Exitus Ultima Chapter 30
While the heart of Dramacus was torn apart the environs were hardly less battered. Hurricane winds tore buildings from their foundations. Lashing hail of razor-sharp ice diced those unfortunate enough to be caught outside while paradoxically random fireballs fell, burning fiercely with many colours of the rainbow. The ground shook, sinkholes opened at random and consumed many and all the while flashes of black lightning fell, allowing Lesser Daemons to take root in flesh.
Outside the city-state bedlam reigned supreme. Encamped on the salt plains the last dregs of the Indomitus Crusade waited. Regiments who should have been lifted to orbit days earlier, left to kick their heels as the Crusade's high command imploded. They had sat by their drop-ships for days, watching Astartes come and go and come back again, while they burned in the hot sun. Today that changed.
The black cloud consuming Dramacus was all the signal they needed to evacuate. Without order or discipline troopers threw down their lasrifles and ran for the open ramps of dropships. Engines spooled up even as men fought to get inside, the pilots screaming for authority to lift as ground-controllers tried to make sense of what was happening. Many pilots didn't bother to wait. Packed Aquilas, Tetrachs and Agantyrs began to lift off, nearly hitting each other in the mad scramble for orbit. The ground controllers tried to lock down the rest, before calamity ensued but their efforts were a plaster over a gaping wound.
In that madness a lone dropship descending from on high went unremarked. From orbit it came, coasting through the fires of re-entry on broad wings, bearing outboard engines. Few could have named this craft's type, and those that could knew better than to speak it aloud. Packed with arcane Technologies, marked with thunderbolts and personal emblems of Most High authority, licensed to go where it will, when it will without question or rebuke. An Orion dropship of the Adeptus Custodes and its name was 'Imperator Excelsis'.
Aboard a figure in shining Auramite looked upon a Hololith of remarkable clarity and frowned. His face was handsome, in a brusque and unforgiving manner. Huge in the style of Transhumans but with none of the nascent gigantism that marred the Astartes. He bore a Guardian spear in hand and his armour was perfect, every detail made resplendent by skilled artisans and fashioned with knowledge that put power armour to shame. The beginning of his name was Tarodemis Decimus Justian Maximus Triumphant Vigilate Bereus, and the rest carried on in a winding scroll across the inner side of his plate. A Tribune of the Ten Thousand, the Golden Legion and the Watchers of the Throne, a Custodian Guard.
"The warp anomaly grows in size and potency," Tarodemis observed.
"Disruptions are being reported on a planetary scale," a second voice remarked.
"But they are concentrated on this site, that suggests the target is none other than the Thirteenth."
"Spurious conjecture," the second argued, "We have no hard data."
"And yet the Principal is in danger, that demands action," Tarodemis stated.
Tarodemis turned in the gunship's hold and faced his kin. One was tall and slim of face, with armour marked black with the colours of the Danakantoi shield-host. Cortano Ajaret Vincor Sarak Numeon Lindor Techem, a fierce and intractable Custodian dedicated to the unearthing and elimination of Traitors. The other was broad of face and grim of bearing. His armour bore the highest of laurels, the marks of the Hetaeron shield-host, those who had stood vigil at the side of the Emperor himself. Enkinda Gageresh Westelle Zandar Spikus Ozman Opeatus, a stern and driven warrior who was touched by a drive few understood.
"We are seven minutes out from landing, then we must drive straight into Dramacus," Tarodemis affirmed.
"I reiterate, this exercise is unnecessary and wasteful," Cortano stated.
"Preserving the Thirteenth is unnecessary?" Enkinda asked blandly.
"If his life is so essential, why was a guard not maintained?"
Tarodemis lifted an eyebrow, "It was agreed that a Custodes' time was better spent searching for a cure than standing watching him die. That is what the Victrix Guard are for."
"Those paltry pretenders to our rank," Cortano snorted in derision.
"Watch your tone, you verge on insubordination," Tarodemis, "We are not Astartes, with their bellowing and roars of anger. The Custodes are superior in all ways, considered in thought, action and word. We do not need to belittle others to know how good we are."
It was true, the Custodes were fashioned by arts undreamt beyond Terra, sculpted from birth and forged in mind and soul to be the ultimate warrior-investigators. Not for them the crude slicing open and stuffing in of implants, as made an Astartes, their creation was a unique work, every cell of their bodies honed to their purpose and their minds equally well made. They were flawless statues, untroubled by the personality problems that had brought the Primarchs low.
"I remain unconvinced the Thirteenth is as essential as some maintain," Cortano stated.
"The Captain-General agrees the Indomitus Crusade is a necessary action for the preservation of the Emperor's rule, and life," Enkinda argued.
"The Crusade yes, the Thirteenth as Principal... I disagree."
Tarodemis rarely felt anger but this intransigence needed addressing, "Cortano, the last few days have proven the need for a singular leader."
"A Primarch is trouble," Cortano argued, "They have failed the Emperor before. This one has his own treacheries to hide, we have all read of 'Imperium Secundus.'"
"Be that as it may, he is the only viable candidate," Tarodemis affirmed.
Enkinda broke in, "The Emperor's will is never clear, but He brought the Thirteenth back and charged him with solemn purpose. It is not our place to question His will. We must extract the Principal, with alacrity, the Emperor expects success."
Tarodemis nodded, "Sage advice, we shall see His will done."
"Do not mistake my compliance for endorsement," Cortano growled, "But it will be done."
Tarodemis turned to the Hololith again, "Planetary forces are evacuating, before the skies cut off orbit entirely. Those Astartes on the surface are already lifting for orbit, the Guard move slower but will follow. Our window to land and extract the Thirteenth is narrow but..."
Suddenly the surgically-embedded pilot called, "Incoming hostiles! Many, rising to greet us!"
Tarodemis fitted his helm as smoothly as if on a parade ground and stated, "Maintain course to land as planned, do not deviate from this objective."
"And the enemy?!"
"We will deal with them."
Tarodemis stepped to the hatch and it slid open at his approach. Gale force winds battered him as the air tried to rip him out, but his boots were mag-locked and he reached up to heave himself onto the Orion's top. The gunship was slowing, coming in over a packed landing field but still the wind tried to bowl him over. He resisted the elemental force with barely an effort and lifted his spear, spying black motes flying towards them.
From Dramacus they came, scores of winged fiends rising from the buildings and flying to intercept the Custodes. Tarodemis instantly identified them as lower expressions of the Archenemy, servants of the Changer. The Custodes knew more of Chaos than any Inquisitor, and most common Sorcerers, and Tarodemis knew these were bottom-feeders of the Warp, the dregs of Chaos but still deadly. They came on feathered wings and leathery pinions, some riding living discs and others clouds of vapour, but all bore vicious talons and razor-sharp beaks and an eager hunger to the eye. They knew the Emperor's Companions of old and seemed hellbent on stopping them.
"Spread out," Tarodemis ordered, "Preserve the dropship." The trio spread out, covering the broad wings. Each Custodes stood alone but that was their way. Unique creations, given to individual action. They were not from the same shield-host but even had they been they would have sought space to fight, brotherhood was an alien concept to the Custodes.
Tarodemis took up his spear and planted his feet wide, then opened fire. The bulky bolter on the end of his weapon roared, spitting mass-reactives. The recoil was fierce but so fine was his aim that not one shot missed, Daemons fell from the sky on torn wings, screaming in animal fury as their prey proved to have teeth.
Tarodemis emptied the magazine and then took up his weapon in a spread-handed grip. A fiend fell upon him, razor-beak cackling but a single slice of the spear split it in twain. Smoothly he spun his haft about and gutted a Daemon riding an undulating disc, then removed the head from one with tendrils for a mouth. More came at him, more and more and yet he gifted all the same fate. His hands blurred as he sliced and diced the air apart, his spear a vague smear of light as his deadly display made short work of the foe.
Tarodemis fought like a legend of old and well he should. He was a blade-champion of the Hykonatoi, Aquilion shield-host, the finest warriors amongst the Watchers of the Throne, tasked to protect Principals deemed vital to the Imperium's survival. Tarodemis had trained ceaselessly for this role and mastered the combat Kat'ah of Hurricanis, a technique for the rendering of foes in a blur of flashing steel.
Tarodemis stood indomitable, eviscerating anything that came at him. Nothing could slip past his guard, not one fiend laid a claw upon him. He decimated everything within reach and through it all made not a single word. No bellowing catechisms of hate, no insults or threats did he utter, even his breathing was steady and controlled. Tarodemis fought in silence, utterly controlled in all aspects and deadlier by far than a mere Astartes could dream.
On the left wing Enkindu met the foe with the Kat'ah of Rendax, a technique for when outnumbered and outgunned. He was equally silent but his kill count remained impressive. Not quite the match of the Tribune, he yet fought with an utter conviction of victory, sure and certain that they would win through no matter the odds. He would have been inspiring, had Custodes any need for inspiration.
On the right wing Cortano met the onslaught with the Kat'ah of Dacatarai, a technique of aggression and destruction. Normally it required one to run into the face of the enemy, but since they were flying at several hundred miles an hour it hardly mattered. His guardian spear stabbed and thrust, as opposed to the lateral slices the others favoured, tearing fiends apart with deadly skill, but not quite fast enough.
A single flying horror made it past Cortano's guard. His spear instantly twisted and ripped off its wing, but too late. The possessed thing flailed wild and tumbled into the air-rush of the right engine. The filth was snatched up and sucked inside, diced by the spinning turbines, its blood and bones gumming the workings instantly. Imperator Excelsis shuddered as its engine caught fire, spewing smoke in a black trail. Perhaps the pilot could have cut power and coasted in on one engine, but then the fuel lines caught alight and the right wing exploded.
A vast fireball blew out, eviscerating Cortano in an instant. Tarodemis was battered by the impacts, nearly ripped from his perch as the Orion dropped hard. Sky and ground spun in a kaleidoscope and he could barely hold on. Then he saw it. A Tetrach heavy lander, struggling to rise from the cluttered field. They were on a collision course, seconds away from impact and there was no time to evade. Tarodemis' last thoughts were no scream of denial, no howling curse against cruel fate. He merely noted that his mission had failed and his duty would go unfulfilled, a tragedy for sure, but he had the comfort of knowing he would not live to mourn it.
The Orion slammed into the Tetrach with a fiery explosion, ripping deep into its side. The remaining Custodes were killed on impact, as was the embedded pilot, and hundreds of praying guardsmen within. That was only the start of the calamity. The Tetrach wobbled, its engines failing as it began to drop from the sky. It was rising over a field of Angantyrs, a violation of safety protocols its pilots chose to ignore. The heavy lander slammed down on top of them, crushing hundreds of men and women frantically trying to fuel the drop-landers.
Explosions spread outwards, detonating fuel-bowsers and idling engines. Rippling chains of explosions walked the fields, blasting apart dropships and landers. Discard munitions added to the fury, setting the entire mustering ground ablaze in a vast conflagration. Shuttles and landers and lifters died in that inferno. Thunderhawks and Overlords too, the Storm Herald's and other's gunships left waiting for their lord's return. In seconds the entire landing field was an inferno, destroying any prospect of evacuating Dramacus by air. The conclusion was inescapable: the Storm Heralds were trapped on the planet.