Noctem Oritur: Chapter 9
Inside the bunker complex battle raged, the noble forms of Loyalists grappling with the twisted parodies that were their Traitorous brethren. Knives flashed in the flickering gloom of the interior and bolters discharged at point blank range to crack ceramite and throw bodies backwards. The loyalists had fought their way inside the bunker complex, fighting cultists at every step from the gate until they had found themselves in a large aircraft hangar yet here they found true opposition at last: a squad of Chaos Marines. The two sides met in a clash of blood and fury, hacking and stabbing with the frenzied hatred only ten thousand years of war could produce.
Amid the swirling combat Storm Heralds stabbed at Night Lords with shining blades who in return hacked and cleaved with notched cleavers. Sergeant Furion was laying about himself with great blows of his combat blade, his mighty strength overpowering enemies through brute force. Whereas Persion was savagely cunning as he stepped up to engaged foes and stabbed them in the neck, hardly honourable but then in war nothing is so honourable as victory.
Sergeant Mylos was standing back and firing off eerily accurate shots from his bolter, every round finding a weak point in midnight armour yet the loyalists were not having much success. The foe was just as transhuman as they were and many of their mightiest strikes were merely stunning the enemy while their own armour was scored and deeply gouged.
Chaplain Wrethan was fighting a sorcerer whose helm was crowned with four twisted horns and wielding a staff with a three headed serpent on one end. Wrethan swung his Crozius over and over trying to smite the witch and he roared, "Die Heretic!" The Sorcerer swung his staff two handed to deflect every blow and sneered, "You are a walking cliché." Then he made an arcane gesture to unleash a wave of spectral daggers that flew forwards, yet even as they dived upon the Chaplain his Rosarius flared and deflected the spell in a burst of holy light and the duel continued.
Meanwhile Toran was fighting a giant of a Chaos Marine, easily as tall as Furion, this one was different for his armour was marked with writhing serpents or chained 'A' shapes and he wielded a double headed axe with brutal force. Toran lunged and slashed with the Sword of Thiel but the Traitor blocked his every strike, countering his every move. Toran gritted his teeth in frustration, the Sword of Thiel was a legendary relic and it had been crafted with forgotten sciences and yet the power axe glowed with infernal runes and the shimmer of the Warp surrounded its edge as it effortlessly dissipated the energy field of his own weapon.
"Storm Herald!" bellowed the giant as he swung his axe about in a disembowelling slash, "Long has my axe waited to taste your blood!"
Toran leapt backward out of the way then lashed out in response shouting, "Then it has waited a long time for nothing!"
The battle hung on a knife's edge and there was no telling who would win but then without warning there was a brilliant flash of light outside casting a false dawn on the horizon. The light poured through the hanger's vision slits and etched shadows into the walls with painfully bright clarity, it was followed by an earthquake that shook the ground, making the walls quiver and shake dust from their facings.
The Storm Heralds were given a moment's pause by the unexpected shift and that was all the Traitors needed, in a flash the sorcerer pulled a grey canister from under his robes and flung it outwards as he cried, "Gamma it is time, fall back now!" The brute Toran was duelling didn't hesitate and instantly flung himself backwards, leaving the Sergeant off balance as his foe disappeared.
The grey canister hit the ground between the two lines of foes and shattered to spill a white-green mist into the hanger, it writhed and coiled in a disturbing manner and then it bloomed outwards multiplying itself in a horrendous parody of life. The mist enveloped several of the struggling Astartes and the effects could not have been more pronounced, in seconds the mist ignited their ceramite armour corroding it in a way that millennia of wear could not have achieved. The effect on flesh was far more horrific, hair, teeth and skin caught light, burning away in green flames to expose bone which in turn liquefied under the nightmarish caress of the mist. Three Night Lords and two brothers of Mylos' squad were caught in the cloud and screamed in a way no Astartes should do as they dissolved into putrid slime.
Chaplain Wrethan was on the edge of the blooming mist, still duelling with the sorcerer and the merest wisp of vapour brushed against his chest plate, effortlessly bypassing his rosarius' sacred aura where weapons and sorcery had failed to do so. Wrethan instantly flung himself backwards to clear the mist but it clung to his form, eating through his chestplate and vambraces in a heartbeat and he collapsed to the ground as he struggled to remove his violated plate.
As the mist expanded the two sides were forced apart, backing away from each other with the billowing cloud of vapour forming a moat between them, a dam that did not sit still but continued to expand, seeking more substances to devour. Toran sheathed his sword and ran to the thrashing form of Wrethan, he saw the surviving Chaos Marines gathering round the proud form of their sorcerer as he raised his staff high and chanted some vile litany in a twisted tongue. Toran saw the giant brute he had been duelling turn to look at him and the warrior called, "This isn't over!" then the sorcerer slammed his staff down and in a flash of Warp light the Traitors were all gone.
Toran wasted no time but dashed to Wrethan, who was thrashing in agony on the ground, he saw that the Chaplain's plate was covered in green vapour that had eaten through to gnaw at the flesh beneath. Toran grappled with the armour clasps, releasing them one by one until he could rip the chestplate free and throw it away but then he looked in horror at his own gauntlets, even the most microscopic contact with the mist had contaminated his plate and before his eyes it began smoking and dissolving.
Hurriedly he ripped free his gauntlets and managed to fling them away before the mist touched his skin, watching as the metal corroded into ooze, then he checked Wrethan's vitals finding that he yet lived but had lapsed into blessed unconsciousness. Furion hurried over to them and knelt to scoop Wrethan up under the arms shouting to everybody as he did so, "We have to go right now! For Throne's sake get out here, get out!"
Toran saw the green mist had not stopped expanding and was yet inching closer to them, almost as if attracted by movement so he hurriedly grabbed Wrethan's legs to assist carrying the unconscious Chaplain from the hanger. As they struggled with Wrethan's mutilated form he called, "In the name of the Emperor, what was that foul stuff?"
Furion answered grimly, "Phospex; a horror from the Age of Strife, one that should have been left there."
Toran redoubled his efforts to carry Wrethan out, racing back to the bunker's entrance but just as they reached the gate the situation changed for the earth shook and the building swayed as a mighty wind blew up outside. In one second it became a terrific blast wave of destruction, shattering windows and making the whole building shake dangerously as bits of ground vehicles and airplanes were flung against its thick ferrocrete walls. It only lasted a heartbeat but it made everybody's ears ring and they stumbled like drunks fighting for balance, brother Persion looked up at the shaking roof and said, "What now?"
Furion answered in a horrified voice, "No, no not that, it cannot be that, not now…"
Toran knew all too well what the earlier flash and the terrible wind heralded but part of his mind refused to believe it and he said, "Keep moving, we need to see what is happening."
The Space Marines staggered outside to be greeted by a nightmare made real, by vision of hell. The midnight sky was lit brightly red but not like some tranquil sunset for now the entire horizon was on fire, flames as tall as skyscrapers burning fiercely as far as the eye could see. Far away where the capital city used to stand was only a column of smoke and ash rising above all, lit scarlet from below by a sea of fire. It filled the world as a symbol of utter destruction and miles above their heads it spread out to form the unmistakeable mushroom cloud that could only be produced by an atomonic bomb detonating.
Everybody pulled up short in horror, unable to process what they were seeing and even Toran felt weak at the knees at the sight, he carelessly dropped Wrethan's unconscious form and opened his mouth but no words would come out. He stood there opening and closing his mouth uselessly as the horror swept over him and his world crumbled to ash before him, the realisation creeping up on him that he had made a mistake, they had all made a terrible, tragic mistake.
The silence was broken as Persion started shouting into the vox "Third Company, Third Company come in, come in Third Company! Captain Dassa, Sergeant Nimodes, respond immediately, please respond! Somebody... anybody respond! " but all he got in return was silence.
In his heart Toran knew it was useless, the power of the detonation, even here from miles away, was staggering and the devastation total. The chances of there being any survivors closer to the epicentre were slim indeed and they could not risk staying to look, surely the Traitors must have taken steps to ensure the bulk of their armies survived, undoubtedly they would be ready to attack again. He swallowed his shock and despair, his training and indoctrination letting him shove it into a mental box where it would not impair his ability to function, then he turned to Persion saying, "Brother… Brother."
The Marine did not heed him as he continued with his forlorn calls so Toran drew back one fist and punched Persion right in the helm, shocking him back to the here and now. The Sergeant yelled, "BROTHER PERSION! You must focus… tell me if the Thunderhawk survived or not."
Persion gave him a look of confused bewilderment then his eyes cleared and he nodded before beginning to try raising their transport, after a minute he reported, "They are alive, they were thrown halfway across the sky by the blast wave but those gunships are built to last, they are on their way back to pick us up."
"Tell them to hurry" ordered Toran, "We must return to the Fortress Monastery and prepare."
"Prepare?" said Sergeant Mylos looking confused, "Prepare for what?"
Toran looked at Mylos and his squad, then at Furion's squad and finally he took in his three comrades from First Company.
Toran drew in a breath and said, "The Traitors have struck a terrible blow and they will not hesitate to make their next move, we must fortify the Monastery before they come to finish the job…"
He declared in a voice of doom, "We few are now the only ones left standing in their way."
