessed him; perhaps He had blessed them all. He hoped His gaze would fall on His Angels too as the necrons poured into the courtyard.

I am doom. The words echoed inside the Undying's cavernous mind. He had contemplated oblivion, his endless sentence of existence, and decided that all life must be eradicated from the universe. Cities burned, their populations reduced to ash by his wrath; worlds imploded, sucked into a vortex of obliteration; entire systems ignited into endless flame witnessed by his mind's eye.

This is death, this is all... I shall show it to the universe.

The curse was alive in his memory engrams, as pervasive as any flesh-borne contagion. It had condensed his self-awareness down into a singularity the obsession with total destruction.

Hurl rock and earth, until the world is bare. It is as inconsequential as a speck of dust. Across the debris and the sundered remains of the defensive wall, the Undying found his prey. Across the debris and the sundered remains of the defensive wall, the Undying found his prey.

This was the one who had defied him.

He glared, imaging the ending of all things, and outstretched a skeletal finger.

'Eradicate them.'

Reacting to the voice of their overlord, the immortals marched into the billowing dust cloud in phalanx. The Undying went with them. His honour guard attempted to close around him, glaives drawn up protectively in the simulated behaviour of aeons past. With a curt gesture, like he was parting the waves of some ancient sea, the Undying broke apart their circle and advanced after the immortals. Obeisant, they followed.

I am no longer flesh. I am abomination. I am destroyer.

The hollow thoughts echoed in his slowly fragmenting mind. Weapons-fire was coming from beyond the debris. War was joined again. Igniting the blade of his war-scythe, the Undying stared into the storm and felt... nothing.

Two-handed, Scipio hammered the necron lord over and again with his chainsword. Whatever the strange orb in the monster's chest had done to it, the Voidbringer was reduced to sc.r.a.p. With a final cry of anguish, it phased out, seemingly drawn into the artefact only for it then to collapse in on itself in a miniature event horizon.

Scipio sagged a little, his breathing rapid. 'It is done,' he announced, but Tigurius wasn't listening. The aura was still emanating from his body and he focussed to control it.

Extending a shaking hand, he uttered in a broken rasp, 'Get me to the ridge, as high as you can.'

Surveying the immediate area, Scipio looked for further threats but the necrons had ceased their advance. In fact, in many instances, they had simply stopped. The effect of the Voidbringer's destruction was potent and debilitating it seemed. His constructs appeared slower, sluggish even, as if having to recalculate or waiting for the hole in their chain of command to be repaired. Those necrons that had to defend themselves did; those beyond the immediate reach of the battle remained still.

Scipio raised the comm-feed immediately. 'Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage enemy unless necessary. The lesser necron constructs have suffered some kind of catastrophic failure and are reverting to defensive protocols.'

Octavian and Vandar confirmed. There was a clear zone around the artillery. None of the necrons were moving.

'What happened to them?' asked Vandar.

'I don't know, but hold your positions and prime whatever explosives we have left,' Scipio replied. 'We can level this artillery platform, bury it under the mountain. Make ready.'

The other sergeants issued clipped affirmatives before Scipio was back.

He turned to Cator. 'Are you strong enough to stand?'

The plasma gunner grunted. 'Try and stop me. I'll crawl out of this h.e.l.l-hole if I have to, brother-sergeant.'

Satisfied, Scipio went to Tigurius. Weakened by his psychic exertions and not entirely lucid, Scipio had to help him up. Temperature spikes throughout his armour's systems filled his retinal display with warning icons from the heat still emanating off the Librarian's psychic aura. Lightning crackled across his arcane battle-plate again, ripples and motes at first, but growing in intensity. By the time he and Scipio had staggered to the edge of the ridge, they were developing into jags and forks. Drawn into the foci of his force rod, Tigurius began crafting them into a ma.s.sive nimbus of psychic energy.

'When we reach the summit,' he said, clambering across the rocks, 'get down. Tell your brothers to do the same and seek cover.'

As soon as they'd mounted the small ridge overlooking the artillery, Scipio jumped back down again and gave the order. Crouched with Cator at his side, he watched.

Tigurius was glowing. A tumult of lightning coursed across the sigils inscribed onto his armour, illuminating their designs, and fed into the force rod. The eye sockets within the skull at its tip were bleeding power ferociously. Arcane instruments keys, chains, scrolls, all of the Master Librarian's esoteric panoply rose up with the quickening energies infusing him. It was as if they were partly magnetised and lifted in response to the sudden polarisation.

He lifted. Tigurius levitated off the ground, tiny thunderbolts striking the earth below his feet and leaving burn scars in their wake. A series of runic sigils lit up across the hard features of his face, unseen by the naked eye but visible with the tapping of his power. lifted. Tigurius levitated off the ground, tiny thunderbolts striking the earth below his feet and leaving burn scars in their wake. A series of runic sigils lit up across the hard features of his face, unseen by the naked eye but visible with the tapping of his power.

'I am a servant of the Chapter Librarius. My body is a conduit. My will is dire and filled with the fire of retribution!'

A split-second of silence persisted where all was still and time itself simply ceased. It broke loose the instant the storm was released like a pent-up current rus.h.i.+ng through an opened flood gate. Lightning pulsed outwards in a wave, ripping into the artillery, turning their living metal into slag and destroying them utterly. It cooked off the rest of the explosives placed by the Ultramarines and jets of fire leapt from the ground edged with a viridian l.u.s.tre.

It burned the necrons too, immolating those close enough to the nexus of the storm, banis.h.i.+ng wraiths who vanished like frost before the winter sun.

The light died as quickly as it had manifested. Tigurius slumped to his knees, his strength all but spent.

Scipio scrambled up the ridge. The Librarian waved him off.

'I am alive.' But he was also clearly weak. Tigurius's eyes grew penetrating. 'The veil is lifted. I can see see.'

Ultramarines were emerging through the ice-fog. Brakkius and Garrik, the latter carrying his missile launcher at ease. Largo was just behind him. He carried something too, across both arms, but he was obscured by the others and Scipio didn't see what it was. He was more concerned with Tigurius.

'My lord?'

'The veil is lifted,' the Librarian repeated. His eyes were gla.s.sy, trance-like, 'and the future unfolds, like a diamond with all possible roads laid out in its facets.'

Scipio came close, put a hand gently on Tigurius's shoulder. 'My lord,' he whispered, beseeching knowledge.

'A hero will fall, struck down by a fatal blade,' he breathed. 'Futures kaleidoscope, one tumbling into another, fragmenting and resolving again. The images shatter but this is immutable. In all the facets, it is the same.'

'Who will fall, my lord? Whose protection must we look to?' The others had gathered around him, all barring Largo, drawn by Scipio's urgency.

Tigurius's eyes became clear. He seized Scipio's wrist in a fearsome grip. 'It is Sicarius!'

Something cold filled Scipio's chest and made his movements leaden. Prescience was the Master Librarian's greatest psychic talent. He was seldom, if ever, wrong.

Sicarius will fall. The words inside Scipio's mind didn't seem real. He shook off Tigurius's hand, allowing the Librarian to slump, and turned sharply. 'Are we close enough to contact Kellenport?' he asked Brakkius.

'Not while we're in the mountains.'

Scipio looked down at Tigurius. There'd be no psychic communion either.

The comm-feed crackled in Scipio's ear. It was Octavian. 'Last of the charges primed. What is happening, brother?'

'Full evacuation from Thanatos Hills, effective immediately,' he replied.

'Are we under attack?' asked Vandar across the feed.

'Negative, but dire news has reached us. Captain Sicarius is in peril.'

Scipio was on his feet. 'Help him,' he said, and rushed past Brakkius and Garrik as they moved to a.s.sist Tigurius.

Cator was up and held out his hand. He looked saddened. 'Wait'

'There is no time, brother.' Scipio was about to dismiss him when he caught sight of Largo again. This time he saw the Ultramarine carried a body, a still and inert body.

A second spike of cold jabbed into Scipio. This time it was soured by guilt.

'What?'

Largo bowed his head, looking down on the rec.u.mbent form he cradled. 'Most of the guerrillas are dead. The humans simply weren't made for this fight.'