Locum Ignotum Chapter 21

The last of the foes took to the skies, seeking to flee with their tails between their legs. They were chased by focussed salvos of firepower, blasting their winged bodies into chunks of gore. The effect upon this foe was curiously muted, as if ranged weaponry was less effective upon Daemonkind, but that could be compensated for if one applied enough of it. There were few problems in life that could not be solved with the proper application of high explosive projectiles.

Bylan thought upon this as he looked about, seeing fallen Daemons all around. Their broken bodies were already starting to dissolve, steaming as their physical forms were abandoned by the ethereal nightmare within. Bylan couldn't help but notice that there was something wrong with their anatomy, they had muscles and guts and organs but none of them was correctly sized or positioned. It was like someone had tried to draw out a body after skimming through a medical data-slate. Bylan strongly suspected the innards had little real function and the bodies were motivated by Daemonic power.

Bylan was stood in the heart of Third Company, among the greatest of heroes. To his sides were the Command Squad along with Captain Toran and Librarian Arvael. Over to the far right was Chaplain Wrethan, holding the right flank and to the far left was Honourable Ajax, whose weapons were steaming with heat from excessive use. Bylan held the Company Standard in one hand and a bolt pistol in the other, he kept the banner high for all to see as he proclaimed, "+We did it!+"

"This was nothing, a mere probing thrust, we haven't even begun to fight yet," came the voice of Arvael, "We have only been brushed by the merest edge of the Daemonic horde, when the real attack comes you will know it."

Bylan felt disappointment tinge his thoughts, for the fighting so far had been far from one-sided. This open ground was poor defensive country and the Codex would advise them to fall back to a better location with haste but unfortunately they had to hold this position or the refugee camp would be helpless. The Daemons had come with great swiftness and hunger, falling upon Third Company with claw and tooth. They had been fighting for hours already and casualties were mounting, noble Brothers being torn apart in the frenzy of combat. Third Company had acquitted itself well but the damage was mounting.

Captain Toran was redressing the ranks and said, "Take this time to inspect your gear and replenish supplies, we won't have long till they come again." Bylan turned and saw a line of Servitors dragging pallets of munitions and ordnance up to the front line. They were coming from the Thunderchild, a desperately needed supply run as Third Company was burning through ammunition at a furious rate.

All around Initiates were grabbing Bolter magazines and flamer canisters, missiles and grenades, plasma chambers and melta flasks. There were also heavy weapons for the Predator tanks, Whirlwind artillery, Hunter pattern mobile-SAMs and Stalker flak tanks. Everything that could be deployed to the field had been deployed and it was still barely enough.

Bylan's took a pair of clips for his bolt pistol and as he did so his eyes slid over the line to the distant refugee camp. It was a hive of activity, crowds of people gathered around the base of the docking tower while a constant stream of evacuation flights came and went, ferrying innocents away. Arvus lighters, cargo-lifters, Aquila landers, even the revered forms of Stormravens and Thunderhawks, all pressed into service to hasten the evacuation. It was remarkable how quickly Leanyr had managed to organise this, sorting people out into manageable lines and setting up a system to move them all.

High above sat the Thunderchild, the last bastion of resistance this land had to offer. Its immense hull looked impenetrable and its guns were firing constantly, creating a barrage of deafening noise. Shells were soaring miles away to harry the distant Daemonic host and that was merely the secondary defence turrets. It was largely thanks to the Thunderchild that the higher altitudes were denied to the enemy, forcing them to come at low-level and thus face Third Company. Bylan dearly wished they could bring the Macrocanons to bear, but starship weapons were designed to engage targets ten thousand miles away. The collateral damage would be incalculable and at this range they would leave nothing behind save ash.

Bylan calculated that barely half the refugees had been loaded and they still had hours to go yet. He swallowed, causing his augmetic lungs to buzz and said, "+How much longer can we hold?+"

Toran answered firmly, "As long as is necessary."

Bylan was heartened to hear the confidence in his voice but he knew the scale of the task before them. The Daemon host was closing and each of them was a match for a Space Marine in combat. The odds were against them yet nothing in the galaxy could match the resolution and zeal of an Astartes, they would stand till the last man if required and nothing would move them from this spot. Bylan would be here no matter what, holding the Standard aloft and inspiring these heroes to ever greater feats of valour.

Suddenly there was a cry from Arvael, he put his hand to his head and grimaced as he declared, "They come!" Bylan twisted his head and saw a rolling mass of darkness on the horizon, a shimmering cloud headed right at them. On black wings simian monsters swooped and soared while beneath them raced long-legged beasts, bladed chariots and lithe feminine warriors with crab-like claws. Some were more bestial than others, resembling ten-foot high arachnids with gnashing teeth, octopuses with eyes all over them and snakes covered in feathers.

The mere sight of such a Daemonic abomination would have left mortals gibbering in insanity; they would have collapsed in horror as they minds shattered but the Space Marines felt only hatred. This was the enemy of all that good and pure, the nemesis of the human race and the adversary of the Emperor. Astartes' minds were tempered and honed, conditioned by centuries of Hypno-indoctrination and training to leave them with only one possible response: an indomitable compulsion to face these foes and crush them utterly.

Bylan heard Captain Toran lift his voice and call, "Company: present arms. Whirlwinds, Predators and other artillery fire as they come into range. Devastators and Heavy troops, this foe is resistant to ranged weapons, make sure to concentrate your fire. Tacticals hold the line and expect close combat. Assault squads will form a mobile reserve to counter a breakthrough. Chaplain Wrethan, keep the right flank secure and Ajax hold the left, let nothing flank us."

The Contemptor growled over the vox, "NONE SHALL PASS."

Bylan gripped the Standard tighter as the foe closed and then Wrethan's voice lifted over the vox, reassuring the Initiates and firing their zeal to the pinnacle of fury, "Brothers, the foe comes with black intent and sharp claws. They expect an easy victory, they expect to break us in one blow but they know not that which they face! We are the Emperor's chosen; we are the line that does not bend. Our bolters bring light to the darkness and our courage is the hurricane that shall shatter this foe to pieces! We are fire and we are doom, we are the tempest and the lightning! We are the Emperor's storm!"

As one the entire Company lifted their voice to shout in defiance, "We are His wrath!"

At that the line erupted in a blitzkrieg of firepower, tanks and artillery blazing torrents of destruction out into the oncoming horde. Seconds later the heavy weapon troopers joined them, throwing missiles, las-shots, plasma and grav-beams out into the heaving mass. Daemons were blown apart by the concentrated barrage, scores of shimmering and dissolving bodies falling down to be crushed underfoot, yet still they came.

The foes closed into bolter range and were greeted by a blizzard of shells, screaming torrents of firepower inundating the darkness with flares of light. More Neverborn fell, liquefying and melting as their etheric essence was banished. Hundreds of the foul things were cut down, blown apart and broken utterly and yet still they came.

Bylan fired his bolt pistol one-handed as the rolling mass of flesh and darkness closed and he emptied the clip in seconds. He stowed the pistol and drew a combat blade mere moments before the first Daemon charged into range. It was a lissom creature, with slender limbs and back turned legs. It snarled inhumanely as it leapt high, pouncing like some great cat but it was met in mid-air by Captain Toran's relic blade, which neatly bisected it in two before it could land a blow.

The melee closed in all around, obscene flesh and claws throwing itself at the line of blue without care. There was a terrible miasma about them, a visceral horror that went beyond the mere physical but the Space Marines were inured to terror and fought on regardless. Still the numbers swamping the defensive line were endless and the Daemons pressed hard, trying to encircle the individual squads. In seconds the Command Squad found itself cut off, surrounded on three sides and desperately fighting for their lives.

In the melee Bylan saw an arachnid Daemon with huge fangs and hairy legs charging at them. It was intercepted by Furion who grabbed it with both fists. The Daemon gnashed its fangs in his face and powered forward but Furion clung on and held it at bay, mere inches from his helm. Meanwhile Persion and Jediah flanked it and began lopping off its limbs one by one, leaving it helpless.

Elsewhere Novak was duelling a Daemon upon a steed, some two-legged beast with a long snout and a whipping tongue. He deflected the blows from above off his combat shield while neatly chopping a leg off with his sword. The beast toppled over, taking the Daemon with it and the Champion stabbed down, tearing out its heart.

Yet none of them could match the potency of Arvael, the Librarian fighting in the thick of the throng. He had a shimmering Kine shield over his left hand and in his right was his Force-Morningstar. He chanted abjurations as he swung it in great arcs and any Daemon it touched exploded into gore. It was his power that was doing this, the Warp energy anathema to the Daemons at a fundamental lever. He was fighting fire with fire and his kill count tripled anyone else's.

Bylan was distracted as a Daemon leapt at him, a female form with crab-like claws. There was a terrible glamour about it, a shimmering distortion that tried to draw the eye and befuddle the observer. It was hypnotic and mesmerising, a bewitchment to ensure the feeble and the weak-minded but a Space Marine was neither, their minds were fortresses and such pathetic tricks had no effect.

Bylan prepared to greet it but at the last second something strange happened. As the Daemon approached the Standard Bearer it slowed slightly, its eyes glazing over and seemingly becoming very lethargic. Bylan had no time to ponder this odd behaviour; instead he instantly stabbed forward and plunged his combat blade into where its heart should be. The Daemon collapsed silently and began to dissolve into stinking ooze as Bylan looked around for his next foe.

What he saw was Captain Toran duelling a twenty-foot feathered snake. The Captain swung for its head but Daemon moved faster, wrapping its bulk around the Captain and pinning his arm. Before he knew it Bylan was charging forward, crying his outrage at the danger to the Captain. He closed with the Daemon and as he did so it swayed drunkenly and blinked as if confused. Bylan did not question his good fortune but struck hard, lopping off its head in one blow. The Daemon collapsed, evaporating before their eyes and Toran was freed but there was no time to cheer their success.

A great roar swept over the battlefield, the cry of thousands of inhuman throats lifted as one. Bylan's head swung around and he saw another force entering the field. Transhuman giants clad in lurid Ceramite and bearing obscene heraldry upon their plates. They were the most hated and reviled of all foes, Traitors, Chaos Marines, Emperor's Children.

Bylan gripped the standard tighter as the Chaos Marines joined the fray and the Storm Heralds surged to meet them. Two sides clashing with cries of hatred and fury on their lips and none could say which one would prove victorious.