Extremus Fors Chapter 42
Fulgrim was a whirling dervish, lashing out with his fists at the irritants who fared challenge him. None could evade the strike and all suffered his cruel attentions. Arvael's breastplate shattered as he collapsed, struggling to wrest the broken plate away. Cortha's hip cracked, leaving him staggering on one good leg. Mordad was doubled over, his ribs shattered to drive splinters into his multi-lung. And Hypras was sent skidding backwards, head bleeding where a vicious slice opened his brow.
Novak was no exception and was hurled to the floor, rolling over and over. Agony throbbed in his shredded shoulder, injury trying to drag him into unconsciousness. He felt his implants burning, struggling to keep him in the fight but barely holding him from collapsing entirely. Awkwardly he levered himself on his remaining arm, seeing Fulgrim come about to finish them off. Yet one stood in his way.
Hypras faced off against the Primarch, holding his staff laterally. Psychic power blazed about his head as crackling discharges flared from his staff. A wind sprang up from nowhere, drawn to the Librarian as he gathered power for an almighty conjuration. Light darkened and gravity shifted as Hypras reshaped the fabric of reality, forming a black hole curving spacetime around its mass.
"We may die with you but the Vortex of Doom shall be your undoing!" Hypras roared.
But Fulgrim snorted, "Stop announcing your attacks before you make them."
His tail lashed across the ground and struck Hypras dead-centre. The staff failed, breaking in half as he was lifted and flung away, sailing clean across the Forgefane as power spilled from his grasp. Reality reset itself as Hypras slammed into the wall, right next to the crater Jubila had left. A new dent was made in solid stone as Hypras fell limp at the Warlord's side, slumping over in a dazed heap.
Fulgrim laughed as everyone rose to attack. Mordad, Arvael and Cortha, all trying to hurt him. They struck boldly and well but it was making no difference, their blows were pinpricks and what little hurts they caused healed faster than they could inflict them. Fulgrim was invulnerable to their paltry weapons and his scornful glee washed over the Templum as a wave.
Novak forced himself slowly to his feet, well aware his faltering efforts would make no impression but determined to die fighting. He nearly waded in with his one arm, but then paused. Something was off with Fulgrim, something screaming at Novak's for attention. His hand, Novak saw with a flash, the hand that had squashed an Undying, it was still blackened and weeping purple blood. The twisted creation of mad science had managed to deal a lasting blow to the Primarch, an injury that Fulgrim couldn't shrug off.
"Arvael, can you keep him busy?!" Novak hollered as understanding dawned.
"Where the hell are you going?!" Arvael yelled.
"I've got an idea, buy me some time!"
Novak turned from the fight and limped away, chasing this most desperate of chances. He spied a knot of Technobarbarians, fighting six Undying and dying swiftly to those black blades. Their fight was an irrelevance, but Novak was about to make it matter. He approached from behind and bashed his sword against an Undying's pauldron. The blow was feeble and nearly took the blade out of his maimed hand, but it gained the creature's attention. The flaming skull came about, as its kin paused their slaughter, taking in the crippled Space Marine.
"That's right, come get me," Novak spat. He was nearly gutted as ponderous thrust came for him, but he lurched back, then turned and fled. The Undying gave chase, matching him step for step. Novak was barely able to keep ahead of them, his wounds pulling with every tread. He desperately needed to lay down and recover, but forced himself on, drawing the Undying in his wake.
The battle yet raged, Fulgrim lashing out with furious abandon. The remaining Space Marines were overmatched, unable to land a telling blow and inches from death. Novak strained to move faster but was too slow to save Mordad. A sweep of a clawed hand diced the Grey Knight, wicked talons shearing through armour and flesh to leave him toppling as a half-dozen dissected slices. Novak gritted his teeth as he strove to close, leading his pursuers ever nearer. A thrashing tail nearly tripped him but he staggered over it, and then he was past.
A broiling hiss of challenge arose and he staggered about, seeing the Undying run straight into Fulgrim. They waded in without thought, meeting the giant Daemon with as much concern as they had any other foe. Whips of fire carved at the monster in their midst, languorous strikes tore weeping furrows and vicious claws sank deep. It was their flames that did the most damage, wherever their eldritch fires touched him Fulgrim charred, his perfect beauty marred by black stains that did not heal.
Novak found Arvael at his shoulder, "This was your idea?!"
"Worked, didn't it?" Novak retorted.
"Buys a second to regroup at least," Arvael agreed.
"More than that," Cortha proclaimed, "Look!"
The Undying were closing in, grappling with Fulgrim hand to hand. They hacked and tore, ripping great wounds into his body. One even reached high and grabbed a lower arm, sinking wicked talons into the meat of the bicep. Flames chewed through the matter of the limb, boiling away Daemonic skin and bone as ice under a blowtorch. The whole limb ripped away and Novak thought for a second the Undying could beat Fulgrim. He was to be cruelly disappointed.
Fulgrim breathed deep, drawing in vast amounts of air, then he opened his mouth and spewed fire back at the Undying. Warp-flames drawn from the depths of the Immaterium, as tainted as Chaos itself. Sheets of flame fell upon the Undying as Fulgrim whipped about, creating a bonfire all around. The Undying were leeches of power but they could not withstand such might. Ceramite melted as bone collapsed, their flames snuffed out by a greater evil. A boiling conflagration consumed them utterly, causing them to fall to the ground and stop moving. Matched against Chaos the Undying proved poor weapons and Fulgrim smiled as the lesser flames were extinguished.
Novak staggered back, blinking furiously as heat washed over his face. He couldn't see beyond the wall of flame, until it parted and Fulgrim came tearing straight at them. He moved low and fast, like a snake over hot sand, whisking nearer at a pace none could match. Arvael and Cortha were bowled over by tremendous impacts but Novak found himself snatched up by a hand that wrapped around his torso, hoisting him aloft. He struggled to break free but his arm was pinned and his legs kicked at empty air, as a crushing vice held him still. Fulgrim had Novak in his grip and lifted him to his face, glaring in vexation at the annoying gnat.
"Clever trick," Fulgrim hissed, "But all it bought you is a slow and terrible death."
"Frak you!" Novak spat, bereft of anything else to say.
"That's your last words? At the least the Dreadnought had something memorable to say. You truly deserve an excruciating end, and to be swiftly forgotten."
Novak however wasn't listening, for his eyes drifted over the shoulder to see a flash of red emerge. Atop a looming capacitor a familiar figure climbed, Geryon, pulling himself to the top so to stand above Fulgrim. He heaved himself over the edge, then set his feet and leapt into the air. Across the distance he soared, arms and legs whirling as he came down to collide with the back of Fulgrim's head. The Primarch reared furiously but Geryon's right hand flashed and snagged one of the thorns of his brow, heaving hard to pull the face upwards. Then his left hand came over, bearing his Null-Iron needler.
"For the Great Cog!" Geryon bellowed as he set the barrel firmly to Fulgrim's forehead, then pulled the trigger six times. Tiny bursts of compressed gas responded, shooting Null-iron darts at point-blank range. A Primarch's skull was thick as tank armour while the metal darts were slim and frail, they should never penetrate that brow, but this was no normal foe. Warp-born bone parted under the dread touch of Null-iron, unable to offer the slightest resistance as the darts drove deep, punching through the skull to come to rest inside Fulgrim's brain. Null-iron, set within the core of a Daemon, the results were spectacular.
"Aaaarrrgggghhh!" Fulgrim screamed as his body shook head to tail. Wild convulsions tore through the Daemon-Primarch, jerking Novak about so badly he thought his neck would snap from whiplash. Geryon was thrown free, toppling to the ground, but Fulgrim's grip did not slacken on Novak, if anything it increased. Ripples of distortion flowed over Fulgrim, passing by like wavy interference in a cheap holo-vid. His Daemonic flesh was riddled with Null-iron, the essence of a Pariah buried inside his head and blocking the font of warp-power that sustained him. Primarch Fulgrim may be, but he was still a Daemon and without a connection to the warp his might was finite.
Instantly the others regrouped and struck again, cleaving terrible wounds into the meat and bone of the giant. Fearsome blasts, lashing strikes and grievous punches marred his form, and this time the wounds did not regenerate. Novak watched in awe as Fulgrim was beset by Crozius, Photonic axe and Force-Morningstar, his injuries mounting moment by moment. Fulgrim swung wide but his strength was failing and he missed, sagging as the onslaught continued. Fulgrim was on the edge, nearly banished, all they needed was one more push, and then Hypras returned to the fray.
The last surviving Grey Knight bounded from nowhere, moving at a full charge. He tore into the battle and in his hand was a weapon most terrible. His staff was gone, the pieces discarded, instead he had taken up a new weapon: the Daemonsword, wrested from Jubila's mangled body. It snarled in his grasp, sinking thorns into the bones of his hand, but Hypras' stride did not falter and his aim was sure as he drove the jagged length of the blade deep into Fulgrim's belly.
Fulgrim screamed, "Ozymandias! You dare turn on your liege lord?!" The blade spat animal fury as the Daemon-Prince within went to war with his gene-father. Daemon against Daemon, corruption against corruption, in a battle empyreal as Hypras hung on, unable to let go. Fulgrim was the greater by far but strength was spilling through his fingers and his might faltering. The air shook and the ground danced underfoot as the Daemons warred, causing rains of stone to cascade from on high. Reality was quaking and it was doubtful the Forgefane could survive the unnatural earthquake.
Fulgrim was falling apart, his body disintegrating, ravaged by a Daemon-prince of no mean power. In a contest of will he would have been superior, save that he was pierced by Null-iron, battered on all fronts and repulsed by psychic power. His wings came apart like smoke in a strong breeze and scales fell from his coils. Hair showered off his head and skin became waxy and slack, hanging off his bones as muscle withered. His beauty was lost and strength waning. Too furious was the assault, Fulgrim could not hold his body together anymore and his spirit was being drawn back into the warp, from whence it came.
Novak exulted as he felt the grip holding him slacken, but then Fulgrim's eyes shone with a last flicker of power as he snarled, "You think you can beat me?! I am the Phoenician; I do not lose to the likes of you! You will not sing victory songs of this day; I will not allow it! You can have your petty little win, but you shall find no joy in it. By my own blood I swear, the only songs that tell of the day you met Fulgrim, shall be ones of lament!"
The hand holding him loosened and Novak thought to wriggle free but it was only a prelude to Fulgrim's mouth yawning wide, to breathe warp flame. Novak's eyes filled with a searing yellow light, then a plume of fire engulfed him. Pain, unlike any he had ever known consumed Novak, setting every nerve alight in torment. He was aflame head to toe, burning alive as Empyreal fires carved his flesh apart. Novak threw back his head to scream but there was no air in his lungs, all oxygen sucked away by the inferno. He could not breathe, he could not scream, but he could suffer.
Novak's face charred, seared to the bone as lips fell off his face, gums withered and his tongue roasted. His hair burned and eyeballs popped in spays of boiling gelatine, rendering him blind as his nose seared off, to leave a gaping hole in his face. Armour that could have withstood a lasblast melted, clinging to his skin and burning every inch of his body beyond recognition. Unnatural skill did Fulgrim display as he directed the fire like a blowtorch, neatly searing off both Novak's legs and the remaining arm. Novak was crippled, dismembered and blind, though he was aware of none of it. All he knew was pain and oddly sound. Blinded, nerve endings fused, nose and tongue ashes, and yet Fulgrim spared his ears, so he would hear every tear shed over the tortured ruin that had once been his body.
Novak was adrift in a sea of fire, yet Fulgrim's voice penetrated, "Enjoy eternal torment as a cripple. I shall rest easy, knowing your few remaining days shall be the inglorious misery of a helpless invalid!" Then he was gone, Fulgrim's spirit banished back to the Warp as his body evaporated. Novak's charred husk dropped to the ground, though he did not feel it. He was incapable of feeling anything anymore, not the sensation of falling, not even the impact of hitting the floor penetrated his all-consuming agony. He could not cry, he could not weep, all he could do was lay still and wheeze, sucking air into scorched lungs.
Voices penetrated the haze, but they held no meaning, "Novak! What's Fulgrim done... Throne, he's still alive... Emperor Wept, that's not life... put him out of his misery... no, we need to get him to an Apothecarion... The Teleportarium... it's not fully charged... if we don't go now we won't make it... this place is coming down... I don't... just go... Omnissiah Preserve us... Oh, great machine look upon us with favour... Translocation in three, two... Stay with us Novak, just stay..."
Then a flare of energy swept through Novak and he was swept into the nightmare-space of Teleportation, falling into the bliss of oblivion. His last thought was a prayer that he never woke up.
