Noctem Oritur Chapter 44
In the Grand Processional war waged, the onslaught of the invaders met by the faith and fury of the defenders, a line of desperate men pouring on all the fire they could into the endless horde. Yet at the very heart of the fight a far more personal battle was being waged, a tiny island of heroes pressing forwards even as the roaring chainaxes of the Traitors fell upon them.
To the fore the assault squad advanced, seven space marines locking shields and forming a wedge shape that let them stand against the oncoming Berserkers even as their axes fell over and over. The floor was a disgusting carpet of dismembered corpses and boots were slipping in blood or crunching the ribcages of the dead into kindling, but no warrior dared to take his eyes off the enemy to look down. Still the weight and force of the enemy was breathtaking, every step forwards a feat worthy of a saga in itself but today just another unnoticed struggle surpassed by the next and the next.
In the heart of the wedge Captain Toran was pressing his chest into the back of the warrior before him, to add his weight against the force urging them back. His world had shrunk down to a heaving grinding mass, vision limited to the warriors by his side and the Traitors before him, the screaming of axes and clash of blades on ceramite the only sounds he could hear. The Traitors were surrounding them, roaring in hate as they hacked and slashed at the loyalists. They had the advantage of numbers but they fought as individuals and as long as the shield wall held firm they could not break through.
Toran knew his men had to work as a team to survive and he drew in a breath to yell, "Heave!" Instantly every Storm Herald smashed forwards, creating a solid wall of force, the Khorne Berserkers were hurled back a single pace by the impact and that was all the loyalists needed. Fourteen arms shot out bearing chainswords and power weapons to plunge into brazen armour, spilling blood and guts. Any other foe would have died instantly but these were Transhumans so only two fell into the clutches of death.
The Storm Heralds reformed their wall but now a single pace further into the horde. The Berserkers charged again but Toran kept yelling over and over, "Heave! Heave! Heave!" and each time they hurled the Traitors back and stepped forwards. They were making slow but steady progress into the face of the enemy but the Traitors were learning fast, the Butcher's Nails robbing them of reason but not instinct, they locked ranks and charged as one to meet the shield wall with a solid wall of their own bodies. The Storm Herald's progress halted as the two forces impacted together and all that was left was the blurring fury of hacking, cleaving madness as the enmity of the ages was played out. Chain swords met chainaxes and boarding shields were used as battering rams while the mad carnage swept over all.
Time slowed for Toran as his armour flooded his bloodstream with combat stimms and his implanted organs spiked with hyper-adrenaline. He could see weapons rising and falling with glacial slowness and all that was left was to meet the foe with equal fury. He saw an axe arc high to take the head from Brother Manara of Lorath's squad, who was standing in the shield wall. Without conscious thought Toran swung his blade high and took off the arm of the Traitor. The Berserker didn't seem to notice and tried to fight on with one hand but his frenzy was short lived as Toran stabbed again and tore out the filthy heretic's throat.
There was no triumph though for another Berserker screamed as he swung hard and ripped Manara's head from his shoulders. The corpse of the noble brother fell and a gap was torn in the shield wall. Yet before the Berserkers could surge through Furion stepped up, snatching the Boarding shield from dead fingers and slamming it back into place. The murderer pressed forward but Furion smashed back with remarkable strength and avenged the fallen with a single thrust of a gladius that tore out both his opponent's throat.
To the Captain's left Jediah was backing up a pair of assault marines, taking every opportunity to strike back and his Fractal edged short sword blurred with lightning speed as he plunged it into eye sockets and under helms. Meanwhile Persion stood to the right, his burning Friction axe meeting chainaxes and shattering them into splinters before cleaving through ceramite armour with effortless ease. Behind him Toran could hear Lorath's twin lightning claws slashing and carving and knew the Sergeant was holding the rearguard single-handed, preventing the Berserkers from surging around behind them and smashing their formation apart from the inside.
The loyalists were inundated by Transhuman killers on every side yet impossibly they were holding the line and stalling the entire horde, even as the distant defensive line unleashed a hurricane of supporting firepower. Then Toran spied a Berserker swinging a weapon towards him, this was no chainaxe but a wicked flail with a spiked ball head that vomited red smoke, that uncomfortably resembled misty blood. Before the Captain could react the flail descended on his helm and he knew death had come but as the flail came within one inch from his skull there was an explosion of white light and Toran was surrounded by a shimmering wall of energy. The Captain stood bewildered for a heartbeat and then he realised that he had never before witnessed the effects of an Iron Halo's energy field from the inside, the sacred artefact had saved his life but also blinded him for a split second.
The shimmer faded and sight returned revealing the Berserker swinging the flail around again but this time aiming for Bylan, the young Marine tried to evade but the crush gripped him firmly and the flail smashed into his side in an explosion of dark smoke. Toran roared in anger and tried to swing his blade at the Traitor but Jediah beat him to it, lashing out to stab the foe in the neck with his Fractal blade. The Berserker fell to the ground but Bylan still swayed from his injuries and the banner swung drunkenly in his grip, looking like it was about to fall.
Toran could not take his eyes off the fight yet still roared, "Bylan!"
The standard bearer was swaying back and forth like a drunk but he ground out between gritted teeth, "+I will not…+"
"Bylan speak to me," called Toran as he fended off an axe blow.
The young marine drew in a harsh breath and snarled through the pain, "+I will not yield!+" as he grabbed the haft with both hands to thrust the banner high above the crushing press of bodies.
Toran seized the moment to rally his men shouting, "Brothers the banner yet stands, the spirit of the Primarch is with us!"
The Storm Heralds closed ranks around the injured standard bearer but with the banner flying above them they redoubled their efforts roaring, "Primarch's Own!"
Under the shadow of the banner the Storm Heralds fought like the mythic legends of proto-history, each one of them scything down foes as if they were Achilles or Leonidas themselves. Had the Masters of the Chapter been there to see their epic feats then each one of them would have been instantly promoted to the First Company. Against all odds they were forcing their way forwards once more, forcing the Berserkers back inch by blood soaked inch. The heroes' strength was unearthly, their courage dauntless and their determination hard as granite but despite all that there were still some things they could not fight.
Leaping into the fray came a figure in dark armour, with two organic horns on his helm and a snarling daemon face on his chest plate. He wielded two serrated swords that bled a dark aura and he was instantly recognisable as an aspiring Champion of Khorne. The Traitor leapt at the line and slashed out with his twin blades, boarding shields shattering at the slightest touch and in one strike Brothers Apito and Quare of Lorath's squad died with their flesh burning.
A great hole was torn in the shield wall and the Aspiring Champion stepped forwards roaring, "Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the Skull Throne!" Toran moved to intercept but before he could strike Novak leapt between him and the aspiring warrior. As Company Champion it was Novak's sacred duty to face the strongest enemies in his Captain's place and it was a chance for glory he would not have passed up regardless. The following duel lasted for five seconds but it felt like five days as the pair of Champions exchanged blows faster than the eye could see, thrusts and parries blurring between them in a dazzling display of skill. Novak caught blows on his combat shield, the energy field dissipating the cursed power of the swords as he counter attacked with deadly skill, the flurry of slashes and stabs making it look like he wielded three swords not one.
The Aspiring Champion met every strike with an efficient parry even as he counter attacked with rare skill for a follower of Khorne. It seemed the pair were equal in skill and grace and the slightest thing could tip the balance. Then Novak swung high for an overhead strike, the Traitor crossed his blades above his head in an X shape to catch the sword and scissor it apart yet he had not counted on the Master crafted nature of the weapon. In one mighty strike Novak's sword shattered the serrated blades and carried on to carve the Traitor's helm in two, leaving him a headless statue that toppled slowly backwards to smash onto the gore soaked floor.
As the warrior fell the crush of bodies parted and Toran saw that at last Thessus himself had come to finish off the Storm Heralds. He was a monster of an Astartes with a deadly aura shimmering around him. Toran recalculated the odds instantly, they were facing a Chaos Warlord, who alone would have tested the small group of loyalists, yet he was still surrounded by Khorne Berserkers who pressed forwards eager to claim skulls. The Captain realised that this was a fight they could not win alone, they were out of options and about to die in defeat. It was time to play his last card so Toran opened his vox and cried, "Honourable Ajax… NOW!"
Behind the Warlord a standing pillar suddenly exploded, cunningly concealed explosive bolts detonating in a wide circle to create a blizzard of stone shards that flew outwards to gouge armour plates and smash horns off helms. The Berserkers were buffeted and shaken by the force of the detonation, pausing in their attacks for a heartbeat as they turned to see what was happening behind. They saw that where there had once been a pillar now billowed a cloud of rock dust, right in the heart of the Traitorous force and from the muck strode forth a mighty war machine. It walked on mechanical legs had crushing pistons for one hand and the other was made up from spinning barrels, its smooth chest plates covered a reinforced sarcophagus that they knew held the remaining scraps of a warrior held one inch from death for five millennium.
The Berserkers were given a moment's pause by the sight, shocked out of their bloodlust for a single heartbeat by the unexpected emergence of a Contemptor Dreadnought amongst them and Ajax boomed, "DEATH COMES FOR ALL TRAITORS!"