Sudden Dearth

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 11

Berbatov was truly in his element for the first time in his life; he was wading through a river of blood, chopping and hacking as he moved upstream. His halberd felt lighter than air, imbued with a divine power. He stroked the blade through opponents, he kissed them with its edge and caressed them with its staff. No longer did he need brute force to cleave, slice or smash, but the power remained.

Time seemed to slow and he wondered at the stream of light that seemed to follow the blade’s trajectory, marvelled at the speed of its movement and gloried in the simplicity of its result.

The violent noise of the conflict dragged him back to the present; the screams of pain, pleas for mercy, the meaty contact of metal against flesh, and the concussion of exploding munitions. His sections stood by him, revelling in their work and screaming their battle cry in time with each blow, each cut and thrust; ‘W-aaal-ters! W-aal-ters!’

The Sargeant smiled, even when the Major wasn’t trying, he was winning. The men loved him, they swore by his name, and before much longer they would be no doubt praying to him. Not bad for a scam to get off planet. That, however, was an eternity ago. There was no more need to lie, no more need to run or hide.

He had seen the Major begin to die, had cried over his broken body and rejoiced at his unexpected return. Now he would do what he did best, he would kill for him, no questions, no remorse. Where Walters walked he too would follow.

*

Walters was close, he could smell the stench of emptied bowels mixed with fresh blood. He could hear the hear the chants and barbaric rituals, and the screech of turning wheels. His body reacted to the presence of that whose possession had burnt him, had scarred him, and ultimately birthed him.

Then he was clear the press of the surrounding bodies and stood face to face with The Lord. The mutated K’ran strained to reach him, snarling and slavering. He jumped up, punching downwards onto the top of the lead beast’s skull, shattering the bone and driving it into the earth. Moving quickly he snapped the reins holding it to the chariot and looped them around the second beast’s neck. Still holding the leather in his hands he vaulted over its head, forcing its neck backwards at an impossible angle, literally shredding its throat with the rapid tightening of the hastily formed noose. There was a crack, then it too slumped to the floor. The other beasts cowered away from him as he stalked towards them, the K’ran within them recognising the dominance exhibited.

The Major stopped beside the now gently swaying body of the vehicle and stared unblinkingly at the thing within.

“And who or what exactly are you?”, asked the Lord as he unwound the ends of the reins from his waist. “You have caused me a great deal of trouble in organising this meeting.”

“Well, I’m here now”, returned Walters, smiling, “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Ah, humour. Not really the most appropriate of times,” he said as he climbed down to stand in front of Walters.

And for the first time Walters truly saw the monster he faced. It stood a head and a half taller than himself, and half again as wide. Its lower half was dressed in what seemed to be a parody of an Imperial Guardsman, regulation boots and all. That was where the resemblance ended.

Its upper torso was covered in long thin strips of flesh, each wound bandage fashion , one on top of another. Only the head was uncovered. Its bald pate was criss-crossed in strange patterns of scarring, its mouth wide and filled with dagger like teeth. The eyes were reptilian, a sick yellow colour.

In one hand it held a serrated double-bladed sword, and in the other a long whip, whose end trailed idly on the floor.

Arrogantly the Lord waited and then laughingly taunted Walters, “I can taste the corruption within you, why do you fight me? You should bow down before me, join me in the purging of this unimportant world”.

“My apologies, “ replied Walters, “but I must disappoint you. You see, I have an authority problem, bowing down before anyone, just isn’t me. As to corruption, well I guess that ‘s relative”.

“It is my opinion that ….” began The Lord, but was cut short by Walters who waved his hand in dismissal.

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. But thanks anyway”, the last comment ended abruptly as the whip hissed towards the Major’s head. He didn’t move quite quickly enough and the tip caught the side of his face, splitting the skin of his cheek.

“You really shouldn’t have done that, “he growled menacingly, “ You really shouldn’t……”


Walters bounded forward, spinning in the air to avoid the returning whip and kicked out, his boot smacking firmly into the beast’s head and staggering it. He landed, quickly turning to face The Lord and struck again. He was inside the Lord’s defences and he pitilessly maintained his offensive. His blows struck one after another, in a frightening tattoo of sound. Chest, head and torso were pummelled, bones cracked and vile blood fountained.

With a superhuman effort, the Lord responded, the pommel of his sword punching into Walters face and gaining him some respite. He dropped the whip and gripped the weapon firmly in two hands.

Spitting blood to one side, he spoke, “If that was all that you have W’ratr, it is not enough.”

His eyes gleamed and the air around his blade shuddered, the edges beginning to smoke darkly.

“Did I upset you?”, asked Walters and then when there was no reply, “Ooh, the silent treatment …….. scary”.

The blade whistled towards Walters’ head, the intention obvious. If it had achieved his purpose, he would no doubt have been split in too. However, he hadn’t waited for the impact of the blow, he had moved. And with such speed, hid hand blocking the downward stroke in mid-flight and turning it, so the blade crashed into the floor. He used the momentum of the block, to continue his turn and hammered his elbow into the back of the Lord’s neck.

Pivoting slightly he curled his forearm across the beast’s throat and looped his other arm underneath, locking its sword arm in place. Flexing his muscles he heaved it upright. The opposing pressure he exerted held the Lord in place, and slowly, inexorably he increased it.

The Lord struggled, but there was no escape. He was pinioned across Walters’ back, his elbow joint rigid, his throat being slowly crushed. As a last resort he called for his Master and felt the response.


Walters was conscious of the moment of change, of the power flowing through The Lord’s body and was unconcerned. Deep within him there was a reserve of untapped power on which he now began to draw. He heard, as if from afar, his name being chanted as his men killed and he swelled in response. The K’ran ripped through their enemies for him, their teeth and claws drinking deeply the essence of their foes, and he grew with each strike, each death.

Ligaments tore free from The Lord’s shoulder joint, but there was no relief. Walters whipped round, releasing his hold, his hands held spear-like pierced muscle and burrowed deep into his enemies chest. He held The Lord close, almost like a lover, his arms wrapped around him and whispered caressingly in his ear.

“Your first mistake was in sending another to your bidding, his death made me stronger. The second mistake was arrogance, to think that your master made you invulnerable, untouchable. Finally the third and last mistake was ignorance, you do not know of that against which you have pitted yourself ….. and you never will”.

Walters hands, still buried in The Lord’s flesh closed around bone and he pulled. Not with an almighty force, but beginning gently and increasing without haste. Muscles ripped, cartlidge parted, flesh yielded and smiling he tore his enemy’s chest in two.

Walters dropped the still quivering body to the floor, its vile blood could no longer hurt him. He saw the sword on the ground, close to where it had fallen and stooped to retrieve it. As he grasped the hilt, the smoke still clinging to it died and instead the blade glowed dully in his grasp.

He did not look back as he walked towards The Fortress, the weapon rising and falling as he cleared the way before him.

*

With the end of The Lord, the Chaos Forces began to fold before Walters advance. On one side, led by K’san, the K’ran had collapsed one wing of the attack upon itself. Berbatov and his men butchered their way after Walters, their advance more terrifying because of the laughter and joy with which they did their job.

Sargeant James was in trouble, one of the cultists war machines had him pinned down and his men were being slowly annihilated. He heard the tortured screeching of metal against metal, a triumphant shout and a resounding crash. Breathing deeply and his pistol clasped closely in his hand he peered out from his hiding place.


The war machine lay on its side, its telescopic metal legs sheared clean through. Berbatov’s men were busy with the dragging out its occupants and their extinction.

A gentle cough to his right, brought him spinning round, ready to fire. There stood a grinning Walters, Berbatov by his side.

“Do please keep up, Sargeant. We really would hate to leave you behind”.

*

“But, you’re not who I was expecting …” said General Wolfe, as theman slowly walked down the ramp. “Where are…..”

“Yeas, yeas, General, “responded the casually dressed individual, “I know who you were expecting. Don’t worry, they’ll be along shortly. However, I thought you and I could have a little chat first.”

“Who are you?”, the General demanded.

“Inquisitor Artix, “relied the man jovially, putting his arm around the General’s shoulder in a brotherly fashion and squeezing gently. “I thought you and I could have a little chat first”.

“What about? What are you doing here?”, asked the General uneasily.

“All in good time, my dear General, all in good time.”, responded the Inquisitor, steering the General away from the landing ramp, “Let’s go to your office, where it’s just a little bit quieter, shall we?.”

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 12

The altar room was silent, no moans of pain, no gleeful sacrifices, no chanting priests. Yet there was a still an atmosphere, charged with deadly intent, latent yet potent, like the calm before a storm. Dried and blackened blood coated the altar stone, semi-rigid flakes curled into a myriad of patterns.

A low sonorous rumbling began, the flakes moving as in a gentle dance whose tempo was soft and stately. Then, as though they were caught in a weak magnetic field they aligned themselves, tracing the stylised rune etched on the slab’s surface. This time there was no pinpoint of light, no whirling shapes, instead without warning the slab cracked neatly, the hairline fissure a perfectly straight line.

Small stone particles bounced merrily as the noise increased and with a final explosive snap, the altar split in two. Each half, falling inwards and revealing a deep, dark cavity below.

Then a single bass note could be heard, so low it was almost inaudible. Again it came, the pitch varying slightly. Now there were two notes then three, then more. A strange melody filled the air, seductive in it simplicity.

*

There were a small number of priests who had remained within the Fortress and it was they who first felt the inexplicable desire. It was as though a tantalising smell wafted before them , teasing them with its mystery. They were drawn step by step, down to the lower levels where rested the altar stone. Glassy-eyed they ignored all attempts to communicate with them, and from the moment they answered the enigmatic call, they were doomed.

One by one they came, and the strange siren call filled their minds . They paced slowly towards the altar and entered the blackness beneath. Their unknowing feet found small steps, leading ever downwards and on they marched. To anyone watching, the scene would have appeared surreal, their bodies jerking as though a fine cord pulled them. Each step was preceded by a pause, then a stumble as the line was reeled in.

As the last of them took the first fatal step into the maw of darkness, the screaming began. It was a long, terrible sound, of pain and suffering beyond measure. Yet none faltered, none wavered, on they went, blissfully unaware of their fate.

When the last indescribable tone faded away, there was only silence. Then a single bass note rang out……..

*

“Ah, this is so much better, “ said the Inquisitor sat comfortably in General Wolfe’s chair, a glass of amasec in one hand and a half-empty bottle in the other.

“Please gentlemen, do sit down”, here he indicated the two hastily arranged folding chairs.

The two men glared at each other, but neither wished to risk Artix’s anger.

“Why is he here, “ asked Wolfe, pointing at the dishevelled form, slumped into the second chair.

“Hmm. I asked General Hamner to join us, because, strictly speaking, both of you are as much to blame.”, responded Artix.

“I resent that remark,” gruffed Wolfe.

“I really don’t care what you think, my dear General,” interrupted the Inquisitor acidly, “here, only one opinion counts, and that I am afraid is mine.”

He took a small sip of the liquor, rolling the fiery liquid on his palate, before swallowing. Placing the bottle on the nearby table, he leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice to a near whisper.

“This, and believe this when I say it, is a very delicate situation, it could mean the summary execution of both you. “, and smiling at the shocked looks upon their faces, he continued, “Not that I recommended such a course of action. I in fact cautioned a more, shall we say, patient and understanding approach.”

With that he leaned back, picking up the bottle and refilling his glass.

Glancing at Hamner, Wolfe spoke, “What is exactly that we are supposed to have done? I came here to relieve this incompetent of his duty. To try and salvage some order out of chaos.”

Artix laughed ironically and shook his head, “A most unfortunate choice of words, most unfortunate:”

Wolfe gulped, his face reddening and tried again, “Things here were completely out of control. We were killing our own troops and the Chaos forces, unknown in their intent, were running amok.”

“And things have changed ….?”, injected Hamner, with a sneer on his face.

Wolfe jumped up, his chair thrown backward by the force of his anger, “How dare …”

“Sit down.” The words were spoken in a soft, yet unmistakably icy tone.

Wolfe hastily picked up his seat from where it lay and quickly sat back into it.

“Where was I?”, said the Inquisitor, “Oh, yes. So, I argued for a different approach, that of you working together to resolve this situation.”

“There is absolutely no way I will work with this fool!”, snapped Wolfe, instantly forgetting, the last few moments in his rage.

“Nor I with him!”, spat Hamner.

“This, “ continued Artix in a calm, impersonal voice, “is most regrettable. I have already indicated that you have no choice, however, you continue to insist in this idiotic behaviour. Let me spell it out for you both; you leave this room in one of two ways. Either, as part of a team dedicated to the Emperor’s cause, whose sole aim is to wipe out all Chaos taint on this planet. Or ……..”

“Very well, “muttered General Wolfe, after only a slight pause. Hamner nodded in agreement and waited for the Inquisitor to speak.

“It seems that a number of people made a tiny mistake, with respect to this world. Not that I’m one to criticise, you understand, but if I have been consulted previously, we just might have been able to avoid all these misunderstandings.”

“What exactly do you mean?”, asked Wolfe quizzically.

“We, and I speak here in general of the Inquisition, are tasked with certain studies, sometimes a little bit out of the ordinary. In one particular instance we have been gathering information for some time now, which points to the existence of an anomaly. No let me explain, I’m just getting into the swing of it.”

General Hamner stopped in mid breath and gulped back his question.

“Thank you. It seems that there are references to a particular place in a number of outlawed texts. Some call it the Fortress, ah I can see that I have your attention now. There are many other names for this place, difficult to translate you know, but all speak of it as important. A repository shall we say, for an artefact whose very nature intrigues me, or rather should I say us.

The Chaos forces on this planet, seem to have been here for an entirely different reason, one perhaps we will never truly know nor understand. What I do know, is that we need to make sure that the Fortress is in the hands of the Imperium. We need to do that quickly and by that I mean yesterday.”

Wolfe carefully phrased his question, “What exactly is this artefact and what does it do?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that do you? “, replied Artix, “The Inquisition has a penchant for guarding its secrets, in the name of the Emperor of course. Too much information could possibly in this case be a very bad thing. Trust me.”

General Wolfe looked into the cold, dark eyes of the Inquisitor and shuddered.

Unexpectedly, Hamner came to his aid, “In that case what would you like us to do?”

“That, “ said Artix cheerfully, is quite simple, gentlemen. I want you to expend whatever force is necessary in occupying the Chaos Forces. Keeping them busy, killing them, you know. Whilst my special assistants and myself take care of our business.”

“I ….. think we understand, Inquisitor”, agreed Wolfe.

“Well”, and here the Inquisitor’s voice changed, becoming cold and deadly, “let me spell it out for you, clearly and concisely. You will commit one hundred per cent of your resources in the annihilation of all Chaos Forces on this planet. If this requires you to sacrifice every last one of your personnel, in order to allow me the time I need, you will do so.

And to make myself crystal clear. Right now, the only two people who have a seat booked on my shuttle out of here, are you two gentlemen. It’s a small craft and I would imagine it would be difficult to fit in any more.”

Both sat quietly for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

“Good, “ the Inquisitor’s tone was once again normal, “then I won’t keep you gentlemen any longer.”

With that they both left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

*

Inquisitor Artix watched the door close and looked wistfully at the nearly empty bottle. He knew the two Generals were incapable of working together, but he was not really all that concerned. Their roles in this were minor, the more of their men that were taken care of now, the better.

Of course, he grinned to himself, there were no seats available for them either.

*

On leaving the room, General Wolfe turned his back on Hamner and made his way in the opposite direction. He needed some time on his own.

Originally, he had arrived here with the intention of saving his men, but gradually had been forced to change his opinion of the situation, on the ground. Not many men had accused him of being foolish in his time, but right now, he realised that they had a right to do so. His infatuation with the destruction of Walters had blinded him to the Chaos threat and had brought him to this unpalatable choice.

Similarly, he was under no illusion as to the outcome of this mission. There would be no escape either for him, or any of the many Imperial Forces on this planet. Whatever it was that Artix was looking for, no-one outside of his confidants would be allowed to speak of it. Of that he was sure.

*

Hamner watched Wolfe stride away, sneering at his vanishing figure. He was not stupid, irrespective of whether the Inquisitor thought so or not. He would carry out his orders, however, he ensure that there was only one person on the last shuttle out of here, and that would be him.

It was obvious that this was a test and he needed to impress the Inquisitor. If they were successful, he knew that reports could be rewritten and his career would once again be in the ascendancy.

*

Artix climbed back into the shuttle, gazing wistfully one last time at the flurry of activity all around him. It always brought a tear of pride to his eye, this show of the Imperium’s strength. Such a shame that their participation would end so badly for them.

The jerk as the craft lifted off brought him back to reality. There was only one real variable in this situation, or so it appeared to him at that moment, and that was whether the two Generals were capable of keeping the Chaos Forces busy. The Inquisitor had read the reports on Walters and his rag-tag army and dismissed them. They would be just one more helpful distraction.

*

An eery silence pervaded the Fortress, its gates hung slackly open whilst the battle raged outside.

There was an absence of life here, even that deformed version belonging to Chaos. The last war machine stood idle, its turrets pointing haphazardly up into the sky. Abandoned weapons littered the ground, as well as a mixture of discarded armour, clothing and supplies.

Beasts, cultists, men and K’ran fought and died on the battle field. Slowly, the Chaos Forces retreated, unable to withstand the onslaught led by Walters. Without the Lord, their cohesion was broken. There was no fear to bind them, no blood to joyously spill.


Inside the altar room, the music had ceased now, and instead, a chill green light pulsed spasmodically from beneath the now broken altar.

*

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 13

“Looks weird”, grunted Berbatov, squinting in order to avoid the sunlight, as it shone directly into his eyes.

“I couldn’t have expressed it better myself, Sargeant”, said Walters as he gazed pensatively at the open gates, from their vantage point.

“We could just walk in, casual like, of course, “commented the Sargeant, his hand flexing on the shaft of his halberd, “and see what was there?”

“No …… I think that in this case, we’ll approach the problem a little differently to normal.”, replied the Major, “It’s hard to explain, but something just doesn’t feel quite right.”

“The lack of las fire, screaming cultists or semi-insane monsters, perhaps?”, added James, joining in the conversation.

“That, obviously, but I get a feeling …..”, mused Walters.

“Look, sir”, James was pointing at a group of cultists who were marching in single file towards the entrance, at first everything appeared normal. They stopped, waited as if listening, and then proceeded on their way. This time, however their steps were forced, jerky, resistant.

“Can you not hear it, W’ratr?”, hissed K’san

Walters concentrated and heard a faint refrain, distant yet enticing. He shook off the compulsion easily, as it appeared had the K’ran and watched, as the cultists disappeared inside the Fortress.

*

Inquisitor Artix studied the data once more and frowned, nothing really made much sense. He had combed through many archives and reports, yet the true meaning of the Fortress still eluded him.

Although he was here under the auspices of the Inquisition, this was more of his own pet project. Neither the forces accompanying him nor the hierarchy of his own Order, really had all the facts.

Sighing, he rearranged the information and began again, the key was here somewhere and he needed to find it, urgently.

*

“So they are retreating?”, asked General Hamner, waiting for Wolfe’s response.

“I am not sure we should really qualify it as that in the true sense of the word, “replied Wolfe. “All that we are really sure of, is that the main body of the Chaos Forces are leaving the immediate vicinity of our objective. Before long, they will make contact with our advance units.”

“Why would they move in our direction? Our reports from Arnesson, talk of the disengagement of Walters and his forces, who remain in the vicinity of the Fortress still. It just doesn’t make any sense”. Wolfe moved around the table as he spoke, nervously pacing.

“Oh, I think it makes a lot of sense, “ said Hamner arrogantly, “I have said all along that Walters is one with them, he and his men have been clearly tainted with Chaos. They have stayed to pay homage to their new leaders and guard the area.”

“Why then were they fighting?”, asked Wolfe sarcastically, “because it seemed like a good thing to at the time?”

“My dear Wolfe, “responded Hamner, condescendingly, “we know well that these degenerates are always warring amongst themselves. That’s nothing new.”

“And what, “ queried Wolfe, “exactly do you suggest that we do?”

“We should do exactly what the Inquistor asked of us. Particularly, we must commit our main forces against the Chaos incursion and drive them back. We have sufficient resources available to deal with them directly.”

“And Walters? What of him?”, questioned general Wolfe.

“We can take care of him easily enough once we have dealt with the main threat,” and here Hamner paused, “And if, by some outside chance, we are delayed, I am sure our friend the Inquisitor and his allies, will have no trouble dealing with such rabble.”

*

The main body of his troops remained positioned outside the walls, as Walters and his small group of followers made their way towards the entrance. The imposing stone walls of the Fortress reared skywards, the sheer scope of their expanse intimidating.

He had decided to take only a select few with him, as he was wary of what might be waiting inside for them. Walters had tried to dissuade Berbatov from joining him, but the big man had been strangely insistent. It had been agreed that at the first sign of anything strange, they would beat a hasty retreat. Although Leftenant Wilson by seniority had every right to command the human part of his followers, Walters had spent a long time explaining to him the necessity of listening to Sargeant James’ ‘advice’. The K’ran remained under the leadership of K’ranwon, K’rantu refusing to be left behind.

Therefore it was a strange party that passed through the gates, Walters, Berbatov and his section, K’san, K’rantu and those charged with the role of Walters’ bodyguard.

*

Tendrils of smoke rose from the hole underneath the altar, as if sentiently aware it reacted to the life forces entering the web it had carefully spun. A dark viscous fluid bubbled slowly into the room, hardening on contact with the cold stone surface. The eerily flickering light strengthened and began to pulse, slowly and in time to the music, which one more began to weave its subtle spell. Spreading outwards, all pervading, its tentacles of sound groped blindly for its prey.

*

Walters knew when the music started, he felt the push against his consciousness and glanced quickly at his companions. They seemed unaffected, the K’ran had pricked their ears, become more aware, watchful and eager. Berbatov laughed and gripped his halberd tightly, the weapon once more exhibiting the discharge of energy from its blade. The members of his section looked to the Sargeant, glanced at Walters and then seemingly reassured, continued on.

He had noticed the difference in these men too, his transformation in some way had affected them, made them stronger. Their features had changed, become more angular and distinct. They held themselves differently too, their gait lithe like that of the K’ran.

Without real thought he pushed back dismissively against the pressure in his mind, his disdainful slap causing it too start backwards, if only for a moment. It cam back, insistently probing for any weakness in his defences. With a snarl, his eyes flashing, he shrugged it off and strode forwards, entering the inner courtyard determinedly.

*

The Imperial forces struck like a hammer blow against the chaotic disorder of the cultists. No mercy was asked for and none given. Guardsmen emptied power cell after power cell into the screaming hordes, artillery fired indiscriminately heedless of individual targets, yet on they came.

General Wolfe had chosen to lead his men, he had come to the painful realisation that, whatever the Inquisitor’s plan was, his duty was to the Emperor. That duty, when all was said and done, was to destroy any manifestation of Chaos, in whatever form. There was no better place, right now, than here.

He screamed with them, emptied his bolter pistol alongside them and cursed just like them in despair as the cultists attacked relentlessly. It seemed as though, rather than attack the Guardsmen, they wanted to cut their way through him, to escape. Their desperation was unbelievable, cultists mortally wounded would use their teeth and nails, drag themselves forward on bloodied stumps and only the final shot of release would halt them.

Gradually the Imperial Forces gave ground, little by little and at great cost, yet they gave ground. Wolfe called for the vox-operator to get Hamner for him. There was absolutely no way they would reach the Fortress at this rate, he needed Hamner to inform the Inquisitor of their failure, and now.

*

Within the Assault Carrier, Inquisitor Artix received Hamner’s transmission and was unconcerned. It had never been his intention to use the Imperial forces in anything other than a feint. A distraction in order to clear the field for him.

Again he heard how this Walters and his men had taken occupancy of the terrain surrounding the Fortress and he smiled. It was quite appalling the extent to which Hamner would go to justify his inadequacy, a jumped up Leftenant was being touted as his greatest foe. Ridiculous in the extreme.

Affectionately he watched as his troops finished their preparation, ready for the forthcoming assault. Actually, they would take offence at being called ‘his’ troops, they served only one master, and oh how they served. Very soon he would lead them down and no opposition would stand in their way, of that he was certain.

*

Level after level they descended, ever deeper into the bowels of the beast. For that now is what Walters knew it to be, some kind of animal force which both attracted and repelled him. His men huddled ever more closely to him, the now stentorian music resounding all around them.

The k’ran had started a low growling and one by one the others joined in, it was a natural response, the challenge of the pack. Louder came each refrain and louder their defiance followed, step after step, floor after floor.

*

Hamner had begun to panic, he had tried convincing Captain Arnesson to send a shuttle to pick him up, but Artix had left a clear standing order. No-one was to leave the planet until his mission had been concluded.

Pleading did not works, threats were useless, political connections irrelevant. It was then that Hamner really began to worry, for the first time.

*

Unannounced the onslaught of sound ceased; no noise sallied forth from the now yawning cavity. The light continued to pulse weakly and intermittently.

Walls and floor were covered in the hardened black shell, whose surface was slick and shiny. Abruptly, the temperature began to drop rapidly, a frost-filled mist forming as if by magic around the entrance of the hole.

Blackness trembled, writhed and staggered forth into the room from the depths therein. Wierdly amorphous, the newly formed beings struggled into existence and mewled piteously. As they solidified, they stood erect, a parody of body parts in their being. One by one they moved out of the room and moved to obey their undeniable impulse; to kill.

*

K’san howled, the call to battle accepted by all swiftly after. Yet they waited, Walters stood silently, sniffing the surrounding air. They again felt the influx of power, the supercharged quality of the air. His form coalesced into the mixture of man and beast, this time, however, the beast took precedent.

Walters flung back his head and roared, no howl this time, but the bellow of an undeniable challenge.

*

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 14

Wolfe screamed as the sharpened stake was rammed into his side, the brute force behind it, punching through his greatcoat. He felt his skin tear and the momentum of the blow flung him backwards against the men behind. Struggling, he tried to rise, but there was no purchase to be gained from the blood-smeared bodies around him.

The laughing beast pressed its weight down, effectively pinning him into position and he scrabbled franticly for his bolter pistol. General Wolfe could not remember dropping the weapon, just as he had no recollection of how the battle had turned. One minute they had been advancing, the next they had been overrun by a mob of hooting, leering monstrosities.

Staring upwards into the mis-shapen face, he recognised his own death mirrored in the monster’s eyes. There was absolutely nothing he could do.

Spittle dropped onto his forehead from the creature’s mouth transfixing him with its fall. The patter of the liquid onto his skin mesmerised him, so much that he almost missed the final blow. He was, however, not to be given the blissful release of unconsciousness.

Intentionally the thing released its weight from the end of the wood and grasping the stake in both hands pulled. Again Wolfe cried out and in this moment of tremendous pain, he watched the point move downwards towards his eye. Its splintered and blood-smeared surface etched with a supernatural clarity in his mind.

*

Hamner sat curled into a corner, he had at last lost all reason. Vox-transmisssions played endlessly over and over in his mind. The cries for help, the screams, muted gunfire as a constant backdrop.

Chaos forces had broken through the Imperial Guard’s lines in a number of places. Wolfe had regrouped time and again, but still they pressed ever onwards.

A frantic knocking broke into his semi trance-like state, it was nothing, soon it would go away.

“General, General!”, There was no answer.

“General, Captain Arnesson says the Chaos Forces are nearly upon us. We must evacuate this area, immediately. General!”. Silence was the only reply.

The vox-operator turned away, determination in his visage.

“Have it your way,”, he muttered as he tossed the copy of the message onto the floor.

*

They were close now, Walters could smell the difference in the air and he raised his hand ordering a halt. He took two steps forward and then dropped to all fours as the first abomination attacked. Rolling to his feet, he drew his sword and cut sideways, the blade biting into the thing before him and neatly severing one of its limbs. It remained upright, and turned to face him.

The creature was roughly human shaped, but seemed to have been sloppily put together. Random body parts protruded at impossible angles, held together by some sort of dark gel. A face stared out from the centre of its chest, frozen in mid scream. There had been originally four arms, one now a stump from which dripped a slow, black ichor. Two arms sprouted from its back and the remaining appendage waved maddeningly from its left side.

It shambled forward again, and Walters leapt to the attack, his sword cleaving through unresisting blackness and splitting the horrendous face in half.

More arrived, stumbling from open doorways, until they were surrounded. The K’ran began to back away, but Berbatov barged past them, scything his halberd through the closest and most hideous monster, his men following eagerly.

One of the K’ran edged too close and a vomit of black bile poured over it. Rapidly smoke began to rise from the K’ran’s fur, then flesh began to boil and the beast screamed. Before their very eyes its body shrunk and collapsed to leave nothing more than a wet and ragged bundle of fur and bones.

Las rifle fire did nothing, the blasts passing through the abnormally viscous entities, here and there striking human remains, but with no visible effect. By now, Berbatov and his men had resorted to their bladed weapons and their apparent tactic was to hew, cut, hack and slash their opponents into the smallest pieces possible.

Looking past his last attacker, Walters saw an almost endless stream of the creatures, manufactured with only one thought in mind. He drew deeply on his well of power, more so than ever before, his eyes became an incandescent green, matched only by that of his now flaming sword. Berbatov looked up, his eyes too had taken on the feral cast of the K’ran as had those of all his fellows. In awe, they watched as Walters body visibly swelled, corded muscles filling and expanding.

Around his head crackled a nimbus of electrical discharge, which flashed across to ground itself through the soldiers weapons. It did not burn, nor kill, each man was filled with an undescribable energy, a raw unstoppable power and they rose as one to their feet.

Walters first strike shattered the thing in front of him into microscopic pieces, all semblance of life destroyed at the touch of his blade. Berbatov spun in position and dropped to one knee, his hands rapidly sliding down the shaft of the halberd. When it was at its full extension, it whistled through the air, shearing clean through his enemy. He used its momentum to pull him back to his feet and grinned encouragingly at his men.

Silently, grimly they butchered their way down the corridor, Walters at their lead. The K’ran followed behind them, slashing claws adding to the charnel house atmosphere. Still they came, mindless automatons, their mute defiance refusing passage. Walters, however would not be denied, and little by little they gained ground, ever closer to that which awaited them below.

*

Inquisitor Artix sat stoicly in his unbearably uncomfortable seat, flak jacket cinched tightly, plasma pistol across his knee. Bodies pressed closely around him, as the craft was readied for departure.

He had ignored Captain Arnesson’s frantic pleas for permission to evacuate personnel from the Guard’s headquarters on the planet below. Hamner and Wolfe had served their purpose. Artix had demanded a distraction and he had been duly rewarded. Now it was his turn, his time. They would drop directly onto the Fortress and eliminate any opposition there.

Being a great believer in overwhelming force, he had made sure that nothing would be left to chance. Engines roared and he felt the craft move, heard the intonation of prayers to the Emperor, and weapons being checked one last time.

His body was pressed into the seat as the craft lifted off and then, he too, began to pray.

*

Sargeant James scanned the area before him and could see nothing. They had received no word from the Major and he was starting to become nervous. His orders were clear, yet they had all felt the surge of energy, the undeniable call to arms and he did not know what to do. Finally, he decided to wait, just a little while longer.

*

There was only silence now. Hamner had heard the shouts, the sound of running feet and rapid fire orders, then the roar of engines and then nothing. This had been some time ago and he was frightened.

The General called out at first weakly and then at the top of his lungs, but there was no reply. Finding courage from somewhere he left his room and timidly scurried down the corridor. Communications was empty, as was the Dining area. The Control Room was bare of human presence, chairs lay toppled on the floor, papers strewn everywhere where they had been discarded. He was alone.

Moving cautiously he reached the main exit to the vehicle assembly area and found the doors locked. From outside he heard a faint scratching and muffled voices. Excitedly he flung the doors open, gasping in his eagerness to end his solitude.

“I’m here.” he shouted, in his haste forgetting all protocol.

There was a grunt, a hissing and then a blood splattered axe blade was buried deep into his skull. The cultist looked at him, blinked and then continued his search.

*

“Not…..much….further…to…go!”, grunted Berbatov as he swung his weapon. Back and for the, clearing the path before him.

The creatures had become less and less human and more and more amoeba-like the deeper they reached into the Fortress. It seemed as though whatever was manufacturing them, was running out of body parts.

There was no reply from Walters, his concentration appeared fixed on only one goal, and he methodically destroyed all that stood in his way.

“Okay,” muttered the Sargeant, “but we’ll talk about this later:”

Walters stopped and looked at him, the light fading slightly from his eyes.

“Having fun, yet?”, he growled.

“Oh, frak yes!”, grinned Berbatov, reassured that the Major was still there.

*

James had taken his decision and had begun to move his men into the Fortress in a disciplined manner. It was, he decided, no good waiting any longer where he was.

They had received no contact either from Chaos nor Imperial forces and he would much rather be fighting by the Major’s side, than stuck here living through an interminable wait. There were still half of his men outside when he heard the unmistakable sound of engines and began to rue his decision.

“What the hell is going on?”, he shouted to no-one in particular.

“Imperials, sir”, responded his vox-operator. “I’m getting chatter on the open circuit.”

“Who?”, he snapped worriedly.

“What’s left of the Guards forces, sir. And they’re coming in hot?”, replied the man.

“Hot? What’s that supposed to mean?”, asked James.

“It seems they’ve got all the fires of hell on their tail, sir.” , answered the soldier looking up at him. “And they’re asking for our help…..”.

*

Trooper Iain Shaw had acted immediately upon the lack of response from General Hamner’s quarters. He had been the one who had been in touch with Leftenant Wilson and passed on the co-ordinates of Walters’ position. Like a number of his comrades, he was what remained of the Lutheran 5th amongst the headquarter’s staff. Over time, he had ferreted out quite a few people who were disgruntled with the treatment of their fellow soldiers and he had finally acted.

They had overpowered the guards around three of the reserve vehicles, shooting and killing whoever had stood in their way. Then they taken the long way round, breaking through the cultists’ flank and had made a direct line for the Fortress.

It had not taken long for their enemies to react and now they were here, running for their lives.

Shaw heard the crackle of the incoming message and bent down to listen.

*

Finally they stood before the door to the altar room, breathing heavily. No more of the deformed creatures sallied forth, even so they waited.

Turning, Walters spoke, “This is something that I need to do alone. Wait here”.

“Major, “ argued Berbatov, “do you really think you can take them all on, alone”.

“Don’t you?”, replied Walters quietly.

*

The three vehicles roared through the opening lines of warriors and shuddered to a stop in a cloud of dust. Shaw climbed down and saw a Sargeant approach, and stood to attention.

“Trooper Shaw, reporting for duty, Sargeant”, he shouted.

“Well, “ said James, “you seem to have brought some friends with you.”

Following the Sargeant’s gaze, he saw exactly what he meant, the surrounding hills were alive with movement.

“Sorry, Sargeant, “he replied.

“Not to worry, son, “ responded James, “not to worry.”

*

Walters stood in front of the dark, uninviting space. A mist still swirled around the entrance, clinging to the extremities as though reluctant to allow him passage. The faint green light, pulsed strangely through the haze, adding an almost ethereal touch.

A low melody played softly from below, no longer inviting, its tones now harsh and discordant. He looked back once to where Berbatov and the others waited and then entered.

[Rayo Azul]

Okay. Here's a general question for everyone. You guys enjoying this?

I can see people reading, but there are no comments.

Worth posting up to Chapter 31?

Cheers

Rayo

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 15

Step by step he descended, a black tarry substance clinging to his boots. There was a dullness to the faint light playing on the walls around him, as though it impinged onto the surface and was quickly absorbed. Walters was not concerned, his enhanced senses clearly saw each step, their trail disappearing into the distance.

His descent seemed timeless, lulling him into a false sense of security with its monotonous repetition. Shaking his head to clear it, he realised he had stopped moving. Peering around, the only thing that seemed to have changed was the absence of steps. Then he saw a pulse of light and re-oriented himself, and drawing his sword paced slowly towards its faint luminescence.

*

Berbatov stared warily at the entrance then grunted.

“You, “ he said pointing at one of his men, “get yourself up top and see what’s going on. Then get back here. Okay?”

The soldier nodded, shouldering his weapon and setting off immediately.

“Oy!”, the soldier skidded to a stop, “and bring down some vox equipment. Tell Jimmy we’re feeling lonely.”

Laughing, the soldier continued on his way.

*

Sargeant ‘Jimmy’ James, at that moment would have much rather been inside the safety, as he thought it, of the fortress. He cursed and ducked as a las bolt clipped the top of his shoulder. Things were getting decidedly hairy here.

Instead of calling his troops back out of the Fortress, he had decided to get everyone he could inside. With the gates closed, they would be able to control the situation better. Any artillery would have to blast its way in, and they could pour fire down upon attacking infantry. It just hadn’t worked out that way.

They had not even gotten half-way, when the first Chaos forces struck and he had been forced to mount a defence. Luckily their enemy had been more eager than smart and so he had been able to hold them. Leftenant Wilson had led the men inside and his task was to mount covering fire for their retreat. He still, however, had not reached his position and more cultists were arriving every moment longer he took.

“Shaw!”, he shouted at the recently arrived trooper, “Get your men and equipment inside now! And take Williamson with you!”

“Yes, Sargeant, but what are you going to do?”, queried the trooper.

“Thought I’d stay for a while for a chat with our friends,” quipped James, “Now move!”

*

Artix was laughing uncontrollably, he was actually enjoying this. His stomach had flipped when they left the Assault Carrier, but now the adrenalin rush had hit. Wave after wave of craft had left the vessel and were about to enter the atmosphere of the planet.

He squirmed in his seat with excitement, first they had to land but then they would take the Fortress, wiping out Walters and any Chaos forces who remained. It really was quite simple.

*

“Die!”, screamed James, slamming his combat blade into the cultist’s neck. He stomped once, grinding the heel of his boot into another of them on the floor in front of him and staggered back. They were almost to the walls of the Fortress and were now down to close-quarter fighting. Covering fire was useless here as the angle of shot was almost non-existent.

With a roar Wilson led a wave of K’ran and troopers out of the gates to beat back the Chaos force’s attack once more.

“Sir, sir!”, screamed Williamson in a high pitched voice, “Look!”

James’ gaze followed the soldiers pointing finger and saw a stupendous light show in the sky.

“We’re saved sir, reinforcements, sir!”, squealed the private excitedly.

“No, we’re not”, said James quietly, “our only relief is down below.”

*

Walters had entered what seemed to be a tunnel, its walls, although covered with the black coating, were clearly not natural. There was a underlying circular shape, not hewn by hand, but rather looking as though they had been excavated by some type of machine.

He used his free hand to guide him as he moved cautiously forward, until he came out into a large cavern. The light had gradually increased in intensity and now he could see some sort of structure in the distance. Gripping his sword tightly, he strode purposefully towards it.

More and more details came into focus with each step; the construction was huge, some sort of pyramid rising high into the blackness above. Its top was an indistinct jumble of shapes, yet he could clearly see the layered levels reaching upwards.

It was cleanly sculpted, at least that was the impression he had from the two sides which were apparently free of contamination. The face of the structure in front of him was covered in the black substance, whose pattern tapered upwards to a point hidden in the shadows above.

Pulses of green light occasionally broke the gloom from an indistinct point near, to what he assumed, was the peak of the pyramid, illuminating the area around the structure. It was a beacon, drawing him onwards.

Finally, he reached the first stepped level and could see bloated and mis-shapen bodies, buried into the blackened surface. Not only human and monsters touched by Chaos, but stranger, more alien forms. An occasional weapon poked out, its location a mute testament to the final struggle of its owner.

Ever upwards he climbed, knowing that he fought against the urge to run away, an almost physical pressure pushing back against him. Somehow, he was sure that if he turned back now he would be lost, consumed by some unknown force, and so he pressed on.

*

Turbulence boiled around the craft as it entered the planet’s atmosphere. Inside Inquisitor Artix and his companions held onto to the nearest convenient support. Then they were through, into the clear and freezing air of high altitude.

Time dragged, but eventually came the expected warning.

“Target acquired, ready for landing. Zone is hot, repeat, zone is hot!”

The craft rocked to incoming fire and Artix began to sweat, in counterpoint to his comrades, who grinned savagely. With the slightest of bumps, they were down.

“We have a go! Good hunting!”, roared the man at his side, as the doors cranked open.

*

At last he reached the light source, it was not exactly at the zenith of the pyramid, rather down two levels and slightly to one side. It came from the pommel of a sword. The sword skewered through the remains of a huge body, alien to his eyes. It had been left, pinioning the supposedly long dead creature to the stonework. Then the huge head lifted, rotated one hundred and eighty degrees and its eyes opened.

Enormous yellow orbs stared at him, a black slash from top to bottom as an iris. A black liquid bled slowly from them and dripped to the floor. With a disgusting sucking sound it opened its mouth, filled with row upon row of dagger-like teeth, streamers of ichor pulled slowly apart as it moved.

A long serpentine tongue snaked out of its mouth and it spoke, its sibilant voice causing the beast within Walters to react.

“Wait, my son”, it hissed, “I called you here. You alone can free me.”

“I don’t remember receiving the invitation,” answered Walters, “in fact there were a few of your boys there, who made me feel just a little bit unwelcome”.

“A mistake,” it replied, “nothing more.”

“That’s not quite how it felt, but hey who am I to argue?” said Walters casually, “Now what was it I can do for you?”

“Release me, “ the thing pleaded, “ and join me in my conquest of this world and beyond”.

“Just a few questions first,” he responded, “before I think about meeting your demands”.

“We don’t have much time”, it answered.

“And why exactly is that?”, queried Walters, stalling for time as he looked around.

“There are those coming who would destroy us, who have no piety in their hearts. Even now they approach.”, the creature hissed in what appeared to be fear.

“I’m sure we still have a little time, my men will hold whoever they are for at least a short while, “ said Walters placatingly, “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, you were going to tell me a little bit more about yourself, weren’t you?”

“I am S’sthir, and first tread upon this planet ages past. I have walked the corridors of the Warp and mastered its intrincacies and held dominion over men and foul beasts. I cannot remember how long I have been here, “ it began, “although I remember very well my traitorous betrayer. He who left me as I am, thinking I would die a slow death. But I survived!”

Remaining silent, Walters waited for it to continue.

“It had been rumoured that the Hand of S’star was hidden here, a rather insignificant trinket but of great sentimental worth to my people. We travelled far in search of it, finally arriving on this world. We were close to achieving our objective when the cursed one struck me down, piercing my body with his sword and pinning me to this rock:”

“What about this unimportant trinket?” asked Walters disbelievingly.

“It is here, close”, it murmured guardedly, “I found a way of communing with it through devout prayer, maintaining my life spark. When the Chaos Forces arrived on this planet and placed their worthless altar over the hidden entrance, I awoke. Their barbarous rites fed me, they mistakenly thought that they were in contact with one of their foul gods and I let them continue in this misunderstanding.

The one they called the Lord, drew on my power to create those you call K’ran and with each day I grew stronger. When you threw down K’shir I aided your change and waited for you to come to me.”

“And with all your wondrous power, you couldn’t….?”, here he indicated the sword hilt.

“It is cursed!”, screamed the beast, “it is like a burning iron, thrust deep within me! Do you not see my tears!”

“So ……,” summarized Walters, “you came here to steal some sort of artefact, had a disagreement with someone, who thought you dangerous enough to treat you so kindly. Then you were able to control Chaos Forces through the usurpation of their malignant rites. You saw an opportunity in me and now you feel I owe you something? Is that about right?”

“Do not mock me”, S’sthir shrilled, as he squirmed violently. “Obey me, or I will be forced to destroy you!”

“Stick around here, “ grinned Walters maliciously, “and I’ll just go and have a little peek at what’s at the top of this little hill.”

Thrashing violently, S’sthir screamed and threatened to no avail. Walters ignored him and continued upwards to the top of the pyramid.

*

Drop pods slammed into the earth, Thunderhawks roared overhead strafing their enemies below whilst others landed to spew forth their contents. Motorbike engines growled, battle cries rent the air, bolter rounds smashing into the Chaos Forces, and this was just the beginning.

Sargeant James lowered his magnoculars, a look midway between awe and shock crossing his face.

“What is it Sargeant?”, asked Leftenant Wilson worriedly, ”What did you see?”

“Trouble,” mumbled James, glancing back to the Fortress and wondering where Walters was.

“How so? Who is it?”, queried the Leftenant persistently.

“Everyone’s worst nightmare”, replied James, the vision of the huge shapes, in light grey ceramite power armour literally exploding into action as they leapt from their craft.

“Adeptus Astartes,” he continued, mentally praying for Walters arrival, “Space Wolves!”

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 16

Gleefully Artix fired his plasma pistol and watched it sear through the rust spotted armour of the cultist in front of him. It was just as he had expected, the Chaos Forces had no answer to his little surprise. Their pathetic attempts at resistance were quite simply being blown away.

“Onwards!”, the Inquisitor screamed, “For the Glory of the Emperor!”

And just a little bit for me, he thought quietly to himself.

*

“Did you get him?”, shouted James nervously.

“Yes, Sargeant, we did”, replied the vox-man.

“And?” the Sargeant pressed.

“Sargeant Berbatov says they’re still waiting, no news, Sargeant”, responded the soldier timidly.

“Wonderful, just wonderful,” mumbled James, staring out at the scene of wanton destruction, enfolding before him.

*

Walters reached the top of the pyramid and stared at the strange sight before him. At the centre of the raised dais there, was a throne carved out of what appeared to be a single block of stone.

In front of it, arms stretched out imploringly were the dessicated remains of a giant warrior. His carapaced armour remained but the body had long since shrunk. Looking more closely he saw that only one of the hands was connected to the mummified subject , the other sat on its own, facing the apparently supplicating figure.

As he drew closer he could see the fine detail on the armour, strange runes chased into the metal, including that of the helm which had two short horns jutting from it. He tried to peer into the eye slits, but there was little more to be seen.

There was no visible weapon and only an empty scabbard, causing him to realise that this must be the famous betrayer, whose sword so effectively pinned S’sthir below. He had known that the thing’s story had been an invention, but here was the plain truth.


Almost reverently he moved round the what was left of the warrior, angling slightly to the side, so that he could get a good look at what it was exactly that sat on the throne.

It was a hand, or at least it had the shape of a hand. The appendage stopped abruptly as though had been sheared clean through about half way up the forearm. All of it was covered in long dark fur, and ended in a set of five sharp claws of a bright silver colour.

To his eye, although there was an obvious lack of blood, it could have been amputated only moments ago, as the flesh underneath appeared firm and vibrant.

Underneath lay a bright red satin cloth, which had some sort of design sewn into it. This was difficult to see in its entirety as the material was folded a number of times.

After he had paced around it, he could find no obvious trick or trap and decided to examine it further. So, he climbed onto the bottom of the throne, carefully avoiding disturbing the armoured shape before it.

Not one of his senses detected anything out of the ordinary, so he carefully stretched out his right hand and touched the object.

*

“I’m not waiting any longer”, grumbled Berbatov, picking up his halberd and putting his foot on the first step.

“But he told us to wait, “ relied one of the troopers.

“That’s right”, responded the Sargeant, “so you wait!”

As he began to move slowly down the staircase, he felt the light brush of a furred body next to him.

“Well, Pup, “ he laughed, I guess it’s the two of us then!”

*

There was a flash of light and a blinding pain as his fingers made contact, causing him to try and withdraw his hand. He felt something grab onto his wrist with an enormous power, stabbing pains shooting through him. Reeling backwards he crashed into the suit of armour in a tangle of limbs and metal, all the while he felt as though his arm was on fire.

In his frenzy he rolled off the edge of the dais and slid down, bouncing off numerous ledges unitl he came to a sudden halt. Looking up he saw the cavernous mouth snatch for him and he managed to slip to one side, as the teeth clashed together.

Rising to his feet, he saw the huge yellow orbs staring at him and S’sthir gnashing his teeth in desperation.

“You fool!”, he screamed, “What have you done!”

“Not sure, “ gasped Walters, “I’ll let you know when I find out!”

His words ending on a shout as the agony once more overpowered him.

S’sthir looked on and trembled with fear, his worst nightmares confirmed. He could not let this happen and tried to draw on his powers, only to find them blocked, negated. Raising his hideous visage he hissed, slavered and screamed in anger and frustration.

*

Skjarl Chaosbane fired each of his bolter pistols in turn, laughing uproariously as the rounds impacted. By Russ, this was easy, more like a training exercise. Choose a target, aim and fire.

Around him the group of Blood Claws were unrestrainedly massacring the cultists. Bolter pistol, chain-axe, it did not matter. All found their target, bit and tore and on they surged. The Inquisitor had not quite spoken the truth when he had called for the need for Space Marines, but the youngsters would be blooded, with just enough risk to learn how to react correctly in a real engagement.

He saw Artix close by, hanging back and carefully choosing his shots. The Inquisitor was a strange one, very closed mouthed about the real reason for their being here. That however was relatively unimportant, there was little in the way of opposition and less to fear.

*

“I think it’s time, Leftenant.”, prompted James.

“Time for what, Sargeant?”, asked Wilson, unable to tear his eyes away from the Wolves assault.

“To get the men inside, sir”, insisted the Sargeant.

“Oh, yes. Carry on.”, the Leftenant responded absent-mindedly.

Not that it will do us any good, thought James as he hustled away. They were definitely going to need one of the Major’s minor miracles if they were going to get out of this one. What was keeping him?

*

Walters sole focus was the pain, nothing else mattered. At last the beast within him awoke and began to fight. The pain was intrusive, a less than illicit attempt to wrest control of his body and that would not be tolerated. Struggling weakly at first, he maintained his tenuous grip on reality, then he started hauling himself back.

S’sthir saw no movement, Walters lay immobile on the floor, one hand gripping the artefact. Failure was important, if the human was consumed by the Hand he could at least try again, utilising his familiar link. Perhaps he would have time to subjugate the mind of one the Chaos fools, drag it down here so that he could be free. There was always hope.

Unknowingly, Walters caused those false expectations to wither and die. Now, he was waging an immense battle of wills with the unknown power of the Hand. If before he had been clinging onto the precipice by his last two fingers, now he was climbing, slow but assured. With each tiny gain, he grew stronger. His dominance was being asserted and each little triumph he consolidated his control.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked disdainfully upon the terrible visage before him.

“You lose, “he stated matter-of-factly, then he started, as though he heard something and jumped to his feet. Then, with one last wicked grin at S’sthir, he was gone. His movement so rapid, that it was but a blur to the creature, one moment he was there, the next not.

S’sthir’s enormous head drooped in dejection, he was beaten, there was nothing he could do. It was then he heard the sound of voices and smiled.

*

The Wolves had destroyed the main body of the Chaos Forces, now various groups of Blood Claws were enjoying some sport. Their way to the Fortress was open, unhindered. Skjarl had seen the soldiers and, to him, Chaos beasts retreat inside the high walls. It was no matter, another type of warfare but one in which, nevertheless, he was experienced.

“Pensive, Captain?”, Skjarl looked with open contempt at the Inquisitor.

“Not at all, Artix”, he saw the man’s wince at the improper use of his name, the omission of his honorific deliberate. “”Just surveying our next conquest”.

Inquisitor Artix sneered as the Space Wolf turned away, the marine’s arrogance was almost unsupportable. Pity about the addition of the geneseed, he mused, he would have made a good Inquisitor. Chuckling to himself, he too looked at the impressive walls before him. The fleeing men from ‘Walter’s Army’ had been unable to close the massive gates. After various attacks and surrounding mechanical debris, it could well have been impossible for a group of Space Marine’s to do so.

Above he could see the heads of a number of the ex-Guardsmen watching them, their las rifles would be ineffective in stopping the Wolves. No, everything was going to plan, all they needed to do now was attack.

*

K’rantu felt the breath of His passing, he had waited, not knowing why, but sure that his place was here. He did not speak to his brothers, but turned and started to run. They fell in behind him, no sound made, a common understanding between them.

By the gates K’ranwon waited, growling softly. The massive humans had begun their attack, slicing through the first ranks of man and K’ran. Bolter rounds punched into flesh, bodies flew and, so, he did something that neither he nor his brothers had done before. He prayed. No longer did he call the Blood God’s name, no longer did he snarl his rage. Instead he called for strength in the battle, he asked that his claws were sharp, his courage mighty, that his death would be remembered. All in W’ratr’s name.

*

Their cry reached his heart and he wondered. Their song reached his soul and he cried out with pride. His muscles bunched, his heels dug into the floor and he became a blur.

*

Each step was given begrudgingly, yet James and his men retreated and died. From bolter rounds, their flesh bursting with the force of the explosive impact, they fell. Power-axes shattered bones, swords clove flesh and still they fought.

Teeth were of no use against power armour, claws broke, men wept as they were mercilessly sent to face the Emperor. Yet they fought and predictably they died. Not though, calling for the Emperor’s Grace nor salvation, but with only one name on their lips.

*

Tears rolled freely down his cheeks, each blow pierced his flesh, each death fed his rage. His feet touched no floor; there was no time.

Walters howled, the force of the sound shattering all resistance to his passage. He howled again, expelling his rage only for it to grow stronger.

In the heat of battle his people heard, they inhaled the strength, the love and the promise. They grew, they roared and they changed.

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 17

Artix watched incredulously as all of the opposing forces seemed overcome by some strange attack. They writhed on the floor, they screamed, foamed at the mouth and were subject to the wracking and shuddering of almost epileptic fits.

The divine light of battle faded from even the Blood Claws eyes and they looked on nervously.

“Despatch them all, give them the Emperor’s Mercy!”, snarled Skjarl, firing his bolter directly into the top of one K’ran’s skull. His men moved forward timidly at first, but then with determination. Shots rang out again as the Marines methodically eradicated their enemy. Artix gleefully joined in, this was too good to be true.

As if by some unknown but prearranged signal, one by one, figures began to rise from amongst the ranks of juddering bodies. Artix increased the tempo of his shots, as did the Wolves desperately. These were not men, nor were they K’ran. They stood on two legs, remnants of shredded clothing surrounding some, others totally fur clad. The Inquisitor saw one stand, its shoulders hunched, arms terminating in massive claws. He raised his face and looked directly into the feral green eyes. Its mouth opened and it roared, razor sharp canines jutted from its mouth, pointed ears tufted with fur capped its enormous head.

Artix’s pistol wavered and before he could shoot it, the beast moved. In one lightening fast strike, its claws raked through ceramite armour, tearing it as though it were paper. Its jaws, closed on the forearm of a Marine, who screamed in pain as the bones inside were crushed to a pulp. This was not natural.

Frantically shots crashed out, but they were now more sporadic as the owners of the weapons fought for their lives. This was no training exercise, this was real.

A concussive wave of pressure knocked Artix to the floor, bowling him over and over. When he shakily stumbled to his feet he was greeted by silence. Turning he saw Skjarl Chaosbane frozen in mid-stride, transfixed by something. He followed his gaze, then, trembling with fear, he scuttled to the Marine Captain’s side and the reassuring bulk of his power armour.

*

Berbatov whistled tunelessly as he mounted the steps of the pyramid, K’san by his side. They too were guided by the pulsing of a strange green light. Eventually they reached the source, and has had been Walters, were greeted by the enormous malformed shape of S’Sthir.

“Welcome brothers,” he hissed, “I have been waiting for you”.

“Brothers?”, queried the Sargeant, “Should’ve shot my mother when I had the chance!”

“What?”, asked S’sthir, trying to maintain his calm.

“You know, “ quipped Berbatov, turning to K’san, “I always knew she had strange tastes, but this?”

K’san did not reply, he in no way understood the big man, so he waited patiently for the violence he was sure would follow.

“You are looking for Walters”, asked S’sthir, trying to restart the conversation.

“Yes,” answered the Sargeant, “We were wondering where he had got to”.

“He left, rather in a hurry, but commented that you would be along shortly”, answered S’sthir slyly. “It seemed urgent, so he suggested that I ask you to release me”.

The laughter started deep within Berbatov’s belly, escaping from his mouth and rolling out in huge guffaws. Finally the Sargeant, wiped the tears from his eyes and between gasps, he tried to speak.

“That… is….a….good….one!”

“I do not understand,” replied S’shir.

“Granted, I look stupid. But I can assure you”, he continued coldly, “I am not!”

S’sthir saw the Sargeant’s grip on the halberd change and cried out, “W-a-ait!”.

Then to his amazement, he saw Berbatov’s body begin to shake, saw him double over in pain. The K’ran by his side rolled into a ball, it’s hind legs jittering in uncontrollable spasms. He saw the flesh on the man’s arms split, saw his face changing, bones rearranging, skin stretching. The halberd clattered to the floor and he watched it bounce into the deep blackness below.

Then he heard the sound, a deep, low grumbling and he looked at what had until a moment before been human. Standing before him were two ravening beats, eyes blazing with rage. S’sthir whined in fear as he saw the raised arm, long silver claws reflecting eerily the dim pulsating green light. Then the arm fell and a long thin line appeared across his throat. In slow motion, a wound gaped and with a surprised look still adorning his face, S’sthir’s head slid slowly away from his body and thumped to the floor.

The beasts looked at each other, then in silent agreement turned away, picking up speed as they raced down the pyramid.

*

Captain Arnesson had tried to answer the queries from the Assault Carrier, it appeared that something had not gone to plan. Transmissions were being disrupted by some sort of electrical interference, white noise making it impossible to transmit or receive effectively.

He knew that the Inquisitor and the Space Wolves had landed safely and had heard the communication chatter, crowing with their success. That, however, had been some time ago.

Warily he gave the order for Battle Stations when he heard the report of the Assault Carrier's furious activity. Then with more conviction as he assimilated the data of more Thunderhawk and drop-pod launches.

*

Atom by atom, moment by moment, it coalesced with infinite patience. First there were miniscule globules which traced tiny spiral patterns on the floor, rolling with ever greater speed until they bumped into a wary partner, struggled and then they were one. Then, as each isolated sphere met, they grew, becoming tendrils of black viscosity.

They were aligned, drawn together and stretched out until they took on the forms of blind worms, writhing with purpose. From many directions at once they converged on the waiting form, gathering speed until they struck, adhering to the waiting receptacle.

With each new impact they merged until they thickened into four clearly discernible tentacles.

S’sthir opened his eyes and slowly, ponderously began the climb upwards. How easily he had fooled the barbaric humans, how little they knew of his innate power. In their arrogance they had thought they understood the nature of the impending threat. Soon they would learn the truth, his release had spelled their doom.

He concentrated on the task before him, not allowing his preoccupation to divert him from his goal. There was still time, very little, but he could yet succeed.

*

That which stood before them was different to the others, larger, more powerful, more terrifying. Inquisitor Artix knew he was too late, whatever had been the true purpose of the artefact, the results stood plainly before him. His terror was compounded by the immobility of the Space Wolves, their apparent lack of understanding of what action was required. Here and now they seemed lost, uncertain of how to react and that was the most disconcerting thing of all.

Again he studied the creature, was this Walters? How could it be? And what power did he hold over the others? Those who moments before had been almost human, were but likenesses fashioned in his image. Power rolled off him in waves and his army of beasts waited, chests heaving, jaws drooling and eyes blazing. Time seemed suspended and it seemed that no-one wanted to be the first to break the silence.

The Wolves too, appeared to be caught up in the magic of the moment, their normally ferocious demeanour was stayed by the sheer presence of the being before them. Artix could bear it no longer and raised his pistol.

“No”. One simple word, but spoken with such strength of command that he could not lift his weapon higher. Beside him the Captain tensed, but still he did not act.

“Why do you kill my children?”, asked Walters, a puzzled look on his face, his voice echoing with growled undertones. “What is it that you want?”

“You are an abomination, “ hissed Artix, scornfully from behind Skjarl’s back. “tainted by Chaos!”

“I do not think that is an answer, “ the rumbling voice continued, “you only attacked the Fortress. This was your objective all along. Ah, now I see it, you were looking for the Hand”.

Then seeing the frown on Skjarl’s face, he laughed, “He does not know, does he?”

“Know what?”, asked the Captain quizzically, turning to stare at the Inquisitor.

“It is a trick!”, snapped Artix, “This creature of Chaos is trying to cloud your mind, be strong in the Emperor’s Name!”

“I do not need to sway you with lies!”, roared Walters, the force of his voice unrelenting. “Do you wish a demonstration!”

Pointing to one of the Blood Claws he commanded quietly, “You! Come here!”

The Space Wolf twitched as though for a moment he would resist, then he meekly lowered his weapon and prowled forwards.

“Kneel, youngster,” ordered Walters, and obediently the Marine knelt. “Would you see the Truth?”

There was no reply, but Walters reached out his clawed hand tenderly and caressed the Marine’s face. “What do you say?”

The Marine shuddered, his gloved hands crashing to the packed earth in support of his juddering frame. He struggled, as though fighting against a fearsome foe, then with one long howl he fell headlong onto the floor.

“Kill them!”, screamed Artix, “Kill them now!”

*

The warp boiled, it raged and Arnesson feared. It was though something alien, even to the warp, was trying to pass through and it was being resisted. Then, as though a pus-filled boil had burst, the ship tore its way into normal space.

Arnesson gasped, he had never seen a ship like this, or rather such a one, designed to travel through the warp. He had seen something similar in the history archives of the Navy, but that was for a different means of travel in a long gone era. It had been called a galleon and was built to cross oceans, not star systems.

It was similar, but not quite the same. It had three large masts, hung with tattered and torn sails, what looked like ropes and lines trailing listlessly. Its bulwarks appeared to be of wood, but that was impossible. Its stern rose high, with windows dotting the structure. The prow tapered out and underneath it was a stylised dragon, screaming its defiance to the void.

There were three tiers of gun-ports each side, fashioned as though the owner had seen the same archives as Arnesson. Although he had never heard of anything like this in all of the Imperium.

The ship swung lazily around, turning its sides to face the Wolves Assault Carrier. Arnesson screamed his useless warning into thin air, as the gun-ports crashed open and the plasma cannons fired.

*

S’sthir’s tentacles reached out and touched the remains of his body, carefully avoiding the area around the sword. With a terrible sucking sound he drew corporeal essence from his remains, his new form expanding as his old withered. Finally, all that was left was a small circle of blackened flesh, through which passed the sword.

Standing on his newly formed feet, tail lashing behind him he felt the pain of the warp. They had come for him and all that stood between them were Walters and the foolish Imperials. The Hand was lost to him, but he still had the sword. Wrapping his virgin hand around the hilt of the weapon, carefully avoiding its blade, he heaved and it slowly gave way, its light dying gradually. He looked up towards the dais and grinned mockingly; there was one more thing he needed and then he would be ready.

*

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 18

Arnesson watched as the Assault Carrier rocked to the broadside, metal and pieces of human flotsam swirled out into the vacuum of space. It appeared that they had been taken totally by surprise, as they had not fired a single weapon in response. Their shields had failed almost instantly under the overwhelming barrage and now it looked as though they had nothing left.

Data feed showed the descending drop pods and Thunderhawks had escaped, but this was small recompense for what the Wolves main vessel was suffering.

Then he noticed that the Carrier was moving, turning its prow face on to the strange ship and getting underway. It was aimed directly for the other vessel, and like a punch-drunk fighter, head bowed, it staggered on straight into another flurry of blows.

Mercilessly, the alien vessel turned to avoid it, spinning rapidly on its axis and bringing its other broadside to bear. This was a cold and methodical demolition of the Carrier, piece by piece and would not end until it was left just as more space debris, floating weakly in the alien ship’s wake.

Captain Arnesson’s indecision had so far saved his ship and his own life, but very soon the Wolves would not stand between him and destruction. He needed to act and quickly.

*

Without thought, Skjarl’s finger tightened and the bolter round sped towards Walters. All around him he heard firing, his men woken from their lethargy by his action. Battle reflexes taking over, he spun away, trying to keep moving and present as little a target as possible.

“Move!”, he screamed at the Inquisitor, shoving him roughly to one side and vaulting over a prone Marine’s body.

The scream of Thunderhawk engines announced the arrival of reinforcements and he knew that more of his brothers would be here and soon, the weight of their numbers surely enough to overwhelm Walters’ meagre forces.

He saw Walters scoop up the inert body of the Blood Claw from where it had fallen, and bound away. Behind him surged his army, looking to all intents and purposes as though they were in full retreat. They streamed through the inner gates of the Fortress and soon all that was left were the Wolves and a cackling Artix.

“See, I told you.”, crowed the Inquisitor, “Cowards and Chaos scum. Now we will wipe them out in the name of the Emperor.”

Skjarl looked up and saw the descending drop pods, Wolves leaping clear of Thunderhawks and was reassured. His only preoccupation was why they were here, he had called for no aid and it was extremely unusual to deploy all of their forces in such a fashion.

Again he heard an almost supernatural howl, and there stood Walters, watching him from the opening between the gates. Flanking him were two of his beasts, one huge and black, the other more lithe and silver. Directly at his side, stood the Blood Claw, Walters claws resting lightly on his shoulder.

*

S’sthir finally reached the top of the pyramid and gazed triumphantly at the throne and the figure before it. He raised the sword on high and smashed it down into the ancient carapace armour. Blow after blow struck the armour, piece by piece he reduced its clean lines into a shapeless lump.

“That”, he said aloud, “was worth the wait! Idiot, like everyone else you underestimated me and now we shall see who will have the last word!”

He slithered towards the throne and reached forward with one of his new appendages. At the back of the dais, he found the cover and dragged it open. There displayed was a control panel, covered in strange runes, which he depressed in a well remembered sequence. The rear part of the chair squealed in protest, but ceded. It dropped downwards to reveal a hidden chamber, within which rested an old and seemingly fragile parchment.

“Hah!”, he gloated, “as predictable as ever brother!”

Carefully he withdrew and unrolled the brittle pages, instantly finding what he wanted. Then he began to read aloud the words printed there, his voice rising and falling in a hissing cadence. In response, the very air of the chamber began to shimmer.

“Come!”, he cried as he finished the rite, “Your Master calls you!”

*

The Assault Carrier was dying, the ancient and venerable machine could resist no longer. In the high-ceilinged state room he watched avidly its final death throes. It had been many ages since he had so thrilled at the death of his enemies, had seen his weapons tear apart there prey. It had been worth the wait.

The creature turned, his long-nailed fingers tapping on the side of his chair. S’sthir was here, he could smell his distinctive stench in the ether. It was unimportant why these beings had challenged him, or what S’sthir hoped to gain by these ridiculous delaying tactics, it was far too late.

One of his servants approached, carrying his battle helm, which was reverently placed on his head, air hissing as the clamps were put in place. He rose to his full height and smiled down upon his minions, the long tail-feathers of the helmet cascading down his back. Another servant cinched his sword belt around his waist, the jewel adorned scabbard glistening in the artificial light.

Lowering his face plate, he twirled, the feathers flying around him in a shower of brilliant colours, giving the effect of flames leaping and cavorting. His people looked on in awe as the manic ballet continued; the dragon visaged helm, the strange power armour, all was as they remembered. Now the glorious bloodshed could begin.

*

Captain Skjarl Chaosbane gaped in open-mouthed amazement at the sight of the Blood Claw, calmly standing at Walters’ side. It was inconceivable that a Space Wolf could so lightly accept the taint of Chaos. Not only accept, but be so sure of himself, how could he have been turned?

As bolters began to fire, the trio of beasts disappeared once again, the Blood Claw meekly following.

“What was that?”, screamed the Inquisitor, “Are the Space Wolves so weak, so open to the ruinous forces?”

Skjarl restrained himself from slamming his fist into Artix’s sneering face and looked across at his own men. The veterans were rapidly taking up attack positions, but a number of the Blood Claws looked dazed, weapons held loosely by their sides. What was going on?

The tug on his arm, brought him back to reality, “What?”, he growled.

Inquisitor Artix took an involuntary step backwards in face of the obvious menace transmitted by the Captain, but kept on talking.

“This will have to be reported.”, he whined, “Your Rune Priests need to be aware, to strengthen your companions’ faith. Not to mention, the necessity for Inquisitorial investigation. “

“That of course”, continued Artix, “will of course fall under my auspices and will depend on how the rest of this operation plays out”.

Controlling the beast within him was becoming harder, his prime instinct was to reach his hand down inside the Inquisitor’s mouth and turn him inside out. However, although it would bring a great satisfaction, Skjarl knew that this was not the time nor the place.

“We will take care of this”, he snarled at the Inquisitor.

“What, like you have so far?”, mocked Artix, “Do you expect me to follow you in there?”

“No”, retorted the Captain, “I expect you to demonstrate the same self-preservation skills you have shown up until now.”

“Do you know with whom you are talking?”, enquired the Inquisitor incredulously.

“Oh, I know”, answered Skjarl, “and that is the reason you will await the arrival of my brothers!”

“As you wish, Captain”, drawled the Inquisitor, “Your insubordination has been duly noted”.

“Good.”, growled the Captain, “We can discuss it later!”.

With that he called his Wolves together, designating a small group of Blood Claws to stay with the Inquisitor and wait for the new arrivals. Skjarl did not want to take any more chances, whatever had befallen the young Marine with Walters , he wanted to reduce the possibility of it happening again.

Howling a battle cry, he led their fierce charge into the Fortress, as Space Wolves, it was what they did best.

*

Walters watched the conversation between the two men and the full-blooded charge, and smiled. Predictable. Now it was his turn to play a little game and so he led his people further into the Fortress, where they could turn this to their advantage. He did not underestimate the heightened skills of the Wolves, but even they could not match those he had given to his followers.

His acute senses recognised the start of S’sthir’s rite and the inherent challenge being thrown out. He felt the stirring in the warp and the crossing over to this existence of a virulent wrongness. Claws twitched and fine lines were drawn along the ceramite armour of the Blood Claw at his side.

“Uther”, he commanded, “Stay with me, you will be needed”.

They melted into the shadows, silently watching and waiting.

*

Later, Arnesson would justify his actions as necessary, certainly not those of a coward, but rather a prudent man. Once he had seen the impending destruction of the Wolves’ Carrier, action had finally been taken. Maintaining battle stations, his ship was backed away from the conflict. Like a wary child in front of a bully, it retreated, ready to lash out desperately or turn and run.

No-one argued with him, after all he was the Captain, and as General Hamner’s personal choice for this mission, his credentials were not of the highest.

The galleon prowled past them, disdainfully turning its stern to Arnesson’s ship as it passed. For one small moment he was tempted to launch, then he remembered in his mind’s eye how easily the Carrier had been brushed aside and restrained the urge.

Reassuring himself that Inquisitor Artix would need him, he looked on as the craft imperiously swept by, its course fixed firmly on the planet below.

*

Drooling jaws parted in anxious anticipation, S’sthir watched as one by one his minions crawled through the portal. They were a mixture of every race’s worst nightmare; huge reptilian creatures, some winged, some on all fours whose mighty jaws dripped venom. Those who could, carried weapons; axes, maces, gnarled and studded clubs, spears and the last of them a gigantic scythe adorned with the skulls and body parts of its victims. Others would rely on their natural arms; diamond shaped teeth, fangs, suckered limbs and spined tails.

“Lord”, whispered the scythe-wielding monstronsity, “It has been too long”.

“It will be worth the wait”, hissed S’sthir, “even now He comes.”

“A-a-ah”, it acknowledged, in dribbling ecstasy, “And with him?”

“They will all be there, my beloved friend.”, answered a cackling S’sthir, “Every last one of them!”

A cacophony of hideous sound rang throughout the chamber, as they stamped, snarled and hissed in eager anticipation.

*

There was nothing, a deadened silence awaited Skjarl and his brothers as they raced down the empty corridors. Doors were smashed down, bolters fired and still there was no reply. They reached what appeared to be a vast Dining Hall, the sound of their footfalls echoing eerily. Where were they? Where was Walters?

Snarling in frustration, the Captain led the Marines onwards, deeper into the Fortress.

Shapes slowly emerged from the shadows behind them, green eyes blazed and Walters padded slowly into the light.

[Rayo Azul]

Chapter 19

A pair of beady black eyes watched avidly as the Space Marine halted and sniffed his surroundings, obviously uneasy. As the Marine checked the area, a pair of arms were silently raised high into the air. When the man turned to speak to his companion, his surprise evident at his absence, the creature’s body twisted to aid the momentum of its movement. And as the Marine’s mouth opened in shock, his hand raising his pistol with superhuman speed, the blade completed its arc.

Giggling to itself as the head bounced onto the floor, S’sthir’s beloved henchman shuffled from its hiding place. It rested the scythe against the wall and pulled a piece of wire from its voluminous robe. Lifting the decapitated head from the floor by the hair, it pushed the wire deep into the skull, all the while muttering to itself. The wire was then neatly attached to its belt and the creature continued on its way, blood dripping as the head bumped gently in time to the stuttering chorus of its footsteps.

*

With every passing moment, Captain Skjarl Chaosbane was losing Space Wolves. It was hard to understand when exactly it had started, but now it was becoming serious. He had noticed one or two absences, but thought it was due to their tactic of clearing out each room individually. This was time-consuming, but necessary; they did not want to leave pockets of enemy resistance behind them. The static had effected even their microbead circuits now and so he had sent back patrols to investigate. When there had been no reply he had resisted the temptation to send a stronger patrol and instead they had halted their push into the depths of the Fortress.

Then the screaming had started, it was an inhuman sound, constant and high-pitched. Seemingly coming from all directions at once and getting closer by the minute.

A deep guttural roar interrupted his introspection and a menagerie of unimaginable horror charged from the semi-darkness. This was an enemy he could understand and with a furious snarl he leapt to the attack.

*

Walters heard the shrill keening but was unperturbed, arrayed behind him were a score of Space Wolves, with that which was Berbatov at his side. It had been so simple, they had picked off the young Space Marines one by one. His touch awakening them to the Truth.

Not all such attempts had been effective, with the more veteran warriors refusing to hear. They had been despatched quickly and efficiently by Berbatov and his first recruit Uther, a mercy to end their suffering. The uncontrollable spasms had stretched even their bodies to breaking point.

When the sound of firing began, he knew that the Marines had found S’sthir’s creatures and Walters had a simple choice to make. Growling he moved forward, at first slowly and then at a full run. Behind him came his pack, eyes blazing, teeth bared. Their growl became a roar, claws extended they raced to battle and the Wolves ran with them.

*

Artix watched as the Rune Priest approached, Space Wolves fanning out all around him.

“Inquisitor”, he nodded in recognition, his voice cold and impersonal, “Where is Skjarl Chaosbane?”

“Lost”, answered the Inquisitor, “he would not wait. His arrogance has probably cost his downfall and that of his men!”

“Explain!”, the Space Wolf’s lips were bared, revealing his long canine teeth.

“The Captain decided to pursue the Chaos Force’s, especially this Walters, into the Fortress.”, continued Artix, ”I told him to wait, but he would not listen.”

Spinning abruptly the Priest spoke to one of his Marine companions, “Arn, take your Grey Hunters and find him!”

They left at a loping run and the Rune Priest turned back to the Inquisitor, “Now, little man, tell me all!”

*

At the outer most reaches of the planet’s atmosphere, the galleon halted. The hull opened and a myriad of small craft were launched, lancing into the rarified air. As they plummeted down, small stubby wings snapped outwards and they began a controlled glide.

From the main deck of the ship, a large pinnace rose, and began a slow, stately descent. It was ornately decorated and did not seem a craft of battle, rather some type of pleasure barge. Its insides though, were crammed with troops and the being who guided it towards the planet’s surface was truly girded for war.

*

S’sthir waited calmly for his minions; they were to enrage the Imperials, drive them back to the surface and then return. He needed them to give him a little more time, in order to complete his preparations. It was difficult to keep them under control; it had ever been so. He smiled in a paternal fashion, well, let them have some enjoyment, they had been imprisoned for millennia and it was only right that they took out some of their frustrations on the Marines.

*

The Marines were losing, a relatively unknown and unexpected thing. They had finally met creatures whose bodies absorbed bolters rounds, or rather seemed to fold around them. Power axes smashed into them and they appeared to accept the affront, welcome it and then let it slide past.

This, however, was not a reciprocally giving process, as corrosive venom melted armour, fangs pierced flesh and weapons destroyed bodies. There seemed an unending stream of the abominations, all vying for the pleasure of destroying one of the Space Wolves.

Skjarl called out in Leman Russ’s name, he prayed to the Emperor, but there was no reply. He saw his brothers die, one by one, terrifyingly painful deaths, screaming in defiance, pain and ultimately despair. Amazingly, he watched one of the Blood Claws kneel, open his arms and cry out a single name. Suddenly he was transformed, he was again unbeatable, single-handedly ripping his way through three of the monsters. He was a true son of Russ, canines bared, howling with fury his bolter rounds could not miss. They seared, they burned and they killed.

The Captain recognised him, this was Jan Longfang, known as one of the most ferocious of the youngsters; there had been doubts that he would pass the final test and he had struggled. How wrong they were, Skjarl’s heart swelled with pride, he was the epitome of Russ’ bloodline, was he not?

Jan howled long and hard, Skjarl heard a strange echo which did not fade away. Longfang fought with a consciously confident violence, Wolves were dying but he seemed unconcerned, sure of his ability and that of his brothers. Skjarl tried to tap into this primeval energy, but nothing seemed to work, he was being pushed steadily backwards, bleeding from multiple wounds and despair entered his mind.

Once more he heard the howling, closer now, and even the abominations seemed to slow, to pause in doubt and fear. Not so Longfang, he redoubled his efforts and the monsters fell before him.

“Jan!”, called Chaosbane enthusiastically, trying to show his approbation of the Blood Claw’s efforts, a normally looked for recognition by one so young.

The sound of howling reverberated in his head, crushingly powerful, pushing all else away. He had never felt anything like it, something so feral it called to the Space Wolf at a cellular level. Skjarl saw one after another of his brothers raise their heads to the sky and join in the beastly chorus with unrestrained abandon. Leading them was Jan Longfang, head thrown back, chest heaving with deep wracking breaths.

Blurred forms appeared from the darkness and Skjarl feared for the first time in his long life. They were doomed, there were too many. As a Son of Russ, he would face them, and with his brothers he would die a glorious death in the Emperor’s name.

Disbelievingly he watched Longfang turn towards the onrushing figures, an almost religious fervour on his face. Looking back over his shoulder, he locked gazes with his Captain, eyes blazing, one at last with his pack.

*

Feverishly, S’thir completed his work; he had now activated six of the ancient control panels, the others would have to wait. Accommodating his bulk in the throne was difficult but he managed it eventually. Small thin growths extruded from his arms and wriggled their way under the armrests. One by one they slipped into the miniscule sockets waiting for them, and the throne powered up.

Stone cracked and runic patterns appeared, S’sthir rested his now more human hands on the runes and felt the energy course through him. Data cascaded into his mind via his direct link with the throne and he smiled.

Gradually he brought the six units to full functionality, time had certainly not dimmed his memory.

*

Artix was not the first to hear the rumbling, but it quickly drew his attention. A mini-earthquake was striking the Fortress, turrets swayed and shattered, boulders tumbled lazily to the floor and he struggled to maintain his balance.

More and more pieces of the fortress were literally being destroyed before his eyes, the detritus of this destruction burying the main gates and sealing those below into an eternal tomb. The Rune-Priest had pulled his Marines back and called them to order; they still had an enemy to fight.

So it was that the Inquisitor saw the first of the giant lance-like structures emerge from the rubble. Their sharpened edges easily pushed aside rock as they strained upwards into the sky. They were huge, fully twice as high as the original Fortress. Six of them, in all, in a not quite circular formation, as the structure gave the impression of being incomplete. From their tips, they swelled gradually to a wide base, which now became evident. Strangely striated, they sparkled in the sunlight.

“What are they?”, queried the Priest, coldly assessing this new entrant into the battle field.

“I don’t know, “ responded Artix, “They have an almost deadly beauty, which makes me think we are not going to like them”.

“And that?”, queried Arn, who had returned from his attempt at entering the Fortress, once the first shaking of the earth had begun.

“What?”, asked the Inquisitor warily.

“There, by the tip. Do you not see it?”, insisted the Space Wolf.

Indeed, Artix could now see the blindingly bright pinpoint of light at the top of each of the lances. It was easier to see now, but difficult to stare at, as each light point swelled with energy, until they held caged there, a seething, blinding ball of light.

With an ear-shattering roar, the hellish energy was released and six beams of immense proportions tore upwards, boiling through the atmosphere and out into space.

*

Captain Arnesson saw the beams strike the alien ship and how its shields flared into an incandescent brilliance, which burned as brightly as any star, and held. They did not buckle under the assault, but did slowly contract as though they were drawing back into their shell, but then he saw why; with a single burst of power, a pure red beam fought its way out of the roiling maelstrom surrounding the vessel and struck back.

This was no child’s game, and he watched as the galleon backed slowly away from the planet, all the while receiving the ongoing attack from the planet’s surface.

*

The incoming beam struck the Fortress, shields flaring in defence as its ravaging energy rolled over the structure. Now though, S’sthir was to rue his haste, as the shields failed in those segments he had failed to activate. Raw fire pured through and instantly vaporised the rubble, left there by S’shir’s work. It bored on, melting its way deep into the earth and cascades of molten rock heaved upwards in response.

Whole levels of the Fortress disappeared as the sheer force of the beam, wreaked havoc with savage glee. Although it did not reach S’sthir in his chamber, when it was over it left no physical exit as the lava cooled, trapping all below, as had been its intention.

*

Inquisitor Artix was stunned into silence for the first time in his life. He recognised the sheer scale of the titanic forces brought to bear here and he knew that they had stumbled directly onto something unknown. Whatever this was it needed to be destroyed, but they alone could not do anything about it.

And the other being, who even now approached their position, his pinnace still floating serenely towards them with little haste. Behind it were arrayed a mass of troops, in strange armour and carrying even stranger looking weapons. Artix was certain that if the demonstration of power he had recently witnessed was but the opening salvo in a larger conflict, he was hopelessly outmatched.

Someone needed to report this, and who else could. Did he not have a duty to the Emperor? Having convinced himself, he hurried off to talk to the Rune Priest, who must be made to see reason and rapidly.