Locum Ignotum Chapter 16

The mob came at them in a screaming multitude, covered in lurid tattoos and shimmering silks. They held ritual knives in their hands and blunt auto pistols that spat fat bullets randomly, not caring whether they hit friend or foe. The mass of cultists cried and yelled in pleasure and pain, overwhelmed by the heady rush of combat, welcoming injury and death as eagerly as they did killing.

Facing them was a line of blue Ceramite, a thin wall of Storm Heralds manning a barricade. They fired over the barrier into the oncoming foe, blasting apart anything they targeted. They were stern and resolute, an unmoving wall of defiance that could not be eroded nor broken. Unfortunately they were also outnumbered a hundred one.

Standing at the barricade Wrethan saw the oncoming mass of flesh and raised his Crozius to meet it. He swung his weapon at a cultist who was leaping the barricade and the golden head flared with power as it made contact. The cultist's chest was collapsed in by the blast of power and his body was flung back into the crowd. The edge of the blast stunned several nearby cultists with its concussive power and left them senseless. Wrethan instantly seized the opportunity and stove in their heads with the butt of his bolt pistol, leaving them to fall dead upon the ground.

In the heartbeat of space he glanced about, seeing the battle unfold all around him. The Storm Heralds had fallen back over and over to prearranged barricade and linked up to form a tight knot of resistance. The Devastators had assumed elevated positions on upturned carts and were firing continuously into the packed ranks of cultists while the Tactical Squad held the line. Bolters roared and a flamer spat burning gouts of Promethium, yet the foe seemed delighted by their wounds, praising their Dark God for the gift of pain. The Storm Heralds were causing staggering casualties yet no matter how many they killed ever more enemies gleefully took their place.

At one end of the line Sergeant Zeax was driving cultists back with great swings of his Thunderhammer, smashing down foes two and three at a time. At the other end, Sergeant Matheus fought with a roaring chainsword and an arcane Grav-pistol, slaughtering droves. Meanwhile Wrethan held the centre, his roaring battle-cries and shining Crozius inspiring the Storm Heralds to ever greater feats of valour. In a normal scenario, Wrethan would have been confident that the Storm Heralds could have held this position indefinitely. Yet the foe they faced was beyond counting and there were more than just cultists here. As if summoned by the thought Wrethan spied a trio of armoured foes approaching, glimmering Ceramite casting disgusting patterns of light all around. Wrethan bellowed, "See the Traitor's approach, the Divine Emperor demands their deaths! "

A sudden distortion surrounded one of the Traitor Marines, the unmistakable product of a Grav-pistol firing. The Chaos Marine's armour crumpled around him, crushing him into a mangled heap but the other two kept on coming. Wrethan moved to intercept and met them blade to blade over the barricade. The first came at him with a long chainsword but Wrethan caught it with his pauldron and the blow did no more than mar the iconography. In return his Crozius descended on a horned helm and smote it into ruin, dashing brains everywhere. However the second Traitor seized the opening to dive in and drive a black dagger into Wrethan's side. Ceramite parted and the Chaplain hissed as he felt potent toxins flow into his bloodstream.

The Traitor giggled and shouted, "Your God is nothing but a corpse!"

Wrethan's anger burned hot, overriding the pain of his wound as he shouted, "And yours are weak, they lost ten millennia ago and they shall lose now!"

With that he swung his Crozius laterally and caught the Traitor under the chin, ripping the head clean off. Wrethan's body burned as his implants cleared the toxins and he roared his triumph but the mob was undaunted and pressed in ever more frantically, seemingly desperate to get in close and taste the thrill of combat.

From one end of the line Matheus called, "We are about to be outflanked!"

Wrethan recognised that this position was no longer tenable and shouted, "Grenades!"

Instantly a flurry of explosives rose up on arcing trajectories, landing far back among the heaving mass of the rabble. A series of detonations shook the ground and the throng eased off for a moment, staggered by the impacts. The Storm Heralds were already withdrawing, falling back to their next line of defence, the spot they had chosen for their next stand.

As they ran Zeax barked, "Where are our damned reinforcements!"

Wrethan replied, "A Stormraven has been dispatched."

"One Stormraven," Zeax spat, "That won't be enough, the odds are too steep."

"Silence your tongue," Wrethan admonished him, squashing the discontent, "We are the Space Marines, we will fight and we will win no matter the odds."

Ahead of them they saw another line of barricades waiting, stretched between two larger buildings. It was the next position they had prepared for their defence and they hastened to jump the line, positioning themselves with practised skill. There was no time to talk for the throng came racing after them, a solid wall of flesh hurling itself at their guns. Needing no orders the defensive line erupted, torrents of firepower cutting down the mob in scores. Heavy Bolters blazed and Plasma shots flared into being, wreaking absolute carnage but the mad cultists came on regardless.

Wrethan saw them pressing forward and bellowed, "Pour it on, hold nothing back!"

The line of Astartes redoubled their efforts, hammering away at the solid wall of enemies but they could not stop them all. Zeax cried, "There's too many of them!"

Wrethan fired his bolt pistol over and over and roared, "Stand fast and have faith, the Stormraven comes, aid is on the way!"

Matheus shouted, "It won't get here in time!"

Wrethan felt the tide of battle shifting against them, recognising the pivotal moment the whole conflict would hinge upon. Everything hung in the balance and he knew that it had to be the Storm Heralds that swung it their way. He raised his voice and cried, "This is the time, this is the hour when the Emperor shall see our true worth! Storm Heralds cannot be broken, we will not be broken, for we know that He is with us!"

Inspired by the Chaplain's words the Storm Heralds dug in and unleashed all that they had, blasting away at the crowds coming at them. Foes were blown apart in the fury on the onslaught, bodies burnt to ash by searing plasma balls but still they came. Bolters glowed red-hot as they spat fury into the rolling masses of flesh while shell-casings fell like rain to pile around their feet. The horizontal blizzard mowed down foes beyond counting but for every one that fell ten more took their place. Pressing on into the face of obliteration and crushing their own dead underfoot the cultists closed, chanting the praises of Slaanesh in their mindless abandon. Wrethan's hated everything about them, he hated them right down to his bones and he swore that if he died here then he would make them pay such a price as to make them weep.

But then Wrethan heard a terrible noise behind him, one every Marine dreaded. It was a screeching whine, accompanied by a terrible hissing noise like venting steam. Wrethan half turned and was aghast to see Brother Tulius, who bore the Plasma cannon, struggling with his armament, desperately trying to prevent an overload. Imperial plasma technology was deadly but poorly misunderstood, prone to overheating and catastrophic explosions if pressed too hard.

"Brothers beware…" Wrethan shouted but before he could complete the warning the cannon overloaded, exploding in a star-bright blaze of burning energy. The detonation was beyond powerful, vaporising Brother Tulius into ash and spraying gouts of burning energy across the line, gouging deeply into their Ceramite plates. A searing fireball exploded outwards in all directions destroying the barricade utterly and incinerating scores of Cultists.

The force of the blast threw Wrethan away, sending him flying through the air to smash down upon his back. His ears rang with the echoes of the blast and the world spun around his head, as he stared at the sky. His implanted organs were already at work restoring his equilibrium but in that one moment he was incapacitated.

He heard the mob roar in triumph and the unmistakable sound of hundreds of feet closing in, their cries of glee shaking the world. Wrethan however wasn't listening, for his eyes were turned upward, fixed upon a small dot diving from the heavens. It was blocky and angular with a squat fuselage and down swept wings, the unmistakable sight of a Stormraven. Wrethan saw the flash of its heavy bolters and turret mounted assault cannons firing and witnessed a stream of tracers flying at his position.

The pilot's accuracy was superb, the rounds impacted all around but not one touched the Storm Heralds. The cultists were blown back by the fusillade, more bodies falling under the barrage. The horde was given a moment's pause, driven back to clear an area but it was nothing save a drop in the ocean. Wrethan knew all too well that one gunship could not turn this tide. Wrethan rose to his feet, gripping his Crozius and preparing to sell his life dearly. Massed enemies surrounded him on all sides and he knew that he could not defeat so many, but swore to die trying regardless. Yet before he could move he realised something bizarre: the Stormraven was not breaking off for another run, instead it was slowing and coming into a hover on vector thrust.

Wrethan was confused, this was a dangerous and improper manoeuvre, leaving the gunship exposed to enemy fire. The only reason to do so would be to deploy troops but an Assault squad should have been able to drop from much higher and use their jump packs to land. For a moment Wrethan dared to wonder if the front ramp would open and spill out Captain Toran and his Command Squad but no such thing happened.

The mob hissed in fury and bunched to rush forward again but the Stormraven wasn't done yet. It spun on the spot, blasting downdraft everywhere. Wrethan was baffled by this insane manoeuvre but it was then that he spotted what was hanging from the gunship's rear manga-grapples. The Chaplain's hearts surged with elation and he raised his Crozius high for all to see as he cried, "Behold Brothers, the Divine Emperor sends salvation from on high!"

With a faint clunk the Magna-grapples disengaged, dropping their cargo right into the heart of the mob. It fell like a dropped brick, straight down without deviation or drift. The massive object smashed into the ground and its impact threw up clouds of dirt and mud, blasting a crater with the force of its landing. There was a humming whir and the grinding of servo-motors as the object unfolded, rising high on a pair of mechanical legs to loom over the massed crowd. A pair of arms came free from its chest, revealing smooth armour plates and a reinforced sarcophagus that stood twice the height of any Astartes.

It was a relic from another epoch, a weapon the likes of which could not be made in this lesser age and the very sight of it brought awe and fear in equal measure. The immense machine took a single step and the mob shrank back, shocked sober by the sight before them, by the Contemptor Dreadnought confronting them. Honourable Ajax looked upon the cowering mob and boomed, "THESE BROTHERS ARE UNDER MY PROTECTION, YOU SHALL NOT LAY YOUR FILTHY HANDS UPON THEM!"

With a thunderous roar Ajax charged forward, weapons blazing. His mass hit the crowd like a wrecking ball, throwing broken bodies aside with contemptuous disdain. None could stand before his wrath and Ajax ploughed through their ranks, smashing aside all resistance. He barrelled into the cultists, knocking foes down and crushing them underfoot without even being slowed down in the slightest. Wrethan saw the carnage Ajax was wreaking and shouted, "With me Brothers! Follow Honourable Ajax, follow him to victory!"

The remaining Astartes roared as they charged in the Dreadnought's wake, but as they ran Zeax called, "Our enemies are still many, we are a long way from victory."

"No, these scum are already dead," Wrethan snarled, "They just don't know it yet."