Armorum Fidei Chapter 39
Polarus' feet rocked under him as Turhen ground to a halt. He felt the breaking of gears like an earthquake under his boots, shaking his bones and he knew well what it meant. The Train-city had bogged down and as it did so the attacking Psybrid army surged forward, swamping the rear compartments in bodies. They raced up the sides of the walls, braving torrents of gunfire as they sought to break inside and kill all they found.
Polarus however was not there. He was well back, in the artillery command centre, a metal bunker on the roof where teams of mortals watched the action through rows of pict-screens monitors laid on metal tables and directed the Earthshaker's fire. Polarus had been relegated to this dismal post as a punishment, redoubled by the odious presence of Furion, the archaic fool never letting him out of sight. Together they had watched the action unfold and wondered why the guns had not been attacked, only to learn too late the Psybrids had a more cunning target for their subverted.
"We're bogged down!" a man cried.
"Rear compartments are slagged, we can't drag them behind us!" another shrieked.
Polarus snarled, "I'm going out there."
But Furion confronted him helm to helm and growled, "You're not going anywhere."
"This is no time to cower in the rear!" Polarus snapped.
"We are ordered to hold this position," Furion hissed, "Trust the Captain, look Sixth company approaches."
Indeed the vehicles of Sixth were closing, charging into the fray all guns blazing. They struck the Psybrids in the flank and drove deep, slicing a spear of Ceramite into their back. Furion directed artillery to support their advance and swiftly Raynek led them into the fray, but Polarus saw how futile it was. Sixth was woefully outnumbered, the horde too vast to break with a flanking attack. They had numbers enough to rebuff Sixth's charge and still assault Turhen, driving both Imperial forces hard. Polarus could see Sixth's charge grind to a halt, leaving them embattled on all sides, a drop of blue in a horizon of black.
"We need to get the drive systems back online," Polarus snarled.
"You would run?!" Furion spat incredulously, "You unworthy swine."
"Use your eyes!" Polarus spat, "If we can't move they'll overwhelm us, we have to break out or die."
A man placed a hand on his headset and reported, "No good, Enginseers report the drives are crippled, we can't move for hours."
Suddenly another man cried, "New contact! Something's coming up on our rear, it's huge!"
Polarus' eyes traveled to a pict-screen and his hearts grew cold as he spied a lurching cathedral hoving into view. On giant metal legs it strode, carrying many spires and bulbous templums on its back. As ridiculous as it was impressive, a testament to the mad endeavours of this worthless age. Currens Ecclesia, striding towards them.
"Enslaved priests," Polarus spat, "Coming to aid their alien masters."
"You don't know that," Furion retorted.
"They arrive at the height of battle, what more proof do you need? The Priests were weak and foppish to begin with, the dregs of this lowly age. The Psybrids turned them with ease. Now they come to finish us off."
Furion glanced at a monitor then said, "The Captain must learn of this."
"There's nothing to be done, he was a fool to trust mortal men. Coming here was a mistake, one that will get us all killed, unless I take decisive action."
"What do you mean?" growled Furion.
Polarus turned to the men and ordered, "Redirect all fire to target the damaged compartments."
Confused looks arose as Furion barked, "Have you gone mad?!"
Polarus however sniffed, "If we break off the crippled areas from the rest of Turhen we can break free. We might get out of combat before that ridiculous gewgaw finishes us off."
"Our Brothers are fighting for their lives back there, Toran's back there."
"And their sacrifice will be honoured in the coming days," Polarus stated coldly as he reached for a vox-horn to signal the artillery crews himself.
His hand was stopped by Furion's gauntlet wrapping around his wrist and a growled, "You are not giving that order."
"Take your hands off me before I..."
His retort was cut short by Furion's fist flying into his faceplate, driving him back against a desk. Mortal men started in shock, yanking their headsets free to run or cower. Polarus was rocked backwards more out of shock than anything else, his stunned reaction leaving him off balance. Furion stood proud as he reached up and yanked free his helm, revealing features made grim by anger and loathing. Polarus saw stern wroth brewing in that patrician face, almost admirable save that it was woefully misdirected.
He yanked off his own helm and growled, "You strike a treacherous blow."
Furion snarled, "You dare speak to me of treachery, you who plan to kill his own Brothers! You spit upon our principles; you slaughter innocents and call it righteous. Toran should have cut out your unworthy hearts when he had the chance."
Polarus' eyes narrowed as he hissed, "I am Primaris, you can't take me."
"Try me," was Furion's cold retort.
Suddenly Polarus was moving, leaping for Furion's throat. The Chaplain tried to dodge but despite his height was only Firstborn, lacking Sinew Coil gifted speed. Polarus grabbed Furion about the throat and slammed his head backwards, smashing Genhhanced bone into a wall. He drew back to attack again but was brought up short by an elbow to the midriff, clearing an inch of space. Then Furion's arms rose and spread, breaking his grip and forcing him to let go.
It was a veteran move, one only a Marine with centuries of experience could have pulled off against a Space Marine, yet Polarus was not impressed. His fist flashed and caught Furion under the jaw with an uppercut that made him stagger. Polarus pursued, filled with righteous indignation for this upstart's temerity. He had known the Firstborn were weak and ill-disciplined but now he had all the proof he would ever need to crush them.
As mortals fled the bunker he hammered Furion, repeatedly slamming fists into the reeling Chaplain. Furion shielded his head with his hands but Polarus smashed into armoured guts, doubling him over. Furion staggered over a table and Polarus rammed a fist into his spine, hard enough to hurt even through Ceramite. Furion wheezed as the air was driven out of him, but his hand flashed and grabbed an abandoned runepad, sweeping it up to shatter across Polarus' temple.
Polarus barely felt it and snorted, "Is that all you've got?!"
"No," Furion snarled, "I have this!"
His hands grabbed the table and ripped from its moorings. Spilling headsets and monitors it caught Polarus in the side and threw him away, staggering over his own feet. Instantly Furion was on him, slamming a fist into his lumbar, then under his armpit then his jaw. Polarus was unprepared for the fury of the assault, driven by outrage and vengeance. Furion may not be Primaris but his strength was astonishing regardless, making Polarus' insides rattle with every blow. Polarus was off balance and faltering, but not done yet. His boot rose and then slammed into Furion's knee, driving him backwards with a painful limp.
He drew himself up and wiped a trickle of blood off his chin with the back of his gauntlet as he snarled, "You pathetic cur."
"Whoreson bastard," Furion retorted.
"You think you're better than me," Polarus growled, "How arrogant can you be?!"
"You proclaim your unworthiness with every breath. You despise humanity, you wish to lord over them. You are just another petty tyrant, revelling in his ability to inflict suffering on mankind."
"Mankind is weak," Polarus spat, "They can't even resist alien enslavement."
"They deserve to be saved," Furion hissed.
"And they have made you weak too," Polarus snapped.
His words provoked Furion's anger and he jolted forwards, seeking to grapple Polarus. The Primaris was ready however, he grabbed Furion about the pauldrons and twisted, sending him headfirst over a table. Polarus made to follow but Furion's legs shot out from under the table, kicking his feet out. Quick as a flash Furion was on him, fists hammering his face repeatedly. Ceramite clubs struck Polarus' face, impacts making his skull ring like a bell. Polarus felt like he was being hit by a pile driver, relentless and merciless and he knew Furion would continue until his brains were spread over the floor.
In desperation he grabbed the shaft of his Crozius and triggered the weapon. A concussive blast rang out, slamming them both with bone-rattling reverberations. Polarus was thrown aside, skidding over the floor but Furion was blasted away, hitting the floor hard, face bruised purple by the point-blank discharge. Polaurs rose to his feet, Crozius in hand as he faced his accuser. Furion met him in kind, Storm-heart drawn and crackling as he lifted his own weapon.
The pair faced off and Furion growled, "So this is how it shall be, kin-slaying."
"I do not fear the hard choices," Polarus hissed, "Unlike you. Today will see the beginning of a great cleansing, the winnowing of all Firstborn from the Storm Heralds."
"Over my dead body."
"That's the idea."
Polarus started forwards but unexpectedly Furion lifted his Crozius and presented it vertically. Polarus twisted his face aside but too slow, as Storm-heart erupted into a blazing corona of stuttering light and battering noise. It was like looking into the sun, feeling its heat scorch one's face. Genhanced eyeballs preserved his sight but his skin roasted and peeled, burnt red raw and making him stagger back to clear his vision.
Polarus reeled back, face throbbing with heat. He rallied to throw himself at Furion again, but suddenly a cowering man cried, "Wait, the screens, look at the screens!" Despite being confronted by vengeful Astartes Polarus could not help but glance at the images and when he did so his jaw fell as stunned amazement swept through him. An impossibility, a perversion of all he understood, that turned his convictions on their head. Currens Ecclesia was attacking the Psybrids, marching into battle to aid the beleaguered Imperials.
The Walking Church strode imperiously with its artillery raining down on the horde in a ceaseless hail. Heavy weapon emplacements along its flanks lit up, scything lashing torrents of firepower down into the seething mass, culling thousands as it charged into their midst. Metal feet rose and fell, crushing aliens underfoot with regal disdain, grinding them into the mud like the bugs they were. The great quake cannon buried in its front boomed and a crater was made in the middle of the horde, wide enough to land a basecamp inside, broken bodies sent flying in all directions. With cathedral bells ringing Currens Ecclesia strode to war, bringing utter destruction with it.
The Psybrid army swept about to confront this new threat but as they did so Sixth Company rallied, throwing themselves back into the fight. The aliens were trapped in a vice, caught on three sides and unable to focus on one attack. Scarcely could Polarus' wonder grow any more shocking but then Currens Ecclesia came to a halt as a long ramp extended. Down that ramp came Sisters of Battle by the score, followed by ragged men and women straight into the heart of the enemy. Polarus fully expected them to succumb to alien mind-control but they did not. They charged into the fray as if the Psybrids held no power over them, somehow rendered immune to the Psychic coercion that had conquered worlds.
Polarus' amazement overcame him as he beheld ordinary men and women standing proud before the alien, displaying strength and courage he had never imagined mortals could boast. Everything he thought he knew about the people of this dark age was proven wrong, leaving him floundering in confusion. He had understood nothing, he realised, he had failed to grasp the nature of the galaxy he inhabited and his conviction shattered into dust.
Furion declared, "Behold the strength of mankind made manifest."
Polarus fell to his knees as he looked in disbelief and gasped, "It's impossible, I could never have imagined this."
Furion for his part loomed over the bewildered Marine and growled, "That is why you are unworthy."
