Armorum Fidei Chapter 19

Polarus' boots hit the roof of the Train-city Berult with a thud as he dropped from his Overlord gunship. The down blast of vectored thrust buffeted him badly but he stood true, unmoved by the howling wind. He stood upon the rearmost compartment of Berult and the guns were silent, all defenders cut down by invading Xenos. They had swept through this part of the train-city with ease, pressing along its length and crushing all before them. It fell to Polarus to stop their advance and it was a duty he despised, to mollycoddle mortal fops while the true battle raged, aggravated him. He should be out there, standing in the midst of the enemy, cutting them down with all his fury. Surely Captain Toran saw that winning the battle beyond was more important than clearing out a minor infestation. Either he was hopelessly indoctrinated into the inefficient dogmas of the Firstborn, or this was a deliberate insult.

"Sweep and clear by combat squads," Polarus ordered, "Find us a way inside."

"As you command," a Sixth Company Tactical-Sergeant called Cowle replied, "Standard sweep Brothers, watch for enslaved souls."

As the Gunships lifted away Polarus stood still and watched twenty Tactical Firstborn and twenty Primaris Intercessors sweep by. He would have preferred warriors from the new paradigm alone but the Storm Heralds had elected to mix their Companies from the ground up. A mistake in his opinion, they should have been kept separated from the outset. The Primaris could have fought to optimal efficiency and the Firstborn left to eke out what little glories they could scrape, before they faded into extinction. Still it had to be so he forbore.

A Primaris Sergeant named Texil called out, "Over here! A hatch has been ripped open, no guards left."

"They've pressed on," Cowle explained, "Trying to claim the rest of the Train-city. I've seen this before; we can catch them if we're quick. We have to move quickly, and kill anyone who gets in the way."

Polarus eyed him with interest and probed, "You seem eager to slay civilians, do you not respect your orders?"

Cowle twisted his pauldron about, revealing a heraldic spear driven through a four-armed fiend, the mark of a Xenoslayer, one who had claimed ten thousand alien heads in his career. Polarus found these icons to be gaudy and prideful but it effectively proclaimed Cowle's experience in the ending of aliens and the Sergeant stated, "The wards on this compartment are compromised, the Psybrids will have claimed those within. Only further along will any civilians remain pure. If you see anyone in this section kill them, you'll be doing them a favour, there is no coming back from Psybrid enslavement."

Polarus filed this fact away as Texil dropped through the hatch, taking the glory of point position. A moment later an all-clear rang out and Polarus was the next to drop through. He plunged into total darkness and his autosenses swiftly adapted, sketching out wireframe models of his environment. He was in a broad accessway, heading along the length of the Train-city. Metal walls, metal floor and exposed machinery, typical of Imperial engineering, right down to the piles of junk laid up in corners.

He stepped aside so the rest could drop in, and a Tactical Marine lit the pilot light on his flamer to illuminate the surroundings. To Polarus' surprise the piles of debris turned out to be bedrolls, overturned stalls and handcarts, some form of market left deserted. He had known people lived here, but he had pictured orderly people moving through daily routines with calm precision and regulated lives, instead it seemed they squatted in filth and made merry in places of defence and industry. Shameful, utterly shameful.

"Vuqil, wherever your shade rests, be thankful you didn't live to see mankind's degeneracy," Polarus muttered.

"Orders?" Texil asked.

"Move on," Polarus ordered.

Swiftly the rest entered the corridor and then the party broke into a run. Ceramite boots rang loud in the close confines and they could not spread more than three across in the tight spaces. Accessways and ramps leading lower into Berult appeared and Polarus directed combat squads to head downwards, the invasion was not confined to one deck, they would have to meet the Psybrids on every level. Soon his immediate retinue was reduced to ten and they pressed on, hearing the first signs of battle from ahead.

With his heightened senses Polarus was the first to see the bodies. Piled corpses left on the floor to rot. Men and women and children, cut down without remorse, slain by the claws of alien fiends. Some of them had their hands wrapped around each other's throats, fighting alien-dominated fools. His eye was caught by a little girl, her dead hands still strangling a man with the many charms he hung around his neck, such violence from one so little. The local's heathen superstitions proved worthless in the face of the enemy. Strange, Polarus thought the aliens would take all the people as one, but he supposed some would fall quicker than others.

"Contact!" Texil spat, "There's fighting around that door."

"It's the next compartment," Cowle explained, "The wards yet hold, uncorrupted innocents lie beyond."

Polarus saw a broader space open up, fed by several corridors. At the far end a wide hatch sparked and shuddered, torn apart by vicious energy weapons. In the gaping hole a gaggle of men in cloth uniforms struggled to hold the line, fighting with autoguns and knives. They were badly outnumbered, for two score aliens of many forms battered at their defence, rending and tearing with loathsome glee. They were aided by perverted human souls, mindless husks of people fighting their once friends and comrades. Blood was spilled and lives ended and Polarus knew the defence was seconds from failing.

"Flamer," Polarus called, "Hit them in the rear."

"Civilians are in the splash radius," Cowle protested.

"They're dead already," Polarus snarled, "Flamer, now!"

The Brother with the Flamer lifted his nozzle and squeezed the trigger. A burning plume of Promethium shot forth and washed over the backsides of the attackers, inundating them in flames. The heat in the close confines was amazing, rolling over Polarus even though he stood far back and the scent of fuel and roasting meat seeped through his helm's respirator. Bodies went up like candle wax, burning from head to toe. Alien fiends died in thrashing jerks of agony but so too did many defenders. The humans screamed as fiery fuel splashed over them, setting their clothes and hair alight. They fell to the ground, rolling about and screaming in torment. A few went still and died, they were the lucky ones, anyone who survived such injuries would be a burnt twist of skin for the remainder of their shortened days.

The aliens fell to the purifying flames and Texil snorted, "You know, packing a special weapon does have its advantages."

"Your glee is premature," Polarus growled.

From the flaming wasteland stepped an arrowhead of aliens. These ones were broad and powerful, swaddled in layers of blubber or thick skin. Three Borlac, powerful slaves for their masters and a Nephilim, its stony skin immune to fire. A dangerous threat even for Space Marines, and yet Polarus' eyes were fixed on a lanky creature that followed. It walked on elongated limbs and had three-digit hands and a flared crest behind its head. Both forearms bore recurve blades, sweeping backwards like aquatic fins and sharp enough to slice Ceramite with ease. A Psybrid, in some form of organic armour.

"Take the rest," Polarus ordered, "That one is mine." The others lifted their bolters and let fly but Polarus had eyes only for the Psybrid. He lifted Veritatias before his eyes, clenching his grip to awaken the Crozius' energy field and snarled, "For Terra and Mars, you shall die."

The Psybrid only hissed in a low tone. Polarus didn't know the alien's filthy tongue and had no wish to learn, all he needed to know was that this thing stood in his way. Polarus took a single step forward and then leapt at the gangly Xenos. Vertiatias swung for its head but with blinding swiftness the Psybrid jerked aside, moving with speed an Eldar would find troubling. Polarus's swing missed and the alien struck. The creature blurred as it swung diagonally, armblades slicing over his flank as it dove past. Ceramite parted and he felt a sharp sting tear across his ribs as Transhuman blood flowed.

Polarus hurled himself to the side and managed to avoid a killing stroke and yet first blood went to the Xenos. He redressed his stance but the filth was already coming back. Three rigid digits ripped at his faceplate, angling to plunge through his eyes into the brain. Polarus threw himself aside and the hand shot past, armblade passing a millimetre over his helm. The alien was overextended but before he could exploit that opening the arm jerked back, slamming an elbow into his head.

Polarus was thrown aside, hitting the floor with a crash. He kept his grip tight on his weapon and managed to roll back to his feet but the Psybrid gave him no respite. It came at him in a flurry of darting jabs and kicks, limbs blurring as it struck. Those recurved blades danced like light over troubled water, seemingly moving from point to point without passing through the space between. Polarus was forced to retreat, weaving Vertiatias before him to prevent his death. Several times the Crozius struck a limb or blade and flared with concussive force but far more times the alien wove past his defence, tearing into his Ceramite.

The whirlwind of blows was dazzling, the skill astonishing and the speed of motion impossible to track. Polarus struggled to keep up, forced to defend himself with instinctive desperation. There was no thought of attacking, he could barely see the foe beyond the darting tornado of motion. Only the speed of his Sinew Coils had prevented his death and Polarus was forced to admit this was the most dangerous foe he had ever faced.

For a troubling moment Polarus was given to consider the reality of his death, that this foe could kill him. A moment's doubt, but only a moment. From deep within arose the memory of Vuqil and the thought of his long-dead Brother steeled his soul. His kin would never have fallen to so abominable a foe, never have doubted his victory was inevitable and Polarus would do no less. He would fight and win, for his family's memory and his blood's honour Polarus would kill this fiend.

The Chaplain was a heartbeat from death but he scorned the idea as he dropped his guard and fell to one knee. As he did so Vertiatias swung for the deck, striking the metal floor like a thunderbolt. Concussive forces rang out, shaking the universe with wild vibrations and making all stumble, including the alien. For a moment the Psybrid paused, struggling to remain upright and in that moment Polarus' other hand shot upwards, locking around its wrist. The Psybrid squealed as it pulled back but his grip was a vice of adamantium, unbreakable and inescapable and the Chaplain rose to his feet with a growled, "My turn."

Vertiatias stuck the Psybrid in the gut and the alien doubled over as raging forces shook it like a ragdoll. Again Polarus struck and again, keeping his grip tight on its arm all the while. The Psybrid fought to break free, it writhed and twisted but could not get away as Chaplain pressed in close and smote it with all his fury. His arm slammed into it over and over, breaking the organic armour and making it bleed yellow blood. Limbs snapped, the chest contorted and the hips shattered and still he pummelled it, seeking to end this filth once and for all.

He lost count of the strikes but finally something snapped within and the Psybrid collapsed, legs giving out under it. Polarus wasn't done, he knelt on the broad chest and drove his hand into its face. Disgusting jellies swelled up around his fingers and then something popped, the head splitting open from scalp to jaw, revealing the true alien within. A palid face, dark eyes and lamprey teeth greeted him and his revulsion for the perverse form of the non-human welled up within. It hissed some final retort but Polarus wrapped his hand around its neck and heaved upwards. Thin bones shattered, sinews parted and tendons ripped as the Psybrid's head came away from its shoulders, taking a length of spinal cord with it. Polarus ended the Xeno with his own hands and at last it lay still and moved no more.

Polarus dropped the dripping tangle of viscera and looked up. The remaining aliens were dead, slain by concentrated fire and stabbing blades. The battle had not been without cost though, two Firstborn and a Primaris lay still on the deck, their lives given to end this threat. Polarus discovered the bitterness of loss tainting his victory and his hatred surged to new heights. This fight had been unworthy, a mere sideshow to the real event and these mewling mortals too weak to bother saving. A poor exchange in his view.

Polarus stood up and barked, "Check for surviving enemies and then regroup. Other fights rage on lower decks, we must reach them or this will have been for nothing."

"You heard the Chaplain," Texil barked, "Police these bodies while I signal our Apothecary to mark this position for gene-seed retrieval."

The squads moved to obey but Polarus stood over his kill and whispered, "Misguided or not a Space Marine deserves nobler deaths than these. Wasted for snivelling cowards, too weak to defend themselves. No more, no more of our blood will be spent for the unworthy. Next time, we do it my way."