The squad of four Word Bearers watched as the pair approached, casually readying themselves. "What news?" the leader said. "Where are Farax and Berashn?"
Golic shrugged, remaining silent until they were only a few metres apart. "A far worse place." Then his bolter snapped up, sending a spray of point blank shots into the surprised Chaos Marines. Melta blasts tore into them as Helga joined him.
"Now will you let me have your meltagun?" he added, looming over the corpses and scooping up a viciously spiked weapon, slinging his bolter over his shoulder. "Need to move fast. They got off a signal, we've lost the element of surprise."
She shrugged, reloading her pistols. "Just adds to the challenge, right? You know their deployments, where to?"
"She's insane," Tzarine said, aghast. She'd expected Helga to be doing something dangerous, but… this was far, far worse. "She'll just get herself killed – and the rest of us soon after!"
"She's the most capable fighter among us," Vulka said calmly. "If anyone can do it, she can."
Tzarine glowered at the Seraphim. She knew Helga, and she knew her limits. No way could she succeed... and merely by trying, she had put them all in mortal danger.
"Who do you doubt?"
Her gaze snapped around, then slowly lowered. Towards the heart-pendant, hidden beneath her armour.
"The wayward girl? Your Sisters? Or yourself? Confess your sins... Corpse-daughter..."
Tzarine's eyes shifted, looking out towards the pillars of smoke and fire on the battlefield. Her lip slowly curled. "Prepare for combat. Whatever happens today, make sure Korgar suffers dearly."
She could feel the mood around her change, the uncertainty slipping away, to be replaced by something familiar. Something that brought a hard smile to her lips as she sealed her helmet.
Righteous fury.
"Zekka?" she said as she drew her bolt pistol, checking the action on the weapon. "You told me you still believe in a god. Is he with you?"
The bulky Sister laughed harshly as her power axe crackled to life. "Oh yes. We're both ready to purge. Do you want his blessing, Sister?"
"I've gone off gods of late," Tzarine replied. "But we all need something to believe in." She grinned as she heard steady pounding of massive, armoured feet rising up the stairs. "Right now, I believe that we're going to send these mutated fuckers back to the hell they love to talk about."
Korvian ducked as shrapnel and heat washed out towards his position, a rain of mud following soon after. The Black Templar pilot of the Land Speeder crawled from the wreck, seemingly still capable; his gunner was less fortunate.
What the heretics lacked in artillery, they more than made up for in mid-range guns. Chimeras and non-standard vehicles sprayed autocannon and multilaser fire over the Imperial lines, and the casualties were mounting.
"Sergeant Vash reports that he's running low on ammo, the Basilisks will be dead in the water in under ten minutes!"
"Lieutenant Groshan's being flanked, he's pulling back –"
"– heavy casualties in B section –"
"– squad broken formation –"
He closed his eyes for a moment. "Enough!" he barked. "Get me orbital command, I want Admiral von Hakara! Now!"
His aide stared, then nodded to one of the comms officers. "Sir," he said quietly. "If we call in lance strikes, the collateral damage..."
"Better than losing everything." Korvian looked out at the onrushing horde again. "If we haven't already."
"I gotta say, Golic..." Helga remarked as the massive bolter in her hands roared, spitting shells at the new squad opposing them. "Your guns stink."
"Your opinion," the Chaos Marine replied, his newly acquired meltagun searing into the column and the Word Bearer hiding behind it. The warrior roared, and charged, chainsword revving.
Dispassionately, he dodged the wild swing, a heavy fist swinging and clubbing into the other Marine's side, making him stagger. The chainsword was reversed and made an upward slash towards Golic's helmet.
Instead of dodging, he simply caught it in a hand. The teeth screamed as they dug into the artificial fingers. Not letting go, Golic kicked his opponent hard, and used the opening to raise the meltagun, sending a blast through the Marine's skull. Only then did he release the sword, glancing at the mangled remnants. Only the thumb remained fully intact.
"You ok?" Helga barked, ducking out of cover to spit another spray of bolter rounds at the enemy, before dropping the stolen bolter in disgust.
"I have spares," Golic said nonchalantly, before snatching up a cluster of frag grenades from the fallen Word Bearer with his good hand, and hurling them. "Bad workmen always blame their tools," he added as he melted another Word Bearer trying to escape.
The rippling crash of explosions drowned out her reply, but he could tell it was not polite.
Word Bearers are many things; tactically incapable is not one of them. The squad advancing up the stairs were all veterans of the Long War, who had seen the golden age of the Imperium before the Heresy. Although the vagaries of the Warp meant that they were only a few centuries old, rather than the ten millennia that would imply, they were all deadly soldiers. Bellowing prayers and invocations to the Dark Pantheon, blades out and bolters at the ready, their charge had broken every foe they had faced. Even Space Marines of the Emperor had faltered before such reckless violence and hate.
It was said that you cannot truly defeat a Word Bearer, save by utterly destroying him and every follower he possesses. Until that point, they will never truly give up. Their belief in their cause is so total that they will die for it without hesitation.
The attack was swift and brutal. A cluster of disc-like frag grenades hurtled up the stairway, and exploded with a sound like thin screaming, the shrapnel covering the room. A split second later, the lead Marine charged out of the stairway, massive bolt pistol ready to unleash death.
A heavy, booted foot landed on the carefully laid krak grenade, and the implosion removed the everything below the torso and a decent chunk of the stairs. Despite the scale of the injury, the Word Bearer did not scream; his last breaths were spent still chanting.
A positive storm of bolter fire blasted down the stairway. Although the Godwyn De'az pattern weapons of the Sororitas were far smaller than the massive Astartes-issue weapons, each could still unleash death against even the Mk IV power armour of their enemies. Caught off-guard, the Word Bearers ducked for cover, bolts ricocheting off the ceramite. One with a stolen Mk VI helmet was a little slow, and a couple of shots punched through weak spots. The Marine fell, and a final bolter round through the neck ended him.
The firing ceased at a gesture from Tzarine, and she reloaded her bolt pistol. "Stalemate. We'll be just as vulnerable if we try to go down."
"We took out two of them," Morgana pointed out.
"They won't leave themselves open again." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to predict their next move, and then snapped them open. "Oh fuck..."
"Clumsy." Golic let the Word Bearer fall, a knife punched through his eye socket, and swiped a new clip for his bolter from the dead Marine.
Helga snorted, biting her lip to hold back a pained hiss. "Looks worse than it is." Blood oozed steadily from the gash in her side where a chainsword had torn into the thick battle plate. "Not going to let it slow me down."
"Slow you down more, you mean?"
"Why are you so damned cheerful?" The Seraphim picked up a fallen bolt pistol, weighing it before holstering her inferno pistols, unwilling to expend any more precious ammunition.
"More fun than I have had in years." One sensed that behind the helmet grille, Golic was grinning.
Helga shook her head, and then looked at the next set of doors before them.
Her teeth were on edge, she realised. "They're in there."
Golic glanced at her, and nodded. "Ready?"
Before she could answer, the doors ground open of their own accord, and a voice boomed out. "Welcome, traitors. Come, meet your doom."
The central chamber of the grand cathedral was much as it had been on that fateful day. For a moment, the image of Tzarine gunning down the Imperial Guardsmen superimposed over the current reality, and Helga paused. She, and all her Sisters, had been sent down a dark path that day. Had it been worth it? Would it be worth it?
"Prima donna."
Golic's harsh voice broke her from daze, and she smirked. The present reasserted itself, and she cast her gaze over the scene with the eyes of a warrior, not of reminiscence. Half a dozen mortal acolytes, hooded and cloaked around another figure who crackled with the energies of the warp. Blocking the way were three massive figures; Korgar and his chosen lieutenants, each wielding two-handed power swords.
"I know not what you hope to accomplish here, but I know you will fail," the Apostle growled. "You have cost me much. Why? What would make you abandon the Dark Gods? You showed such promise, the both of you. I thought you to be a worthy addition to the band, Golic. Tell me why, help me understand, and I shall give you a swift death."
"I do not serve any gods," Golic shot back casually. "I serve a man in an iron husk. He would kill us both before I kneel alongside you."
"Such a fate would be kinder." The bulky Crozius Arcanum crackled to life, and the three Marines slowly advanced.
Helga slowly dropped the bolt pistol, and drew her inferno pistols again.
The battlefield was turning into a charnel house. Korvian lowered his laspistol, the barrel and the skull of his crazed attacker both smoking gently.
It was as he had known. The Imperial lines were being overrun. Even the Black Templars could not hold back the horde.
He scrambled over to the vox set, clawing it off the dead communications officer. "This is Lieutenant-Colonel Korvian. I need full lance strikes on this location. Now."
There was a pause, and he almost thought the set was broken. Then a voice replied. "Acknowledged, Colonel. Your sacrifice will be remembered."
Korvian closed his eyes, and tuned out the sounds of battle around him.
It was nearly over.
Tzarine's intuition came too late.
The building was not the most structurally stable, and the krak charges laid by the Word Bearers easily took out the supports. Chunks of floor fell, and then the entire structure slowly collapsed.
Tzarine fought for breath, clawing her way out of the rubble. The power armour had saved her from the worst of the damage, but she could see injuries flagging up on her squad monitor. Slowly she levered a large chunk of stone off her leg, and stood. The Word Bearers had seemingly evacuated, but they would be coming.
Her forces were disrupted, injured and unprepared. It would be a slaughter.
"Not again…" she whispered.
She pushed herself to her feet, felt around. Realised her weapons were gone. Lost in the rubble somewhere.
With an impact that splintered the broken stones, a towering Space Marine landed in front of her, jumping down from his vantage point. A bolter was half-raised, then sneeringly lowered. "You were always an insect. Not worth the ammunition. Submit, and I shall spare you."
Her eyes travelled up to the hideously scarred and mutilated face, uncovered by helmet. She was shaking, she realised.
How long had she felt this terror? How long had she buried it beneath duty and sheer stubbornness? How many nightmares had she blocked out of a moment just like this? To be before such a force of raw power and corruption, helpless?
She was the only one standing, she realised. The rest of her troops were buried, some struggling, some unconscious. She was alone.
The Word Bearer loomed over her, enjoying her fear. She had a sudden knowledge, a sudden certainty that he was about to kill her. Then he would kill every one of her Sisters. And there was nothing she could do.
Her helmet vox clicked quietly, and a voice just as quiet sounded. It was weak, pained, but it was unmistakeable.
"I believe in you."
Tzarine slowly looked up at him, and smiled, her fear gone. "Go to hell."
