Venenum Filios Chapter 24
War called, the sound of it reverberating in their ears, the stink of spent ammunition and ionized air wafting up the tunnel ahead of them. It was intimately familiar, as recognisable and welcome as the beating of their own hearts. It called to them, singing a siren song that no Astartes could resist and the Storm Heralds raced to greet it.
In their midst Persion was running, gripping his Friction axe tightly. All around him jostled blue-clad warriors, packed tightly into the tunnel. They all knew that a fight was breaking out ahead of them and the culmination of this quest was within reach. Persion saw tunnels branching off left and right, but the sound of battle guided their steps, showing them the way.
The Storm Heralds had followed Persion's earlier tracks, then stalked the footprints of the Soul Drinkers, closing the distance with relentless doggedness. Yet that was behind them, what Persion fretted upon now was what they would find when they caught up with the outcast Astartes. Judging from the sounds ahead it would be nothing good.
Suddenly Captain Toran held up a clenched fist and the Company jostled to a halt. Persion was near the front and was able to peer past, seeing what was occurring. Just beyond the Captain the tunnel ended and split open into a wide, high hall. Within that space a battle raged, two forces of Transhuman warriors slamming into each other with cries of rage and bellowing threats ringing forth. It was fierce and brutal, as fights between Astartes always were, a scene of carnage that would have loosened the bowels of any mortal man.
Filling the hall were Chaos Marines in scaled armour, screaming in rage as they threw themselves into the fray. They fought viciously and with murderous zeal, revelling in the slaughter and the fierce rush of combat. Opposing them was a small knot of purple and gold, a tiny island of resistance among a sea of scales and claws. It was the Soul Drinkers and they were surrounded on all sides.
Persion saw several of them had fallen already, hacked apart by wicked blades but the remainder fought on. They were battling valiantly, undaunted by their losses. Their line was steady and their courage boundless but they were outnumbered four to one and their doom was certain.
Among them was Coluber, his mighty sword a blur of lightning as he stabbed and withdrew, over and over like a striking serpent and every blow left a Traitor bleeding out on the ground. It was as heroic a stand as any Persion had ever seen, an epic display of courage and resolution in the face of utter annihilation.
Persion gripped his Friction axe as Toran said, "This is it, prepare to attack."
However Furion said, "Captain… who are we fighting? Whose side are we on?"
That gave everybody pause, the Alpha Legion were foul Traitors but the Soul Drinkers were equally outcast. Should the Storm Heralds intervene to aid them, they all asked themselves. Wrethan raised his Crozius and swept his other hand laterally, a clear sign that he thought they should just attack everybody and make no distinction.
Jediah however countered, "Captain, we don't need to engage immediately. Let the Heretics slaughter each other, we can pick off the survivors with ease."
Furion declared, "So we stand back and let others fight our battles for us... that is not the way of the Adeptus Astartes."
Jediah spat, "They're all Heretics, what does it matter how they die so long as they are dead."
Novak jumped in to say, "We are here and there are enemies before us, honour demands that we should not rest idle but smite them all. Let them see the retribution of Terra!"
Yet Jediah countered, "There is no need for useless bravado, let them kill each other for us."
"That is the path of cowardice," Furion growled, "We are better than that, we must be better than that."
Bylan interjected, "+The Soul Drinkers fight bravely and well, they spared Persion's life, no true Heretic would act so. They are dying before us while we stand here arguing!+"
But Jediah growled, "Let them die."
Persion's vox tickled and a private link came from Captain Toran saying, "Persion, I have don't have enough information to make a decision. You are the only one here who has met these Soul Drinkers. I need to know are they loyal to Terra? Are they worthy of saving?"
Persion didn't know how to answer; he looked out over the field of battle feeling the weight of the decision settling upon him. In the battle he saw zeal and fervour, bravery and boldness but knew that could so easily be turned to foul purpose. So many brave Chapters had fallen into perfidy and these Soul Drinkers were already tainted by association. Imperial writ would leave them to die but was it right in this case?
How could he measure the consequences of this decision, how could he know the ramifications of making a choice? There was no way of telling what would happen next, what these Soul Drinkers might do tomorrow. A wrong choice now and he could watch valiant heroes fall or he could unleash a new plague of renegades upon the galaxy, he didn't have the right to do that.
The choice weighed him down and froze him with indecision for a second but then Persion saw something that made his choice crystal clear. It was Ferrac, battling a trio of Traitors, armed with nothing but a combat knife. Persion saw that he was fighting zealously but it was clear that he was outmatched and about to die.
Persion watched him fighting against impossible odds and suddenly the right choice became self-evident. Here was a warrior who had saved his life, with whom had fought back to back. Someone who had shed blood with him was in danger and Persion was honour bound to stand with him. Damn consequences and galactic affairs, if Persion abandoned a comrade in arms then he was not worthy of calling himself a Storm Herald.
Persion nodded to himself and told Toran, "Intervene now, save them, save the Soul Drinkers."
Toran accepted the judgement and barked, "Enough bickering we will engage the foe: adopt assault pattern Tango-2. Target the Alpha Legion only, take those foul Heretics down!"
The orders sparked a surge of activity and the Storm Heralds reacted with the speed born from centuries of experience. They poured out of the tunnel and spread out, drawing a curved arc of blue around the edge of the hallway. It was a matter of moments to line up in formation, then with an almighty roar the Devastators and heavy weapon troopers let fly with their Missile launchers and Heavy Bolters.
All across the rear ranks of the Alpha Legion explosions arose, huge red and black flowers of destruction that bloomed across their backs. Bodies were torn apart in the fireballs, shattered ceramite scattering everywhere along with torn off limbs and showers of gore. A heartbeat later the packed ranks of bolters spoke, hurling waves of mass-reactive shells at the stunned foe.
The noise of the violence was stupendous, confined by the enclosed walls and ceiling to bounce back at them. Mortal hearts would have been stopped by the vibration of the air, they would have died with collapsed lungs and burst eardrums. Yet these warriors were Transhuman, they endured the violence without so much as blinking and rejoiced in the destruction they had unleashed.
The Alpha Legion had been hit hard by the salvo, a score of them dropping in the first volley but they too were more than human and they reacted instantly. A wave of them broke off from the fight and spun about, racing back towards the Storm Heralds with claws and foul blades held ready. Persion saw them coming and hatred surged within him, a response born from ten millennia of war and personal experience.
The Devastators hung back, pouring on overwatch fire but the Tactical and Assault squads leapt to meet the foe head-on, weapons held poised for the first impact as they formed a thin line of blue. Persion gripped his axe firmly and saw his first foe, a Heretic in scaled plate whose helm leered with a Daemonic visage wrought upon his faceplate.
Persion saw him coming and ducked low as a black knife came at his face. The Traitor snarled as he swung around again, Persion however stepped into the blow, catching the inside of the elbow with a raised forearm. The Traitor reacted with blinding speed, throwing his head forward in a vicious head-butt but Persion took the blow without being given pause.
In return his Friction axe swung hard, his augmetic arm lending the blow extra power. The burning blade caught the Heretic in the mid-riff and tore right into him, almost cutting him in two. The Traitor collapsed in a gory heap, his implants struggling to keep him alive despite grievous wounds. He tried to lift a bolt pistol, but Persion stamped down hard with his boot and crushed the foe's head, spilling brains over the floor.
Persion looked down the line and saw the battle raging, loyalist, Traitor and outcast fighting tooth and nail. Captain Toran was standing firm against the foe, his Relic sword cutting apart anything that came at him. Alongside him stood Chaplain Wrethan, fighting relentlessly, with his Crozius rising and falling like a metronome. He did not speak but somehow his solemn silence was more terrifying than his normal cries and bellows, turning him into a silent and grim machine of war.
Behind them dashed Apothecary Memnos, stooping to finish off wounded enemies one by one. There was no glorification of his work, merely the functional snaps from his Narthecium as he dispatched injured enemies then moved on.
On one side Novak fought a snarling Raptor, his combat shield and power sword flashing with deadly power. Yet he was not fulfilling his full potential, moving slower than normal and it took him a dozen blows to batter down just one opponent. To the other side Furion and Jediah fought shoulder to shoulder. They fought off knots of Heretics, keeping each other safe with the trust and Brotherhood born of decades of shared bloodshed.
In the heart of the melee Bylan fought alone, holding the Standard in a two-handed grip. He was disadvantaged by its weight but still moved with more fluidity and grace than anyone else. His immunity to the Phage making its deleterious effects on the rest seem obvious. Persion gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts, hacking out left and right, scoring deep wounds upon the accursed foe.
Despite all their ardour and the element of surprise the Storm Heralds were not having everything their own way. Their blows lacked killing power and their reactions were slowed by the disease within them. The Alpha Legion were now the ones caught in a vice yet had all their might at their disposal. With the experience honed over a lifetime of war Persion could tell that the battle was finely balanced and the smallest thing could yet swing it either way.
At that moment there was an actinic flash and a screaming, chittering noise that resounded in dimensions beyond Euclidian geometries. From nowhere a fireball came at the Storm Heralds, shaped in the form of a daemon's head with chattering fangs that seemed to be laughing mockingly. It hit right amongst them and exploded like a grenade going off, green shards of fire cutting through Ceramite with contemptuous disdain.
Half a dozen proud Brothers were thrown aside by the blast, leaving a gaping hole in their line. Into that hole poured Traitors, led by an Imperious Sorcerer who had four twisted horns on his helm and a three-headed staff, that still glowed from the discharge of power. The Traitors rushed at the scattered Storm Heralds, catching them in a moment of vulnerability and the battle became more ferocious than ever.
Persion stepped into the gap, ready to fight but found himself confronted by a lone warrior. He was a giant, equal to Furion in height and his armour was decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' shapes. The Traitor raised a cursed double-headed axe in readiness to fight and he bellowed, "Prepare to die Storm Herald and when you get to hell tell them that it was Gamma who sent you there!"