Exitus Ultima Chapter 24
Toran's bolter thundered as he rappelled into the cavern, one hand on the grip, the other clenched on the line grapple. He was falling with all the weight of his Tranhusman mass and yet his aim was unerring. Bolt rounds blasted reeling Heretics to gory rags, the wiles of Chaos no match for a Thrice-blessed bolter. Ragged forms exploded in swathes as the Storm Heralds crashed into the midst of the foe, culling hundreds in seconds.
Toran's boots hit stone and he let go of the line, taking his weapon in both hands. The human foes had been decimated by the onslaught but the Traitor Astartes were a different matter. The Alpha Legion took cover among the cyro-caskets and returned fire, peppering the loyalists with rounds. Toran saw a Traitor aligning his weapon to shoot Iron Father Faeron in the back as he alighted. Toran wasn't about to have that, the odd bur fierce warrior had sworn to aid the Storm Heralds in this fight and honour compelled they watch each other's backs.
Toran drew a bead on the Traitor and let rip, emptying his magazine in a furious volley of sustained fire. Mass reactives hammered the Traitor, exploding craters in his side before one found his neck seal and blew his head clean off. Toran's bolter clunked empty, but there was no time to reload. He slammed the weapon to his hip and drew the Sword of Thiel roaring, "Heavy support squads form a perimeter and keep them from escaping, all others close and engage hand to hand! Press the attack Brothers, take this filth down!"
The Storm Heralds reacted with precise fury, pressing in close to rip and tear with their flashing weapons. Toran led by example, throwing himself at the nearest Traitor. The fiend had a serrated dagger and enamel fangs hanging from his helm. He tried to stab the Captain with a feint and slash, but Toran was wise to the manoeuvre. He deflected the strike with the edge of his blade, then swept upwards, parting the cur from groin to scalp. The tip of the relic blade tore Ceramite like parchment, as entrails spilled free.
Further along Faeron met another Traitor with the sweep of his claws. Energised tips rent through plate, making a mockery of armour that had withstood millennia of war. Truly a master-crafted weapon, legendary in its own right, Toran was impressed by the skill of the Steel Confessor's artifice, as he was with Faeron's relentless fury.
"A fine kill!" Toran yelled as he fell in beside Faeron.
"Truly a worthy battle!" Faeron proclaimed, "It does my hearts good to slaughter Traitors. I give thanks for your oath-keeping cousin."
"You can repay me by killing anything in azure."
"Indeed I shall! Forward Steel Confessors, in the Gorgon's name, exterminate them all!"
Toran let Faeron charge off, diving into the heart of the fray. The Captain turned, seeking more Traitors and saw the battle swinging their way. Everywhere Storm Heralds pressed forward, killing the foe mercilessly. Furion was in the heart of the fray, crozius swinging as he bellowed catechisms of hate to fire his Brother's spirits. Smyth held the perimeter, directing Hellblaster support to prevent the Traitors fleeing. Novak was still being lowered, the Dreadnought's bulk hoisted down by winch cables, slow but when he set foot on the ground his slaughter would be great.
Torna spied Persion closing, Friction Axe in hand. With him came Arvael, Gotram and the surviving Reivers. Toran saw their losses and knew they were lucky to be alive, he had tasked Persion with rescuing them, sacrifices were necessary but he would not forsake a Brother who yet had a chance. Jediah came last, dragging a feeble woman by the arm. She beat upon his grip and wailed, but his hand was a vice of Ceramite and could not be opened.
Toran paused to call, "Glad to see you alive!"
"You came in the nick of time," Arvael gasped, "Moments later and we'd be dead."
"Did you find the leader?"
"Coward took off the instant you showed up, didn't even bother to finish us off."
Jediah came to a halt and hissed, "Anyone got my sword?"
"Here," Persion answered, "Found it laying in the dirt, that's five hours penance for you."
"Later," Jediah hissed, "I need to keep a promise first."
Jediah took his blade and then rammed it into the woman's guts. Her eyes widened and her jaw fell as blood gushed. Jediah let go of her arm and rammed his fist into her guts, twisting them most painfully. The woman was in agony but Jediah wasn't done. He swept his sword through her neck, then caught the falling head by the hair and held it up, showing the dying eyes the ruin he had made of her body.
Toran wasn't against killing Heretics but sniffed, "Was that bit of theatre necessary?"
"Absolutely necessary," Jediah replied as he tossed the head away.
"The battle is in hand," Toran stated, "Victory is moments away."
"No," Arvael warned, "The enemy has yet to unleash their Glykonae."
A feral growl warned of a massive beast charging out of the shadows. Enormous muscles upon a genhanced frame, a slab of a face roaring in anger, coming straight at the Captain with fists swinging. Toran threw himself aside but felt the wind of the fist's passing, with force enough to remove his head entirely. The Sword of Thiel lashed out in response, stabbing into a bicep but leaving only a shallow pinprick in the arm.
The other fist swung about and Toran made the mistake of trying to block. The fist slammed into the flat of his sword and drove it against his chest, scorching the blue off his armour. A wrecking ball of a fist sent Toran hurtling backwards, slamming into an upright Cyro-casket and sending it toppling. Toran's head swam and colours flashed before his eye, something that should be impossible for an Astartes. The Captain had been punched by a Primarch and this was scarcely less painful, leaving him wheezing. He needed a moment to recover, but wasn't going to get it.
The monster pounced, both fists slamming down in a deadly arc. Toran rolled desperately to the side, feeling ligaments tear in his shoulder as the hasty move pulled hard. The beast smashed a Cyro-casket into ruins and snarled in frustration. It spied Toran rolling to his feet and launched itself at him, shovel like hands trying to snatch him up. Toran frantically backpedalled, whipping his sword across in a deflection. The lethal edge removed a finger but that only angered the beast, causing it to drive forward and snatch Toran in a bearhug.
The Captain was hoisted aloft, feeling his bones cracking as unbearable force crushed him. His armour wailed as the exosekelton bent in ways never meant to and his power pack sparked as its coils were compressed. Toran couldn't breathe, he couldn't fight, all he could do was kick feebly as the pressure mounted, squeezing him to death.
Suddenly a silver spearhead flashed by his eye, trailing a long cable. It punched into the shoulder of the monster and heaved back, yanking it off balance. Faeron, the Iron Father had seen Toran's distress and come to the rescue, hauling back hard as he yelled, "Get over here!"
The arms parted and Toran dropped, chest aching in protest. He wanted to curl up and wheeze but had no time for pain, not while the enemy yet drew breath. He gripped his sword tight in both hands and drove the point upwards, ramming it into the joint of leg and groin. A weakpoint in that impenetrable flesh allowed the sword to plunge deep, severing vital arteries and Toran snarled as he heaved laterally, tearing the creature's guts to rags.
The towering slab of muscle faltered, then finally keeled over, dying as blood fountained from a wound even it could not recover from. It slammed into the dirt as Toran nodded to the Iron Father, "Your aid is timely."
"Don't pat yourself on the back yet," Faeron growled, "There are more coming."
Toran's head snapped about as three more Glykonae loomed, charging into the fray. Ceramite shards peppered their arms, evidence they had killed already and were looking for more lives to end. Toran's hearts fell at the sight but he yelled, "Novak, we need you!"
"Make way for the Titanslayer!" came a mechanical roar.
From the rear he charged, the Dreadnought barrelling aside Traitors with his bulk as he joined the fight. He towered high, looking down on even the Glykonae and in his hands his sword and shield cast shadows that would eclipse a man. The Glykonae turned to meet him but were struck hard as Novak slammed into them. The Dreadnought's mass made them stagger and his sword lashed out, tearing a deep furrow across one's heart. That should have ended the monster, but it rebounded from the wound, tearing and grappling at the armoured hide. Novak was beset on all sides, dirty fingers tearing at his frame but he was not bowed. He fought back with all his ardour, kicking and barging them back, slamming a shield into a face and ramming an elbow into a solar plexus.
Toran regrouped as he yelled, "Quickly, help Novak!"
But Novak yelled, "Leave me to handle this, press the attack!"
"They outnumber you three to one!"
"Only three, they don't stand a chance!" Novak roared as he speared one through the neck with his blade and ended its life.
Toran was sure his mighty Brother could handle this and waved his sword high, rallying his squads. The Alpha Legion were falling in droves, cut down where they stood. They were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred, closed in a shrinking vice of Ceramite. All avenues of escape were cut off, there was nowhere to run. Toran directed his squads to encircle the foe and gun them down, determined to finish this once and for all.
The Captain gathered Arvael, Jediah, Persion and Gotram and led them to the heart of the fray. He saw the last Traitors making their final stand and readied to finish this fight. One saw them coming and pointed his knife as he cried, "You! It was prophesied we would meet again my friend!"
"I have no friends among Traitors!"
"Don't be so sure!" the cur crowed as he yanked his helm free.
Toran saw the face beneath, features so familiar and so reviled. Halis Paur, back from the dead, a comrade who had deceived and betrayed them all. Toran's hearts seized, his breath caught in his throat. So many unspoken rebukes played out in the dark watches of night, so many arguments never made, dreamed in futile hope events could have played out differently. Toran nearly faltered, his arm nearly fell limp at the sight, save for one thing: every single imagined exchange had ended the same way, with Toran cutting this scum into little pieces.
"Rargh!" Toran yelled as a dam of anger broke open, causing his sword to thrust right for the hearts.
The Traitor barely got out of the way as he yelled, "Toran, it's me!"
"Liar!" Toran screamed as he swung wide.
"No, stop it's Halis!" the other cried as he dodged.
"Then you can die again!" Toran snarled as he lashed low.
This time his blade clipped a knee and ripped through, severing tendons and shattering bone. The Traitor fell to one knee, unable to stand as he called, "Spare your blade Brother!"
Toran didn't hesitate for an instant as he swung his sword in a broad arc and brought it down upon a pauldron. Ancient sciences wrought into that blade diced molecules apart, shearing Ceramite as easily as bone and sinew. Toran's anger lent his arm strength and with one mighty blow he tore the Traitor into two, dicing him from shoulder to hip. Two steaming halves of Chaos Marine fell to the ground, gushing hot blood from the gaping wound, leaving him to die in the dirt.
Toran's hatred knew satisfaction as he spat, "Stay dead this time."
"Delta!" a harsh voice cried. Toran swung on his heel and found the last survivors of the Alpha Legion, gathered at the heart of the basecamp. A bare dozen of the scum, gathered around a Sorcerer with a twin-bladed staff. Anger radiated off the cur as he snarled, "You killed my Brother!"
"I'll kill you next!" Toran roared as he hefted his sword and ran at them.
"Captain," Arvael called, "Beta has answers we need, you must not let him escape!"
"Too late, little one," Beta crowed, "I leave you to your petty little victory, knowing it will avail you nothing. Your gene-father will die, and you cannot stop it!"
"No!" Toran roared but it was too late.
Beta slammed his stave to the ground and a flare of green light enveloped the curs. Toran faltered in his stride, shielding his eyes. He fought to see but the flare was too bright and his vision was blocked. When the light faded the Alpha Legion were gone, all those who yet drew breath. Behind they left a field of the dead and the ruins of a basecamp. Victory lay with the loyalists, and yet Toran's hearts were cold, chilled by Beta's last words.
He spun about, "Where are they?!"
"I cannot track them," Arvael groaned, "They are gone."
"His words... tell me they aren't true," Toran implored.
"Captain I..." Arvael uttered forlornly.
"What this?!" Faeron barked from the side, "Surely he was lying."
"Not this time," Arvael grimaced, "He spoke the truth, there is no cure for the poison killing our Primarch. There never was. The Alpha Legion would not tolerate any prospect of saving him, they never developed a cure."
"Throne no," Persion gulped, "It can't be true."
"It is true," Jediah growled, "We cannot hide from reality: Guilliman is going to die."
A dread silence fell over the victors, every mouth stilled. Toran felt the terrible chill of despair edging his hearts and his grip on his blade failed, letting it fall to the ground. Sounds became muffled in his ears and the world turned grey and ashen in his eye. All was lost, the quest to save their gene-father had been futile from the beginning. There was no way to cure the poison killing the Primarch, the Regent was doomed and with him the Imperium and all mankind. The crushing weight of defeat stole over Toran and never had it been so onerous.
"It can't be true, surely they must have lied," Gotram pressed in denial.
"No, this was all for nought," Toran uttered despairingly, "Our only hope was a fool's dream and our gene-father's life is lost. We have failed him... we have failed."