Fame Cimex Chapter 37
The Enginarium was a place of power in the most literal sense, filled with gigantic furnaces and towering reactor stacks. Ancient, baroque machines purred away at mysterious tasks and fat lightning bolts arced between randomly placed pylons. The heat was incredible and the background radiation levels were troublingly high, the result of poorly understood technology and shoddily constructed shielding devices. At the best of times life here was short and brutal, men being sacrificed so that humanity could possess starflight and this was hardly the best of times.
Between the soaring reactors surged endless waves of alien invaders, a veritable tidal wave of chitin pouring into the compartment from every hatch. There were thousands of Hormagaunts, Warriors, Ravenors and Rippers, an ocean of pale skin and purple chitin each one bearing long claws and sharp fangs. The tide just kept coming and coming and coming, the Tyranids were countless in numbers and seemingly frantic to get inside. Their alien minds may have been utterly incomprehensible to men, but their determination to secure the Enginarium was unmistakable.
Against this tide stood a line of blue ceramite, ten Storm Heralds alone and unsupported before the might of the Tyranid race. They were fighting tooth and nail to hold the line, their bolters long since exhausted, now they were reduced to using combat blades and bolt pistols to resist the horde of travesties. Amongst their number was Sergeant Priyar, he was battered and scarred while his power armour was a ragged mess of cuts and gouges. He was wielding a half-empty bolt pistol, down to its last clip and his Power Maul, which was engraved with litanies of Detestation.
Priyar was being beset by three Guants at once, trying to smother him in trashing, clawed bodies. Priyar dodged a claw that swept by his face and stepped back; he increased the yield of his maul and swept it about to smash into the skull of the nearest Tyranid. The weapon's energy field destroyed the head of the beast instantly and the resulting blast wave knocked the other two back, buying him a second's respite. Priyar took a moment to glance about, seeing the situation and assessing the battle. The Sergeant had known he lacked the numbers to hold the vast Enginarium so had gathered his Marines at a choke point, a set of ascending metal steps between two reactors casings that led up to a narrow gantry some thirty feet above. Standing upon that gantry was Brother Adreal, wielding the squad's Heavy Bolter and firing continuously into the horde. His weapon blazed away, heedless of the ammunition it was expending, but then none of them would live long enough for that to matter.
Priyar knew the battle here was but a holding action, his only goal to delay the Tyranid's advance long enough for the Tech-Adepts and Enginseers to complete their ritual invocations. They were currently high above him in a small control room attached to the gantry, exhorting the Machine Spirits to enact the Rite of Self-Immolation. This would destroy the Light of Terra but in doing so take the Hive Ship with it. Priyar had just spoken to Captain Toran and informed him of the plan; he could only hope that he had given enough warning for Third Company to evacuate to a safe distance. There was no way to delay the countdown or pause the Rite, and Priyar knew that if the Captain did not get his Marines out first then they would all die here.
Priyar was standing upon the metal steps and he saw a Warrior form jump towards him. He met it with a sweep of his power maul that blasted free a clawed limb, then he followed up with a blow to the sternum that collapsed its chest inwards. Priyar kicked the corpse back into the teeming horde pressing up the steps and called over the vox, "Honoured Adepts, the foe is advancing, we cannot hold much longer!"
A monotone voice answered him saying, "My lord, the Machine Spirits are most reluctant, we struggle to disengage the safety geas upon the coolant systems. You must buy us more time to complete our Rite."
Priyar growled in frustration, "Make haste, we shall lay down our lives to defend you, but that will only delay the foe for so long."
The Tyranid horde hissed as it surged forward, pouring up the steps in an avalanche of flesh. The squad met them with faith and fury, hacking and stabbing with every last fibre of their being. The horde pressed them backwards step after step, but every inch was bought with blood and the Space Marines were reaping a fearful tally. Priyar raised his maul high and cried loudly for them all to hear, "Fight on Space Marines, the eyes of the Emperor rest upon us and we shall not fail him! So long as one Storm Herald still stands we are not defeated!"
The squad redoubled their efforts and fought even harder, hacking and slashing away at the wall of flesh. Priyar had never been one for glory and fame, telling his squad to seek only to be the best Astartes they could be, yet he had never seen greater feats of valour or courage. His men fought like lions, killing everything that came up those steps. Their every blow slew an enemy and the stairs grew wet with spilled alien blood. The Space Marines ignored it though, never relenting in their determination to hold back the tide. This was more than a battle it was a model of humanity's struggle to survive in a malevolent cosmos. An endless tide of horror that only increased in number, set against the strength and courage of mankind's champions. Held at bay only by Humanity's stubborn refusal to yield, no matter what the odds may have to say.
Priyar heard his squad's exhortations even over the noise of the battle and was made proud by cries of "Alien Fiends! Taste my fury! None shall pass! For the Emperor!" Hatred was in their hearts, death was in their hands and the Tyranids were torn asunder, body after body falling to be trampled under the hooves and claws of the rest of the horde. Yet for all their bravery and skill the Space Marines remained vastly outnumbered and despite all their valour, they were assuredly doomed.
Brother Cyias was the first to fall, dragged down by a dozen fanged monsters. He was joined moments later by Brother Movaan, who was snared by a Warrior's lash and dragged out of position, pulled down into the horde before being torn to shreds. Brother Gorfan held the squad's flamer and he was unleashing long bursts of promethium to drive the horde back. Gaunts writhed and hissed as they died in the inferno yet from the flames arose a sinuous Ravenor, its carapace scorched and blackened from the heat. It moved like lightning and before Gorfan could react it had dashed forwards and stabbed down with its claws, plunging long talons through his breastplate into his hearts. Next to him Brother Khalus was fending off a Warrior form that battered at his plate. He held it at bay with grim determination but failed to realise that this was merely a distraction. From below another Warrior had climbed the underside of the steps and as he battled on, it ripped the stairs out from beneath his feet. Khalus simply disappeared into a gaping hole, falling into the horde below which rolled over him in a frenzied wave.
Priyar snarled to see good Astartes laid low and swung his maul wide, blasting aside a dozen lesser beasts. He knew that the tide was turning against the Space Marines and they could not hold on much longer. Death was inevitable yet every minute they delayed the Tyranids was a victory in itself, a minute more for the Company to escape and the Adepts to finish their Rites. Over the noise Priyar roared to the squad, "This is the moment you have waited for all your lives, the chance to show the universe how an Astartes dies!"
The squad gritted their teeth and fought on but seconds later Brother Avixus was beset by a swarm of Rippers, the tiny creatures scaling his armour in a living carpet to cover him head to toe. He never ceased to fight even as they chewed their way through the armour's seals, tearing at the flesh beneath. Avixus fought to the last, never dropping his weapon until the moment he keeled over in death. Next to him Brother Ronius was ensnared by the jaws of a Warrior, its long fangs sinking into his arm and pinning him still. He did not hesitate though, snatching a Frag grenade from his belt and flicking off the pin one-handed. He shoved the grenade into a black eye socket and held it there as the explosive went off, taking them both to the grave in a flash of light and shrapnel.
The battle hung on a knife's edge, but then from the back of the horde arose a torrent of shooting, rising above the heads of the remaining Astartes. Priyar was confused for a moment until he heard the thunder of the Heavy Bolter ceasing and a second later saw Brother Adreal's body toppling over the gantry railing, huge holes chewed in his armour by living ammunition. With the suppressing fire gone the Tyranids surged forward, catching Brothers Finial and Axac in a frenzy of claws. Priyar saw their life signs go dead in his helm and snarled in anger as he realised that he was now the last of the squad left alive. The Tyranids surged up the stairs to claim victory, but Priyar knocked the first of them aside with a blast of energy from his maul and roared at the top of his voice, "Last Man Standing and still we are not defeated!"
The Tyranids ignored his cry and redoubled their efforts, but Priyar was already in motion. He raised his maul high and in one sweep smashed it into the stairs, blasting a massive shockwave through the metal. The narrow staircase crumpled under the blow and then began to collapse, taking the massed Tyranids with it in a piled heap. Priyar however had leapt backwards, stumbling onto the gantry itself. He found himself standing thirty feet over the massed horde with nowhere left to fall back to anymore. The Tyranids stared at him with hunger in their eyes and many began clawing at the walls, starting to climb their way up inch by inch.
Priyar knew that he had bought but a moment and called, "Adepts, adepts can you hear me?" but there was no reply. Perhaps they had succeeded in their rite, perhaps they had failed, but in truth none of that mattered now. Priyar looked over the endless horde of Tyranids poised below him, filling the Enginarium from wall to wall. They writhed in eagerness to reach him, a thousand claws waiting to tear at him, a million fangs waiting to taste his flesh. Priyar knew this was the moment of his death and all other concerns fell by the wayside. The war, the Imperium, the Company, even his own life, he forgot it all as he embraced the reality of his situation. Death was upon him and all that remained was to choose how he would face it.
Priyar reached up and wrenched off his helm, wanting to look his enemy in the eye. He breathed for a moment, simply breathing to centre himself, then he made his choice. Priyar raised his maul vertically before his lips to honour his weapon's spirit, valiant to the last, and he whispered, "We are the Emperor's Storm." Then the Sergeant steeled himself, he took a step and then another, throwing himself off the gantry to sail out high above the horde. Priyar held his power maul in an iron grip as he leapt into the air and saw the Tyranids below raise their claws to greet him, a forest of razor sharp knives spread out before him. Priyar smiled as he plunged towards the waiting masses, falling like a thunderbolt from above and as he soared towards his death he cried aloud, "We are His Wrath!"