Cincere Tempestas Chapter 25

Across the city a sound arose, small at first but growing louder second by second. It rang in the libraries and the data-stacks, it echoed in the lecture halls and the student dorms, filling every avenue with its clamour. It was a shriek torn from tens of thousands of throats, the sound of vast numbers of people all crying aloud as one. It was feral and savage, with no trace of sanity left within it. It was the echo of mankind's most barbarous instincts, the urge to destroy and crush all beneath one's boot. It was the distilled essence of a million pogroms and genocides, the raw spirit that had spawned massacres and racial slaughters across the aeons. Bound within it was the darkness and barbarity of the human soul and it blanketed Oriella with its savagery.

Toran could hear it from where he was standing, gripping his Master-crafted bolter tightly and peering down the bridge towards the east. In the distance the column of flame was breaking up, splitting into numerous lesser flickers. Yet Toran wasn't reassured, the flame wasn't dying, merely spreading out into the city, and it was coming this way. Toran spared a second to glance down the line of blue-clad Astartes, the Storm Heralds holding their position with resolution and courage. Toran was proud to be leading them and once more he felt blessed to have such valiant heroes beside him. No matter what happened here today he was confident that the Storm Heralds would fight to the last and die upholding the noblest traditions of the Chapter.

He was distracted by the voice of Arvael, who whispered, "This was once a city of learning and scholarship, now it is the home to madness and ignorance. Chaos has touched this city, is there nothing the enemy cannot defile?"

Toran leaned over and said, "The stain is vile indeed, but take heart. The people are being evacuated even now and they take their scholarly spirit with them. They can rebuild elsewhere, this city may fall but we shall save this world's soul."

Arvael went quiet and Toran turned his attention to Persion and asked, "Can you reach our ship?"

The communication specialist nodded replying, "The Thunderchild is in position, Magma-bombs are locked on target. They can obliterate this city with a single volley; they only await your word."

"Not yet," Toran firmly stated "We still have thousands of civilians to save, tell them to wait until the last of us falls. When we go silent, that is the sign that the time has run out."

"I'll keep the link open as long as I can," Persion replied, "But I take satisfaction in knowing that we shall take the enemy with us into death."

Toran was about to say something reassuring but right then a cry came down from the scout-snipers high above, "Movement!"

Toran's helm snapped forward and he ordered, "Stand ready Brothers, hold the line and let none pass our guard. Wait for my signal but then fire at will, fast-attack assets, concentrate on the far bank and whittle down their numbers. Everyone else, focus on the bridge, we will choke it with the piles of their dead. Chaplain Furion, would you be so good as to address the Company?"

From further down the line Furion's voice arose and declaring, "Brothers, know that even as we stand here the people of this world are calling out to the Emperor for salvation. The innocent and the helpless are praying for deliverance, they cry out for His intervention and in His great mercy the Emperor has sent us to be the answer those prayers! His eyes are upon us, His will is our command and He expects that we shall not take one step back. So stand fast Storm Heralds and know that our deeds shall echo in eternity, for He on Terra is watching!"

The words stoked Storm Herald's determination and every Astartes gripped his weapon tighter, swearing to not take one step back. They had their duty, they had their purpose and they knew what they were fighting against. A desperate battle against impossible odds with the fate of a world on the line, what else could any Space Marine wish for?

Toran felt a bead of sweat form on the back of his neck but his breathing was steady and his grip certain. He was made for this, it was the reason for his being and a part of soul exulted at the prospect of battle. Then there was a susurrus from the far end of the bridge, seconds before the horizon erupted with bodies. From behind the colleges and towers of the east a solid wall of flesh emerged, thousands upon thousands of people pouring out of nowhere. They filled the spaces before the bridge, cramming into narrow alleys and rushing along the embankments, their numbers swelling second by second until they became a solid wall of flesh. They were all running flat out towards the bridge, moving as fast as humanly possible with feral rage filling their faces.

Toran's enhanced sight clearly picked out individuals in the crowd, there were cultists and mutants in vast numbers, more than he had ever suspected to survive the war but they were not alone. Alongside them ran common men and women, labourers, housewives, scholars and soldiers, many were clad in ragged clothes and their feet bled from dashing over rubble but they cared not. Each face was filled with an insane blood-rage, a savage mask of raw bestial anger, without a trace of intelligence or reason. Each individual had tiny licking flames over their bodies, but they did not burn, it merely seemed to make them angrier. There was no distinction between them anymore, whatever they had been in life was gone, now they were no more than rabid animals.

Among the horde Toran spied Traitor Marines and looming Daemon engines but they were hanging back, letting their minions go first to soak up the defender's fire. Toran heard Arvael mutter, "The ragefire is within them, they are lost forever. We can't suffer a single one to live."

Toran knew it to be true but his strategy was not yet complete and he called aloud, "Hold and wait for my order!"

The heaving mass of insane maniacs piled onto the bridge, punching and kicking to make room. Many were clubbed down and crushed underfoot but it made no difference to the mass of flesh. It was like an entire city had spontaneously risen up and thrown themselves at the Storm Heralds, an overwhelming tide of savagery all directed at the thin blue line set against them. Toran watched them close and he called, "Hold Brothers, let them bunch up. Hold, hold… Now Fire!"

Instantly the Astartes opened up, a surge of blazing firepower that erupted like a horizontal blizzard. First the vehicles uttered their fury, Predators, Razorbacks, Whirlwinds and a Land Raider all firing simultaneously. The salvo screamed into the packed mass of foes and blew bodies apart, throwing dismembered limbs high to shower down over the survivors. Blood fell like rain, coating the infected people head to toe, but they cared not and pressed forwards. Next the Heavy Weapons opened fire, blazing Devastators and Tactical Marines letting fly with Missiles and Heavy Bolters. The waves of firepower smote the onrushing crowds, scything them down like ripened crops. Hundreds of people fell to the fury of the Storm Heralds but the sheer insanity of their rage drove them on and they advanced into the face of overwhelming firepower heedless of their losses.

Toran held his weapon sure and steady as he watched the first foes step within bolter range and then the whole line erupted as every Astartes let fly. A solid wall of bolt-rounds exploded outwards, smashing into the front rank of foes and blowing them apart. It was akin to a threshing machine in action, utterly decimating anything that presented itself. Bodies exploded under the hail of mass-reactives, spraying gore everywhere and turning the air itself red as a mist of blood hung in mid-air.

Against any other foe such a potent defence would have broken the will of the enemy. The devastation and carnage would have shattered any mortal spirit, breaking their hopes and courage in a heartbeat. Even Traitor Astartes would have been given pause, seeing the futility of advancing into such firepower but this was no normal foe. The infected people had no minds of their own anymore, only a feral rage and an overwhelming compulsion to shed blood. They pressed forwards into the face to death, uncaring for their own lives. Toran emptied his clip at the solid wall of flesh, then another and another. Every shot was a kill, every bolt-round ending an enemy's life but it made no difference. The heaving scrum pressed forward, jumping over their dead in an insane rush. The Storm Heralds had slain thousands already but it was only slowing the horde down, they couldn't stop them with ranged firepower.

Toran spied the darting forms of Land Speeders and Storm Talons hurtling past, strafing the far bank in an attempt to stem the tide. Hundreds were blown apart with flurries of rockets and heavy rounds but it made no difference and the heaving ranks of foes raced on regardless. High overhead scouts rained down fire, trying to pick off leaders but there was no leadership to be found here. The people were driven by feral rage and there was no thought in their heads save their staggering rage.

Toran saw the rabid mob closing, faster and more ferocious than he had ever thought possible. He saw their charge looming and called, "Draw blades!" Instantly the Storm Heralds took up their melee weapons, moments before the screaming multitudes hit their line. Toran felt the sheer weight of the horde hit him full on and had he not been gene-enhanced and clad in ceramite armour the force of it would have bowled him over.

Few of the people had weapons but their savagery was a weapon all its own and they tried to drown the Astartes with sheer numbers. Toran gritted his teeth and met them with wide sweeps of his relic sword, he lopped off limbs and bisected heads but for everyone he cut down five more would take their place. A woman leapt on his sword arm, trying to claw at the gaps in his plate with flame covered nails. Toran's arm was pinned but his free hand fell to his belt and drew a spare combat knife, instantly he stabbed the woman through the neck and shook off her corpse but he found no respite.

All around the Storm Heralds were fighting tooth and nail to hold the line, meeting savage fury with shining resolution and unbreakable defiance. Furion was smiting men down with his Crozius, Storm-Heart blazing incandescently with stuttering bursts of light and energy. He crushed skulls and broke ribcages as he roared, "Hold the line Brothers! None shall pass!"

Elsewhere Arvael swept his arm wide and a telekinetic blast threw a score of foes away, sending thrashing bodies over the bridge's rampart to drown in the river far below. He cleared a tiny space in the horde but it was instantly filled by more enemies and the Librarian was forced to meet them with his Morningstar in hand. Meanwhile Jediah and Persion were fighting side by side, their weapons cleaving all before them and reaping a most fearful tally. By comparison Novak's blade was a smear of light, hacking and smashing anything that came near him. It wasn't his most elegant fight but it was effective and cost the enemy dear. Memnos stood near him, guarding his flank and reaping a tally of his own with a chainsword that spewed gore from its spinning blades.

At the centre of the line Orath's Terminators were holding steady like a rock in a fast moving river. Their weapons rose and fell with metronomic pace, a regular unbreakable rhythm that smote anything that came near them. Thunder hammers and lighting claws wreaked utter ruin and upon that unbreakable bastion the Storm Herald's line hinged, a harbour of courage and determination set against an ocean of feral rage.

Carnage and death were everywhere but the Storm Heralds were holding true, their line was steady and they were killing enemies by the thousand. In the heart of the fight Toran dared to believe for a moment that they could do this, that they could hold the line indefinitely. But then a cry went up, "Traitor Marines approach!"

Toran knew it was true and he snarled in fury, "Looks like the warm-up is done; now the real fight begins."