Bloodlord
Braden Campbell

 
The cultists were like an oncoming wall. There must have been two hundred of them. They were armed mostly with laspistols and whatever heavy tools they had scrounged from the city’s now abandoned manufactoria. Still, through my magnoculars I could see some scavenged weapons of military grade – grenade launchers and flamers – and the ogryns too. I’ve always found them revolting, even when they were fighting on our side. These corrupted brutes were even worse. They led the attack, screaming and bellowing like possessed animals, waving axes, hammers and picks. On their heads they wore hoods made of sackcloth with evil sigils painted onto them.
 	We poured lasfire into them as they came, but it didn’t seem to affect them in the least. Even the shells of our heavy autocannons did little to slow them. For the thousandth time since coming to this planet, I wished that we still had at least one operational tank. 
 	To my right, Velez, our primaris psyker, had his eyes squeezed shut and fingers planted forcefully against the side of his head. Tiny arcs of electricity danced across his brow as he surveyed all the possible futures that stemmed from this moment – he didn’t look particularly reassured by any of them. On my left, the priest, Lantz, had his arms extended before him, palms open. He chanted loudly for all to hear, crying out for divine deliverance from both the lightning and the tempest. Both of them were Cadians, like myself, and therefore upstanding and capable men in their own right. 
 	‘Options?’ I barked. 
 	Velez answered first. He opened his eyes and stared at the oncoming mass of corrupted flesh that had once been the good people of the city of Rycklor. ‘I recommend we fall back,’ he said in his raspy voice. 
 	I agreed completely. Behind us was the bridge, and if we regrouped on the far side then the enemy would be channelled into a compact column which would allow us to concentrate our firepower to greater effect, or failing that, blow the structure out from under them and send the whole lot into the flowing, corrosive acid of the Solray River.
 	However, before I could open my mouth to order a retreat, Major Leclair appeared by my side. Like the rest of Zhenya’s natives, he was pale and blond. His moustache, an affectation worn by all the men on this planet, was so thick that it covered the entirety of his upper lip. His sword was drawn.
 	‘I’m certain I didn’t hear that correctly, Captain Kervis,’ he said to me. ‘We must seize the initiative by charging the enemy ourselves.’
 	Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Leclair had assembled all of the remaining members of the Zhenyan defence force. They had affixed bayonets to the ends of their lasrifles, and their red and blue uniforms stood out in sharp contrast to the bleak emptiness of the surrounding countryside. 
 	‘No,’ I replied. ‘We need to pull back to better ground.’ I didn’t have time to go over this argument again. On paper Leclair outranked me and oversaw the local militia, whereas I was in charge of an actual regiment of the Astra Militarum. That alone gave me seniority. It had been a contention between us since the day we first arrived on their world. Leclair had expected that we would fill the gaps in his depleted force and not usurp control of it completely.
 	The major, who had been trained in a comfortable local academy rather than a Whiteshield youth auxiliary program, quoted a passage from the Tactica Imperium: ‘The offensive alone can give victory, but the defensive gives only defeat and shame.’ 
 	The Zhenyans nodded, and I heard at least one ‘hurrah’ from somewhere nearby. 
 	But I too was familiar with the Astra Militarum’s encyclopedia of sage advice: ‘If the enemy comes on in a great horde, try to direct them into a narrow defile or enclosed space, so that their numbers work against them…’
 	‘Yes, yes. I’m familiar with that one,’ he replied.
 	‘Then you agree that our priority is to defend this point.’
 	The corner of Leclair’s right eye twitched with disappointment. ‘Yes, sir.’ 
 	Without another word, and considering the matter closed, I turned and began running down the length of the bridge. Lantz remained almost joined to me at the elbow, and Velez fell in as fast as his left leg would allow. He had broken it during our first campaign together, and the knee joint had never been quite right afterwards. On the far side, behind sandbag barricades, my Cadian brothers and sisters were standing with their weapons at the ready. 
 	‘Firing line,’ I shouted. ‘Form a firing line, on the double!’
 	The rearguard scrambled into two ranks. Lasgun safeties clicked off in unison. Only when the psyker, the priest and I were safely behind the barricades, did I realize that Leclair and the Zhenyans had failed to follow us. 
 	At the far end of the bridge, Leclair raised his sword towards the cultists. ‘For glory and honour!’ he cried. 
 	‘For Zhenya!’ the soldiers yelled, their spirits buoyed up immeasurably by the major’s infectious bravado. 
 	They sprinted forwards, blades and rifles held up like spears, with Leclair in the lead, and plowed into the foe. For a moment it seemed as if their exuberance alone would carry the day. They stabbed the ogryns again and again, and pummelled them with the butts of their rifles. Sprays of blood formed a red mist in the air. Then, the hulking creatures roared and struck back. Things went very badly after that. 
 	These ogryns were like nothing I’d ever encountered. Not only did they seem to ignore the multiple, gaping wounds inflicted upon them, but also their already formidable strength seemed to have increased. The ogryns lashed out with their weapons and the bodies of Leclair’s men crumpled and fell in an instant. Limbs went cartwheeling through the air, and cries, which moments before had been patriotic, turned bloodcurdling. 
 	Velez gripped his long psyker staff with both hands. The cultists were surging around the ogryns now. They hit Leclair and his men on their flanks, chanting and screaming in tortured tones. Blood drooled from their mouths and turned their eyeballs red, covering their clothing and dripping on the ground.
 	‘Damned fool!’ I spat. The major had doomed not only himself but all of his men with his rashness. 
 	I dropped to one knee and unlocked a nearby metal storage box. Inside were a selection of frag grenades, satchel charges and a remote detonator. I withdrew this last item, extended a stubby antenna and let my thumb hover over the single, red button on its side. With the smallest of motions, the explosive compounds wired into the bridge’s support structures several months previously were ready to be activated – a contingency against a situation just like this. 
 	Eight months ago, everything in this star system had suddenly fallen apart. Blood-thirsty cults had swept through the cities, and there had been daily mass murders in the agricultural areas. It was an insurrection on a massive scale, and local forces, like Major Leclair’s, were quickly overwhelmed. As a result, we, the sons and daughters of Cadia, had been brought in to help restore order. Still, with every battle we fought, the chaos only became compounded. The system’s infrastructure had broken down to almost nothing and interplanetary communications were virtually non-existent. We hadn’t actually received orders from anyone in system command since last summer, but the commands we did receive had been quite clear. We were told to establish a containment perimeter around the Rycklor manufactorum district, to protect all bridges and roadways leading into and out of said district, to annihilate anything from within the city that attempted to stage a breakout, and to wait for further reinforcements. 
 	Now it was early winter – the ground was hard and jagged and the wind was damp and cold. Thick banks of unnatural, rust-coloured fog roiled in the skies and obscured the city. Reinforcements had yet to appear and supplies were running dangerously low. Still, we held our position as we had been told to do, trusting that a column of Leman Russes would come trundling down the road to lead us to victory. If this bridge disappeared by the time they arrived, our heavy armour could end up stranded on the wrong side of the Solray. More than that, the eventual recapture of the city of Rycklor might be crippled by the loss of a major thoroughfare. 
 	I looked up at Velez. ‘Maybe it won’t come to this,’ I said quietly. 
 	Looking down the bridge once more, I saw that Leclair’s men were still alive and fighting valiantly. An impressive number of bodies lay sprawled on the ground at their feet, but it was obvious to me that their cause was lost. They were outnumbered nearly three to one and, what’s more, the cultists seemed enraged beyond mortal understanding. 
 	I searched the whirling melee and at last caught a glimpse of a silver sabre as it was thrust through the chest of one of the ogryns. The hulking corpse toppled forward to reveal the major. The hem of his greatcoat was soaked in the blood of traitors and he had taken a nasty wound to his left shoulder, to which he seemed to pay no mind.
 	I was impressed. Again, he was no Cadian, but his valour couldn’t be denied. It was possible, I thought, that in the years to come his actions here, during the Siege of Rycklor, might find their way into the teaching manuals of the Departmento Munitorum. 
 	Another of the ogryns rose up behind him, its face covered by some kind of metal plate or welder’s mask, and in its hands it carried what appeared to be the bottom half of a street sign or lamppost with a chunky wad of rockcrete at one end. He hefted this impromptu club over one shoulder and swung it with all his might, striking Major Leclair in the side of the head. The handsome face was obliterated, and his body fountained blood before it collapsed to the ground. 
 	The Zhenyans had failed. Now, it was up to us.
 	‘When they funnel down the deck of that bridge,’ I shouted, ‘open fire and don’t stop until I say so. First rank, take aim. Second rank, at the ready.’
 	Our priest unchained a thick tome from his belt, opened its yellowed pages and began to read aloud. I recognised the passage at once as being taken from the Book of Saint Ollanius, the patron saint of the Astra Militarum. 
 	‘Let me preach His name!’ he cried out. ‘Praise be to the Emperor, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.’
 	At the end of the bridge, the last of Leclair’s men cried out and fell in a heap. The cultists cheered and began to surge towards us. The remaining ogryns were in the lead, once more acting as living shields for the rest. I watched them rush headlong towards us, becoming dimly aware of a high-pitched howling in the distance.
 	‘Part the heavens, Lord, and come down. Touch the mountains, so that they smoke. Send forth lightning and scatter our enemy.’
 	I raised my free hand and clutched the detonator tightly with the other. ‘First rank, fire!’
 	With a loud crack, twenty-five beams of searing light struck the brutes. Two of the monsters stumbled and fell face first onto the bridge deck plating. The cultists scrambled over their dead bodies. 
 	‘Reach down your hand from on high…’
 	‘Second rank, fire!’
 	Twenty-five more shots struck the oncoming foe. Another ogryn went down, steam escaping from the holes in his chest. Still, the horde kept coming and the howling sound grew louder.
 	‘Intercede on our behalf…’
 	‘Fire at will!’
 	My soldiers loosed a last, desperate volley that felled one more of the ogryn. By my count there were still nine left, and behind them perhaps three times our number in cultists. We were about to be overrun. 
 	I put my thumb on the detonator. 
 	‘And from the deadly peril, deliver us,’ Lantz concluded. 
 	‘Look!’ Velez cried. He was pointing at something in the sky behind me. I whirled around. 
 	A transport ship, resembling nothing so much as a flying brick, had broken through the sickly-coloured clouds and descended towards us. Its wings spanned nearly thirty meters and its hull was painted flat black. It had massive, twin engines mounted on each side, and at the back sprouted a stubby tail with dual stabilizers. As it grew closer, the screaming sound became a thunderous roar, and I could just make out white panels on its sides. Another, smaller brick was fastened to its underbelly, secured in place by six, segmented, mechanical arms. 
 	Realization hit, leaving me speechless – you hear stories about such things, but you never really expect it to happen. Yet, there it was: a Thunderhawk. The Space Marines were coming to save us.
 	The transport suddenly tilted its nose up, and a blast of heated air washed over the land. Clumps of frozen dirt and debris swirled everywhere. I threw an arm across my eyes, struggling to watch as the titanic machine glided overhead, covering us with its shadow. The thing nestled underneath it was a wide, tracked vehicle with weapon mountings on either side. I blinked as I realised that it could only be a Land Raider. 
 	Velez was just as dumbstruck as I, and Lantz had dropped his book of sacred verse and stood with arms spread wide. He grinned like an idiot, mouthing words that were impossible to hear over the Thunderhawk’s turbines. 
 	I tore my attention away and glanced down the bridge. At the sight of this incredible intervention, the cultists had finally stopped their murderous charge. They stood frozen near the midpoint of the bridge and watched as the transport’s six mechanical arms suddenly flicked open. The Land Raider dropped onto the deck, its mass so great that the rockcrete beneath its treads cracked and splintered. Then, its engine came to life and it began to rumble forwards. With its role complete, the Thunderhawk rocketed back into the rusty clouds, leaving twisted contrails in its wake. 
 	The mass of former factory workers began to back away from the Land Raider’s implacable advance, but the ogryns showed a stunning lack of fear. The brute that had killed Major Leclair raised his massive cudgel.
 	‘Blood for the Blood God,’ he cried, and struck the tank’s forward hull. 
 	There was a resounding clang, and I saw the rockcrete at the base of the pole shatter into powder. Unaffected, the Land Raider repaid the fellow’s heresy by grinding him into mush beneath its treads. The other five were bowled over the guardrails where they splashed into the green sludge of the river. 
 	The Space Marines had replaced their tank’s lascannons with an assembly of boltguns, rigged to fire in unison. The sound was indescribable, and it roused not only myself, but also Lantz, Velez and the others out of our stupor. I took my thumb away from the detonator button and put the device back into the lock box. The sight of the Land Raider effortlessly pushing back the cultists brought on a heady enthusiasm. 
 	‘Fall in behind that tank,’ I shouted. ‘Re-establish the line at the other end of the bridge. Support for the Space Marines on my order.’
 	‘Onward!’ Lantz shouted. He leapt over the sandbag wall with the agility of a man half his age and began running madly after the Land Raider. ‘Lend assistance to the Emperor’s Angels of Death!’
 	The massive machine was nearly across the bridge by the time we caught up to it. The cultists, whose numbers had been greatly thinned by the firepower of the Space Marines, were once again on open ground. They were about to break and flee back into Rycklor, when the Land Raider suddenly stopped. 
 	For a split second the world was still. Then, the front of the machine opened up, dropping its assault ramp amidst the bodies of the slain. Panels on either side of the entryway exploded outwards, spraying the cultists with jagged shards of shrapnel, and from the inside of the cavity, Space Marines strode out into the pale, morning light. 
 	There were sixteen of them. Like their tank, the armour they wore was primarily black with patches of white, but there appeared to be different styles between them. Their leader clad in a baroque suit with a high collar and a long, flowing cloak carried a shield the size of a dinner table, and a hammer that crackled with a nimbus of destructive energy. Behind him were eight who wore the iconic power armour of the Adeptus Astartes – impossibly heavy and with massive, rounded shoulder plates. They carried boltguns festooned with purity seals and strips of parchment. And then, crouched low, came seven burly men in a lighter kind of combat dress that was not too different from my carapace armour. They too wielded boltguns. 
 	Did this indicate differing levels of rank or achievement? Were we looking at a single unit, or some kind of mixed formation? I had no way of knowing for certain; the doctrines of the Space Marines are unknown and inscrutable to persons such as myself. In truth, it mattered very little.
 	The corrupted citizens rallied and charged. I don’t know why – they might have been suddenly encouraged by their superior numbers, or perhaps their so-called blood god spurred them on. My guess is the latter, because within a few seconds, there was blood everywhere.
 	The Space Marines received the charge by firing their boltguns. Explosive shells tore limbs from torsos, heads from necks and cut some of the cultists clean in half. Their leader used his shield to smash three of the burly men into heaps of meat and broken bone before swinging his hammer in a wide horizontal arc to decapitate two others. The ground was covered in crimson, too frozen to soak up even the smallest amount of gore. It pooled around the Space Marines’ feet and sprayed across the white patches of their armour. 
 	Through it all, the mob fought back, refusing to flee even when it became apparent that they were going to lose. It seemed their god had sent them on a suicide mission. 
 	The five ogryns that had fallen off the bridge hauled themselves up from out of the river. Their massive weapons remained intact, even though their cloth hoods and ragged clothing had all dissolved in the toxic sludge. Their skin was now a sickly green colour in the places where it was not falling off entirely. How they were still alive, let alone hungry for combat, was a miracle. 
 	The Space Marines whirled around to face this new threat. Boltguns were of no use at such close range, so they slashed and stabbed their attackers with knives the size of short swords. I saw one of the ogryn lifelessly slide beneath the surface of the river. The others, however, refused to die and struck back with fury. 
 	Their blows were harmlessly absorbed or deflected by the Space Marines’ armour, save for an enormous pickaxe that flew up and shattered the helmet of one of the suits. I saw the Space Marine stumble backwards from the force of the blow, falling onto his back in a puddle of blood. 
 	The Space Marines had their backs to the mob of cultists and now faced a battle on two fronts, something wholly unacceptable. I ordered my shock troops to join in the fray and they happily obliged. Frustrated, cold and hungry, they unleashed all their pent-up frustration on the cultists, using the butts of their lasguns to knock out teeth and break noses. When one of the enemy fell or doubled over, they finished the wretch with the steel toes of their boots. It was a brutal, horrible scene that had more in common with a street brawl than a military counter-attack. 
 	At once I fell back into familiar motions of cut, thrust, and parry. Several of the cultists I killed were nondescript, their features lost in a blur of kill-or-be-killed. I do recall a middle-aged man with a scraggly beard though, only because his neck geysered like a waterfall as I dragged my blade across it. As he went down, I caught a glimpse of the Space Marines’ leader.
 	He was using his shield to protect the fallen, helmetless comrade, while beating at the ogryn with his unwieldy hammer; there was a sound like thunder and a flash of light every time the weapon found its mark. The ogryn took three blows to the chest – the last of which sent him flying backwards into the river once and for all. The remaining ogryns blinked as if blinded, shaking their heads, and the Space Marines finished them with no further incident to themselves. 
 	Likewise, our fight against the cultists drew to a hasty conclusion. From somewhere on my left, a young woman drove a club into my ribs. My armour dulled most of the pain, but the impact left me gasping for breath. Spinning around, I kicked her legs out from under her and thrust my sword through her heart before she could get back up. I sprang back and searched for another target, only to find none.
 	Of the fifty soldiers I had started with, I counted thirty-two still alive. We were surrounded by a sea of destroyed bodies and congealing gore. Velez was a slight distance away, leaning heavily against one of the bridge’s support columns, and several dead cultists were heaped before him. 
 	‘It’s a sign,’ he said, as if reading my thoughts. 
 	My boots made squishing sounds as I approached him. ‘Velez, don’t be paranoid. There’s a lot of it, sure, but it’s just blood.’ 
 	‘Is it, Olen? Is it?’ Forgoing both my rank and last name, he tapped his staff against one of the corpses at his feet. The chest was covered by a pair of circles, nearly intertwined, that appeared to have been burned directly onto the skin. 
 	‘A brand of some kind?’
 	Velez seemed to consider how to reply. He was sweating despite the cold, his gaze drifting over the scene and coming to rest on the Space Marines. ‘I can’t yet say for certain. But they didn’t arrive just to help us, I promise you that.’ 
 	The Space Marine leader was kneeling beside the one who had taken the severe blow to the head. He set his hammer and shield down and removed the helmet of his armour, revealing skin the colour of old leather. His nose was his most prominent feature – wide and flat, as if it had been broken and reset innumerable times – and his brow was creased with worry. 
 	The scene was an oil painting come to life, worthy of immortalization in the stained glass or vaulted ceiling of any cathedral. Lantz must have thought so as well. 
 	‘Would that I had the means to capture this moment,’ he said loudly. 
 	The faces of all sixteen Space Marines shot up to glare at him in unison. Velez closed his eyes and sighed as I darted forwards. 
 	‘I think what he means is that we are very, very grateful for your help. Isn’t that right, Lantz?’ I replied.
 	‘To have the Emperor’s Angels of Death stand with us, to be allowed to fight at their side, is an honour none here deserve,’ Lantz continued, even louder this time. 
 	The leader rose. ‘Angels of Death,’ he repeated. His face showed no emotion, but the tone of his voice held a hint of amusement. Reaching down, he helped the fallen Space Marine to his feet. Two of the others retrieved his shield, hammer and helmet. He took the helmet first and passed it to the man who no longer had one, then calmly rearmed himself. ‘I am looking for Captain Olen Kervis, Cadian Guard, Twenty-Eighth Regiment.’
 	I instinctively snapped to attention. ‘Reporting… Sir, my lord? I’m sorry, I have no idea how I’m supposed to address you.’
 	‘I am Isaias, Castellan of the Black Templars.’ His rank meant nothing to me, but it sounded very impressive. ‘Captain, you are currently overseeing the command of a number of native Zhenyans.’
 	‘A local force regiment, yes.’
 	‘I require use of them,’ he said.
 	One of my junior officers, a sergeant named Crowell, stepped forward. Her violet-coloured eyes darted nervously at the Templars before she shook her head at me. Leclair’s sword rested across her outstretched arms.
 	‘Castellan, I regret to inform you the last of the local soldiers have all died in combat against the enemy.’
 	Isaias frowned in silent tableau for a moment. Sickly clouds swallowed the sun once more, and the wind picked up, whistling through the superstructure of the bridge. ‘Then, you and your men will come with us. Now.’
 	‘Castellan,’ I said cautiously, ‘we have orders to protect this bridge and to keep the enemy bottled up in Rycklor until a relief force arrives. Are you that force?’
 	‘We are not.’
 	‘Then, I’m sorry, but I cannot abandon this post.’
 	He blinked several times, which I presume is the reaction a Space Marine makes when he is confused or in a state of disbelief. 
 	‘Yes?’ I finally asked.
 	‘One does not say no to the Angels of Death, Kervis,’ Lantz hissed.
 	‘I’m not going before a court martial for dereliction of duty,’ I said. ‘No one here is.’
 	Isaias raised his chin. ‘Your commitment is well placed, captain, but you mistake a command for a request.’
 	Velez had been correct. There was an agenda at work here and we were to play some part in it. 
 	‘Why? What could Space Marines possibly need our help with?’
 	Again, there was a moment of strained silence punctuated only by the winter wind. 
 	‘We are going into Rycklor,’ Isaias finally said. 
 	This statement caused a stir. No one had gone into the city for months. It was firmly in the hold of renegades, cultists and, it was whispered, horrific monsters that could strip the flesh from a man in seconds. 
 	‘Normally,’ Isaias continued, ‘we would use teleport homing beacons or orbital drop pods in a situation such as this. However, Rycklor is blanketed by a fell miasma.’
 	I didn’t recognize the term. It sounded arcane and otherworldly. ‘By a what?’
 	Isaias turned towards the city. From here it appeared as a jumbled collection of dark shapes through thick fog that hung over it like a death shroud. 
 	‘Ah, yes, that. It’s been there ever since we arrived,’ I said. ‘The forces couldn’t maintain their hold and had to abandon it. They told us that not long after, this… fog… billowed up and smothered it. It’s spreading across the countryside now, but we’ve never been able to formerly identify it. Maybe a nerve agent or chemical weapon?’ 
 	‘Nothing so mundane. It does, however render the cityscape immune to our augur arrays. Without accurate targeting data, we must instead enter the city by using Integuma,’ he said, casting a glance at the Land Raider. 
 	Thinking that I knew what the Space Marines were after, I snapped my fingers and held out a hand. Crowell read the gesture intuitively, handed Leclair’s sword to Lantz and produced a field map from her kit. She unfolded the wrinkled paper and gave it to me, revealing a rough map of Rycklor compiled from the descriptions of local soldiers. 
 	‘I can offer you this,’ I said, holding the map towards Isais. ‘We made it for the day long-range artillery would arrive. I can’t vouch for it entirely, though. It’s based on a lot of conjecture and is likely months out of date.’
 	‘We have no need for your maps,’ Isaias said. ‘You will guide us safely to our destination.’
 	‘Which is?’ I asked. 
 	‘The Verevya Basilica.’
 	I removed my hat and vigorously scratched the top of my head. On the map, Verevya Basilica was located near the centre of the city on an artificial island created by several intersecting canals. What the Templars were asking us – telling us – to do was reasonable from a tactical standpoint. Even a machine as impenetrable as the Land Raider could find itself crippled by a single well-placed explosive device, especially since the mysterious fog rendered augurs all but unusable. Our job would be to clear a path for it by finding and eliminating such potential traps, as well as any enemies that might be lying in wait. The journey would not be long, but it would be fraught with danger. 
 	I put my hat back on and called to the sergeant. As she snapped a salute, her eyes darted nervously toward Isaias. ‘Sir?’ 
 	‘Sergeant, I want you to gather up twelve men and form a squad. Repair our barricades, and get the autocannons cleaned and reloaded. You’re in charge of defending this bridge now.’
 	Crowell nodded. ‘And the bodies, sir?’
 	‘Gather up the ones that are ours and form a burial detail. Burn the rest.’
 	Crowell saluted once again and left to carry out her orders. I turned back to Isaias. 
 	‘I’ll leave a token force here,’ I said. ‘That means I can give you two full squads of shock troops, plus myself, the priest and our psyker. Will that be enough?’
 	‘It will suffice.’ 
 	I called Velez to come up. There were weapons and lasgun powerpacks scattered among the dead cultists that we could put to use, and I intended him to oversee this unpleasant duty. But the second he limped to my side, I saw Isaias’ face tighten and give Velez a burning, hate-filled stare. He actually growled at him. 
 	Velez kept his eyes on the ground and began chewing on his lower lip. His mysterious abilities had always been an issue within our regiment. Everyone made certain to steer clear of him, and no one besides myself placed any real amount of trust in him. He was given the same regard that one might give an unexploded bomb: it was safe for the time being but could go off at any time, and when that happened it was best to be at a safe distance. 
 	This was something more, though. Isaias’s eyes burned with enmity, not suspicion. Velez withered under the Templar’s gaze as I gave him orders to secure any extra weapons and ammunition he could find.
 	‘Especially flamers,’ I said. ‘I know I saw a few.’ 
 	‘Yes, sir,’ he muttered. 
 	‘I can give you fifteen minutes, at most. Get whatever you need and meet back here.’
 	‘No,’ Isaias said. ‘It is not coming with us.’
 	I caught the full implication of the impersonal pronoun. ‘I wouldn’t dare go into the city without him,’ I replied. ‘He’s a diviner. He’s our help in avoiding traps and ambushes, just as he’s always been.’
 	‘A psyker is a gateway to things and powers that you could not begin to comprehend. Margh will easily tempt him into destruction.’ 
 	I had no idea who or what Isaias was referring to, but I was determined to take Velez with us into Rycklor. ‘He bears the symbols of Imperial conditioning and carries the staff of a registered psyker. That’s not assurance enough for you?’
 	Isaias stared at me for a moment, and I did my best not to whither beneath his icy gaze. ‘If time were not against us, I would leave the lot of you here and find others to guide us,’ he said, plodding back into the gaping maw of the Land Raider. The other Templars fell in behind him without so much as a word. 
 	Lantz scowled at me. ‘You forget yourself, captain. We are all servants of the Emperor, but the Angels of Death are closer to His divinity than mortal men. They are to be obeyed, not argued with.’ 
 	‘Sir,’ Velez said quietly, ‘I agree. You should have let it go.’
 	‘Probably. But if we’re going into the city, then I want every possible protection.’
 	On the horizon, the dark spires of Rycklor looked like the jagged teeth of a colossal monster lying in wait to swallow us whole. 
 	The journey down the highway was uneventful. The sky remained threatening and sickly, and the wind blew steadily across the empty plain. Lantz, Velez, and I walked along together while Integuma rumbled a short distance behind us. Up ahead, my men moved in a loose formation across the width of the road. Two of them carried flame throwers they had ripped from the dead hands of the cultists. Trooper Medrano, the youngest member of our platoon, had been entrusted with a vox-caster, one of only two communication arrays we had left. I considered taking the three grenade launchers we had discovered, but in the end left them with Sergeant Crowell. If our mission into Rycklor succeeded only in stirring up the crazed and mutated inhabitants, allowing them to stream out of the ruins like a swarm of angry hornets, she would need them more than me in order to keep that bridge in Imperial hands. 
 	As we neared the city, the dark orange mist – the miasma, Isaias had called it – thickened. It pooled in low places, such as the bomb craters and wrecked vehicles that littered the roadside, and clung to our ankles with wispy tendrils. It smelled of copper and made our eyes water and turn bloodshot. The backs of our throats swelled until it became painful to swallow. Three of the troopers developed nosebleeds, while others began to sporadically cough. Worst of all, it reduced our visibility greatly. 
 	We came to the outermost defence wall. Huge pieces of rockcrete had fallen from its top or been blown out of Rycklor’s external facing. The highway dipped downward into a wide tunnel, filled with swirling banks of gas. We closed up the distance between ourselves and began to head under the wall. Four of the men lit flares that bathed the tunnel with wavering orange light and phantom shapes. The security checkpoints were empty, the gun emplacements were rusted and abandoned – it was a perfect spot for an ambush, and sure enough, within moments we encountered our first trap.
 	It was what we Cadians call an EFP – an explosively formed penetrator – and was little more than a sheet of plasteel lying on the ground. Underneath it was a canister tightly packed with explosives. If Integuma had gone over the plate the detonator would have been triggered, and the plasteel sheet would have rocketed upwards into the tank at several times the speed of sound. Sergeant Ingram, who had the steadiest nerves of any man I’d ever known, disarmed the device and placed the canister into his shoulder bag for safekeeping. 
 	The road pitched upward and we emerged on the other side of the wall. The wind had vanished and a light snow fell, stained an awful colour by the miasma. Before us lay an open area, filled with abandoned vehicles, and beyond that a cluster of dead trees. We made our way carefully between the vehicles, scanning for tripwires or pressure plates. Integuma emerged from the mouth of the tunnel exit and lurched forward, loudly crushing a dozen groundcars beneath its tread as it went. 
 	I rubbed my burning eyes. ‘You know, at first I was overjoyed at the thought of having a tank on our side – an honest-to-Terra tank – but this is ridiculous.’
 	‘Every wretched soul in this city is going hear us coming for miles,’ Ingram replied.
 	I fully agreed. The Land Raider was an immensely powerful weapon to have on one’s side, but it was also a fire magnet. We had to increase our distance from it without completely isolating it either.
 	Although I hated to reduce our small number any further, I ordered Ingram to take half the men to form a scout unit. Composed of the fastest runners, I made certain that they travelled light and leave the excess gear to the rest of us.
 	I unfolded our hand drawn map and smoothed it across the hood of the groundcar. Ingram and I studied it for several minutes, tracing paths through the maze of streets with our fingers. We discounted several possibilities before deciding on a tentative route. Ingram took the paper and left with the scouts. 
 	Slowly we crept towards the cathedral at the centre of Rycklor, and the orange fog grew worse. Crumbled buildings and heaps of rubble leapt into clarity as we came upon them, fading into nonexistence as soon as we passed. We could see no more than half a block in any direction. For the most part, the only sounds were our footsteps as we made our way through the deepening drifts and the distant thrum of Integuma’s engine. Sometimes a sudden screech or the grinding of metal on metal would break the silence, but we could never find its source. 
 	We were passing by a shattered storefront when we heard the sound of crunching glass and boots scrabbling over stones. All of the Guardsmen pulled their lasguns up into firing position, and I drew my pistol. Around the corner, came one of the forward scouts. At the sight of our weapons, he skidded to a halt. Wide-eyed and gasping for breath, he made a flailing gesture, pointing towards something down an adjacent street. 
 	I understood at once. Lighting a flare, I dropped it into the intersection to show the Space Marines our whereabouts and gestured to the scout. ‘Show us,’ I said. 
 	He led us back around the corner and down a narrow, two-laned side street. When this opened up into a circular area, he stopped, bent over with his hands on his knees, and gulped for air. The other members of the scouting party stood nearby. Their faces were pale.
 	‘We thought you should see this, sir,’ one of them said to me. 
 	In the middle of the roundabout was a fluted column three metres tall, atop which the image of some long-dead Imperial nobleman had once stood. The statue now lay toppled in the street, face down and partially buried in the snow. In his place, someone or something had built a pyramid of corpses. In the heap, I could make out men and women, young and old, dark skinned and fair. Once citizens of Rycklor, loyal servants of the Imperium, they were now a grotesque monument to evil. Their arms, legs and bodies were held together by the frozen blood of a thousand wounds. Crimson icicles stretched down to the ground and fused into pools. But that wasn’t the worst part. 
 	‘They… they have no…Where are the heads?’ I finally managed to say. 
 	‘Not here, sir,’ Sergeant Ingram said through a clenched jaw. ‘We looked.’
 	Lantz began to pray softly that the Emperor would take the souls of these unfortunates into His care. A few others began to join him. 
 	‘Velez,’ I said, my gaze still locked on the obscenity before me, ‘does this mean anything to you?’
 	The psyker limped to the base of the column, slipped on a pool of frozen blood, regained his balance and gripped the frigid stone. He closed his eyes and the muscles in his cheeks twitched. 
 	Velez yanked his hand away from the column. ‘Captain, we are in critical danger here.’ 
 	Before he could elaborate, we were bathed in a brilliant light. The Land Raider had turned the corner, and was slowly crawling towards us. Lamps mounted above its track assemblies cast everything in shades of white. The machine ground to a halt, and the forward ramp dropped open with a loud clang. 
 	Castellan Isaias came clomping toward us. I wanted to ask him if the Space Marines knew anything of being subtle or inconspicuous, but decided against it. The Templar leader was still helmetless, and his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the hideous monument. 
 	‘Emperor as my witness, I will repay Samnang Margh for this a hundred-fold,’ he said, breathing thick clouds in the frigid air. Then, he raised his voice to address us. ‘There is no time for rest. We will soon lose what little daylight we have. How close are we to the basilica?’
 	Ingram answered. ‘It’s not far now. To the west there’s a canal. We go over that, then cut through Bivin Park. The church is across the street from there.’
 	Velez touched my sleeve. ‘Captain, I still have to advise against going any farther.’ 
 	‘Keep your intuitions to yourself, psyker!’ Isaias barked. ‘We’ve no need of them here. To abandon us in this mission is to admit defeat, and to admit defeat is to blaspheme against the Emperor.’
 	Lantz apparently agreed with the Space Marine leader, and wanted him to know so. ‘Indeed, captain. If there is a weakening of morale here, it is because of your undermining opinions, Velez. We have our faith and the Emperor’s own angels to watch over us. With those two things, we shall not want.’ 
 	At these words, the men regained some of their fortitude. A few of them even nodded grimly. Medrano cracked his knuckles, like a brawler spoiling for a fight. I had no doubt that a great danger lay ahead of us, just as Velez had said. 
 	I motioned to the two men carrying flamers to set the headless pile ablaze. Streams of burning promethium shot forth and filled the plaza with the stink of roasting flesh. 
 	‘Let’s move out,’ I said.
 	Satisfied, Isaias began to walk back to his transport. Velez, used to being a pariah, silently endured the scowls and whispers directed at him and headed down the street. 
 	‘We’ll just finish this and get the hell out of here,’ I said to him, meaning it to be conciliatory. 
 	Three times we found our path blocked by collapsed buildings and heaps of impassable rubble, and four times we encountered explosive traps designed to gut the belly of any troop transport. We were forced to backtrack and search for alternate routes. I grew more and more frustrated as the hours slipped past and the shadows grew longer. Finally, we passed through a massive manufactorum that had been gutted by fire. The roof was completely gone, save for a blackened, skeletal support beam and sagging catwalks. Snow covered the silent hulks of machines, whose purposes I could not even guess, and the sound of Integuma’s engine reverberated off of the bare brick walls. 
 	The forward squad stopped. Sergeant Ingram waved for me to come join them. Next to a conveyor belt, where the wind was unable to disturb them, a series of footprints were pressed into a snowdrift. They had two large front toes and one behind. From the depth of them, the creature that made them was very heavy. 
 	‘Could be dogs,’ Ingram said hopefully. 
 	‘Have you heard any wild dogs since we’ve been here?’ I scowled. 
 	Ingram muttered something insubordinate in reply that I didn’t catch. We each peered about. Nothing moved in the shadows or the clinging fog, and yet the feeling that we were being watched was unshakable.
 	Outside the building was a neighbourhood of narrow hab-blocks separated by alleyways. The street contracted to the point where the Land Raider’s tracks crumpled the pavement and its side sponsons scraped against the fronts of the buildings. We were forced to alter our formation into a long column. 
 	Three blocks remained until we came to the canal, and the cold was increasing as the afternoon waned. Trooper Medrano was walking not more than five steps ahead of me, his shoulders hunched and head down. Many of the men, Medrano included, had insufficient winter gear, and were having to make do with multiple layers of clothing beneath their flak armour. As an officer I was slightly better off, and thought about offering him the use of my gloves, when something hulking and red shot out of the tiny side street to my right. There was a hot rush of foul-smelling air. Medrano made a sharp gasp, and then he was gone. Something had snagged him and then vanished down the alleyway on the left, trailing blood as it went. The tracks it had made in the snow were the same as those I had seen in the manufactorum. 
 	Ingram broke formation and ran to the mouth of the alley. It was pitch black, but he was determined to charge in, regardless. I caught his arm before he could go any farther. 
 	‘No, don’t!’ I barked.
 	‘Medrano!’ Ingram shouted. Additional hands clasped his shoulders, dragging him back towards the street. 
 	‘He’s gone, trooper,’ I yelled. ‘And if you go charging after him, you will be too. What were you thinking?’
 	There was a scream from somewhere nearby, followed by a baleful, undulating howl. 
 	Then silence.
 	The men holding Ingram back tentatively released their grasp. He let out a long exhalation and said, ‘Sir, he had the vox-caster.’
 	It took a moment for this to sink in. There could now be no contact with Sergeant Crowell back at the bridge and no calling for aid or reinforcements. We were completely cut off from the outside world. My hands balled themselves into fists, and before I knew it, I was cursing Medrano’s name. How could he be so stupid as to let himself be snatched away like that? How could he have let his guard down? 
 	‘Captain!’ Lantz shouted. 
 	But as quickly as the rage had came over me, it suddenly passed. 
 	Everyone was staring. I removed my hat and squeezed my eyes shut. What was happening? We were Cadians, damn it. We didn’t suffer fits of rage, shaken nerves, and internal squabbling that so often plagued other, less-disciplined regiments. If we were going to survive whatever it was that the Space Marines had dragged us into, we would have to stay united and strong. We would also have to get out of the city before we ended up turning on each other.
 	‘Did anyone see it?’ I asked. 
 	‘I did,’ one of the men said. ‘It had four legs, captain, and red skin.’
 	‘It was… terrible,’ said another.
 	Lantz had opened his tome of sacred writings and read from it in a subdued voice. ‘Where the Ruinous Powers are made manifest, there are the nightmares of men given form. When you find yourself in such a place, pilgrim, cling steadfast to the Emperor’s light, for truly you walk among daemons.’
 	He closed the book with a dramatic thunk and no one spoke for several seconds. What more was there to say? Integuma drew steadily closer. I put my hat back on, and we continued once more. With every pace, every shadow that wavered, we expected the creature to return. But it didn’t. 
 	Moments later, we entered onto a broad avenue hedged by low, rockcrete security barriers. A canal ran parallel to it. There was a curved stone bridge nearby, and a small forest of ashen, barren trees beyond it. Whatever lay past it was lost in drifting curtains of snow and fog. 
 	I stopped dead in my tracks. On the far side of avenue was a pair of Chimeras painted in the colours of the Zhenyan militia, fitted for urban combat with extra armour mounted on their hulls and a dozer blade attached to the front. One had smashed through part of the retaining wall and come to rest at a sharp incline, never to move again. The other was simply stopped in the middle of the street. Their hulls bore dozens of dents and burn marks and their rear access doors were open to the elements. Nearly two dozen headless bodies lay nearby. Their weapons were nowhere to be seen. 
 	I signalled my men to crouch down. It had all the hallmarks of being a trap, and yet there was a very real possibility that the two abandoned personnel carriers contained vital supplies. My stomach growled at the thought of ration packs, candied energy bars or grox jerky. They might contain medi-packs, pain killers and healing elixirs, and there was still a cosmically remote chance that the Chimera sat in the open was still operational.
 	Sergeant Ingram was crouched down on my left and Velez was behind me on the same side. 
 	‘Thoughts?’ I asked. 
 	‘Bit too good to be true,’ Ingram said, ‘but there might some materiel inside we could use.’ 
 	‘Officer thinking, Ingram. Velez?’
 	‘I don’t know.’
 	They were three words that I’d never heard from him. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? You can see the future.’
 	The pupils of his eyes had reduced to tiny circles of black. ‘All I see is an unholy man standing in a once holy place. There is nothing except for him and all probability is drowned out by his rage.’
 	‘What… what are you talking about?’ I recalled the whispered name that Isaias had sworn his hundred-fold vengeance upon. ‘Samnang Margh. Does that mean anything to you?’
 	Velez didn’t have an answer. He seemed lost, taken hostage by something only he was privy to. I actually thought, however brief, that I would have to perform a commissar’s work right then and there, shooting Velez through the temple for his own good. 
 	The Land Raider was a block behind us. I realised something was waiting for us up ahead; something so terrible that it required the attention of the Space Marines. My self-preservation instincts kicked into overdrive and, suddenly, I had never wanted so badly to be ensconced behind walls of plasteel. I drew my laspistol. 
 	‘Ingram, you see that Chimera closest to us, the one in the middle of the street?’
 	‘Yes, sir.’
 	‘I want it. Pick a small team to check out the other one. Everyone else, stay here and provide cover.’
 	The sergeant brought three of his scouts, and together we dashed across the wide street. Ingram and I stepped around the decapitated, frozen bodies and entered the first transport. The hatch leading up into the top-mounted turret hung open, its insides painted with blood. The tiny storage lockers along the walls had been thoroughly ransacked. The floor of the rear section was littered with empty food tins, drained lasgun power packs and crumpled pieces of paper. I picked one of the pages up; it was from an Imperial Infantryman’s Uplifting Primer, a copy of which I hadn’t seen since leaving Cadia. The ‘Prayer for the Lost and Endangered’ stared back at me. I crumpled it back up and stuffed it in my coat pocket. 
 	In times of trial, some men find their convictions increase. Others see them crushed beneath a weight of suffering. Lantz was one of the former. I was not. 
 	Sergeant Ingram had gone into the pilot’s compartment. After a moment he returned, shaking his head. ‘The controls seem fine, sir, but the fuel reserves are dry. I’d guess that’s why it stopped here in the first place.’
 	‘No medical supplies, either,’ I grumbled, kicking one of the empty tins out into the street. ‘No food. No help.’
 	As we exited the Chimera, I looked down at the nearest corpse. It was sitting upright with something metallic clenched in its right hand. I knelt down and discovered that it was a silver igniter. I yanked it free, noting with satisfaction that it was finely engraved with the crest of the Zhenyan forces, and wondered if the dead soldier might have tabac or perhaps a pipe on his person. Throne, it had been seasons since I’d had a good smoke. Having disturbed it, the body slowly tipped over. Something made a distinct pinging sound. Ingram shouted and grabbed me by the shoulders, flinging me to the side just as something exploded.
 	I had worried that the depraved occupiers of Rycklor would trap the vehicles. I should have known that they would instead, trap the corpses of the fallen. It’s what we Cadians informally call a ‘road kill bomb’.
 	I felt the wave of heat that pushed me through the air. Skidding across the frozen pavement, I struck something. Filthy snowflakes were falling into my eyes. I wanted to brush them away, but my arms refused to obey. My ears were ringing and my cry for help came out as little more than a croak. 
 	I felt frantic hands reach under me, carrying me somewhere, and then just as quickly, set me down again. A face swam in front of mine. After what felt like an eternity, I recognized it as belonging to one of Sergeant Ingram’s scouts. He was mouthing words, looking very concerned. The scout tore open a square paper package and pressed a field compress to my forehead. The sharp tang of medical elixirs filled my nose. 
 	‘Where did you find this?’ I finally slurred, but my would-be physician was gone. I looked around and discovered that I was alone inside one of the Chimeras. I began to make out the sounds of shouting and lasgun fire. After two tries, I managed to get up onto my feet and remain vertical. Stumbling to the rear hatch, I looked outside. 
 	Eight creatures were attacking my men. They looked like giant, hairless dogs with red, blistered skin and pale horns protruding from their backs. Thick brass collars were cinched around their powerful necks, and their eyes glowed with supernatural hate. 
 	They had charged towards the Chimeras in a tightly-formed pack, only to be intercepted by Velez, Lantz and the others. A stream of promethium set one of the monsters on fire, but it remained undeterred. I saw the psyker and the priest fighting side by side, their differences momentarily put aside in the face of this shared danger. 
 	There was a flurry of teeth and claws, then six Guardsmen lay dead, their blood staining the freshly fallen snow. Velez motioned for the men to fall back and regroup closer to the Chimeras. The daemonic hounds charged again, but this time Velez was ready for them. The two flamers played back and forth, creating a wall the creatures had no choice but to move through. They leapt through the fires, their skin blackening, and were hit with a point-blank volley of lasfire. Three of the hounds appeared to explode in a shower of bone fragments and quivering chunks of flesh. The remaining five tore into their targets with teeth the size of my hand. 
 	Before I understood what was happening I was running out into the melee, weapons drawn. Lantz belonged more in an abattoir than a pulpit as he used a massive chainsword to carve up any of the creatures that came within his reach. 
 	I helped the priest dispatch the last two monsters. Like all the others, they detonated into gristly pieces as soon as the twisted life force that drove them was extinguished. Small shards of bone embedded themselves in our armoured chest plates. 
 	We stood triumphant, but the skirmish had taken the lives of six more of Cadia’s finest. ‘Ingram!’ I called. The effort made my head pound. 
 	Lantz looked grim. ‘Taken into the Emperor’s glory,’ he said. 
 	‘The bodies of the Zhenyans,’ I said. ‘They were trapped.’
 	‘We saw,’ Velez added. ‘He pushed you aside and took the brunt of the blast. He might have been all right still if he hadn’t had that canister of explosives in his pack.’
 	‘We moved you to safety, but the noise brought these daemons out of hiding,’ Lantz said.
 	‘Where the hell are the Space Marines?’ I shouted. 
 	As if in reply, Integuma slowly turned the corner. 
 	One of Ingram’s scouts stepped forward. ‘If there’s any good news in this, sir, it’s that we found a medi-kit stashed under the pilot’s seat in the other Chimera.’
 	‘The spirit of the Emperor is with us,’ Lantz said. All around him, the men nodded. ‘He provides for those who remain fervent in his service.’ 
 	I wiped my mouth on the back of my glove, which came away covered with blood. Leaning over, I spat a long stream of it onto the ground. As much as I found his constant sermonising an annoyance, I had to admit that Lantz was excellent for morale.
 	‘I want to try and get one these Chimeras up and running. Someone should inform Castellan Isaias. Lantz, I can’t think of a better messenger than you.’ 
 	The priest smiled. ‘Indeed, captain. I should be glad to.’
 	He was halfway across the avenue when the three riders came charging out of the mist. 
 	They shared the same red, blistered skin as the daemonic hounds, but were more humanoid in appearance. Curving, black horns stretched above the crown of their heads, and each one carried a jagged sword that seemed to glow with heat as if pulled from some terrible forge. The creatures that bore them were squat and powerful, covered entirely in heavy plates of armour, and their hooves melted the surface of the street as they galloped.
 	Lantz spun around and faced them, even as I cried out in warning. Fearlessly he raised his chainsword, but the weapon was so unwieldy that it had barely come up to his chest before the daemons struck him down. The molten swords of the riders slashed downwards, leaving smoking trails in their wake, and then they were past him. I saw the priest’s armour opened up in half a dozen places. He spun slightly, a look of dismay on his face as his entrails spilled out onto the street. Finally he fell face down into his own organs, his hands twitching.
 	The daemonic riders, now half a block down the avenue, spun and headed directly for us. 
 	There were only a dozen of us left and, whatever these things were, something told me that we would prove no match for them if we remained out in the open. 
 	‘Embark!’ I ordered. 
 	We scattered as quickly as we could, clambering into the abandoned Chimeras, but I could still hear the dying wails of at least two more Guardsmen as I slammed the access door behind me.
 	Velez, myself and eight others had made it into the transport intended for the remainder of our stay in Rycklor. 
 	‘One of you fire this thing up. I need power!’ I yelled.
 	The floor pitched upwards at a steep angle, and it was with great effort that I managed to get to the turret hatch. As I swung it open, I could hear the riders slam into the other transport. I pulled myself up into the gunner’s position just in time to see the daemons knock the other Chimera over on its side. One of the riders and his mount leapt on top of it. The other two plunged their swords into its vulnerable undercarriage again and again. Ceramite plating began to glow and melt with infernal heat. If anyone was still alive in there, they didn’t have long to remain so.
 	A little further away, Integuma’s assault ramp had opened. The Templars were striding towards the battle as quickly as they could with Isaias leading the charge. 
 	So, I thought bitterly, only when things are about as bad as they’re going to get do you bother to help us? 
 	The Chimera came to life, and the indicator lights before me turned green. Determined not to let the Templars take all the glory, I seized the controls and spun the turret. The multilaser fired, striking one of the riders, but it seemed unaffected by the trio of holes that had been burned into it. Below me, some of the men manned the lasgun emplacements built into either side of the vehicle. The beams bounced harmlessly off the iron hide of one of the riding beasts. 
 	Something inside of the overturned Chimera burst, and black smoke began to billow out of every seam. Satisfied, the three riders turned their attention to the Space Marines and pounced. I managed to fire the multilaser one more time, but the daemons took no notice of the holes I burned into them. 
 	I had been too busy fighting for my life to fully appreciate the combat prowess and fortitude of the Templars back at the bridge. Now, I had a perfect seat to take it in. 
 	The three riders crashed into the Templars with hurricane force, swinging their swords in sweeping, limb-removing arcs. The mounts reared up and lashed out with their front legs. Yet, the same attacks that had been enough to easily destroy a military transport couldn’t do much more to the Space Marines than scratch the paint from their armoured suits. Boltguns fired, fists pummelled, daemonic flesh and metal were rent open and steaming gouts of dark liquid poured everywhere. The hulking beasts screamed and collapsed, and once they fell into the snow, the Templars proceeded to slaughter their riders. 
 	One daemon and his mount remained, and it fell to Isaias to deliver the coup de grace. His hammer swung and struck the creature in the neck. There was a blinding flash of light and sound like artillery being detonated. The rider sailed backwards through the air and landed half a block down the avenue. His riding beast lay dead at the Castellan’s feet, its chest completely ruptured. 
 	Isaias pointed his hammer at the daemonic rider and slowly walked towards it. To my utter disbelief, the daemon was still alive. It picked itself up from where it had landed, sword raised above its head. It gave an ear-piercing scream of defiance and then flew apart, painting the snow with bloody gore and pieces of jagged yellow bone. 
 	Dizzily, I climbed down from the turret. The eight troopers were trying their best to remain composed. ‘Sir,’ one of them said quietly, ‘without the priest…’
 	I cut him off with a raised hand, opened the rear hatch of the Chimera and walked outside. There was no need to examine the overturned transport for survivors; it was obvious that any occupants were dead from the fire raging within its perforated shell. There were ten of us left now, including Velez and myself. Half my troopers had died in a single day, and we hadn’t yet arrived at our destination. At this rate, the only ones to enter Verevya Basilica would be the Black Templars. 
 	Isaias approached. He considered the burning Chimera and the fallen bodies. His face showed all the emotion of a carved statue as he offered us what sounded like congratulations. ‘Your people fought well against the flesh hounds, and it was wise to utilize cover against the bloodcrushers. They can prove to be fearsome cavalry if encountered in the open.’ 
 	‘Who is Samnang Margh?’ I challenged. 
 	Ah, how to describe the perverse joy I felt as I finally saw the Castellan’s impassive exterior crack. His eyes widened by the tiniest amount and his jaw, for the briefest of moments, slackened. I had privileged information, he realised, and he had been one to let it slip. 
 	I crossed my arms and waited for an answer. Behind me, Velez and the others exited the Chimera and stood silently. 
 	Isaias regained his icy composure at once. ‘You do not need to know,’ he said. 
 	‘I think we do.’
 	‘Perhaps I should have said it is better for you if you do not know.’ He began to turn away. 
 	‘An unholy man, standing in a once holy place.’
 	Isaias whirled. His mouth twisted with indignation and he levelled his hammer toward Velez. ‘Psyker! You have been using your damned witchcraft to peer into my thoughts!’
 	‘No,’ Velez pleaded. ‘No, I swear.’
 	‘Has he spoken to you? Have you been listening to his foul whispers? Tell me true, or I will kill you where you stand!’
 	‘No, nothing like that. I just… I can see him. I can feel his power.’ Velez lowered his eyes and his voice dropped to whisper. ‘He frightens me.’
 	Isaias lowered his hammer. ‘He should.’
 	The snowfall began to abate. The daylight was nearly gone. I shivered, and plunged my hands into my coat pockets.
 	‘Samnang Margh is one of the bloodlords,’ Isaias said. ‘A long time ago he was one of humanity’s champions, a Space Marine, but he has since fallen into darkness.’
 	I felt the blood drain from my face. One often heard stories of the Space Marines and their heroic, superhuman exploits, and one also heard about the traitorous Space Marines. They were ones who had renounced their oaths to the Emperor millennia ago to embrace the Ruinous Powers: brutal, cunning and utterly inhuman monsters. They had attacked Cadia many times over for the past ten thousand years, though never in my lifetime, but to encounter them was to court certain death. As we were leaving for the Krandor System, there had been rumours that one of their massive invasions – a so-called Black Crusade – was preparing to attack once more.
 	‘A Chaos Space Marine,’ I breathed.
 	Isaias nodded. ‘One with all the powers of the warp at his disposal.’
 	‘And he’s here? On Zhenya?’
 	‘Only recently. We believe that he has been active in this system for decades, beginning with the capital world. Once it fell, his minions spread throughout the other Krandorian planets, including this one.’
 	‘So, he’s the cause for all of this?’ I swept my arm across the ruined cityscape. Suddenly, I was having trouble catching my breath. ‘One man. One man is able to completely destroy an entire civilization?’
 	‘Hardly a “man”,’ Isaias said.
 	‘How are we supposed to kill such a… thing, then?’
 	‘You cannot. That is for us to do.’ Isaias said, setting his hammer down and leaning on it slightly. ‘You are ambitious, men of Cadia, and you admittedly do not lack for courage. However, to face one as great as Samnang Margh requires a third thing that you, regrettably, no longer have.’
 	‘And what is that?’ I asked, as the last rays of the sun dipped behind the ruined plaza.
 	‘Weapons, vehicles, armour. These things are important, yes, but in the end they are only tools. Faith in the Emperor is what lends power and permanence to our actions. Your priest is dead, and without another such as him to focus and strengthen your resolve I do not believe you have the endurance to face what is otherwise unbearable. Captain Kervis, you and your troopers are dismissed. We will continue alone from this point.’
 	He picked up his hammer and walked away. We stood there, my men and I, feeling abandoned as babes. We had endured eight months of siege warfare, weeks of cold and starvation and, now, a day of unrelenting loss. To be told we would not be allowed to see things through, to make the suffering and sacrifice actually count for something, was unthinkable. 
 	My hand curled around the crumpled page from the Infantry Primer, recalling Lantz’s penultimate words. ‘He provides for those who remain fervent in his service,’ I muttered.
 	Unfolding the tattered page, I began to read aloud. ‘Most powerful and glorious Emperor, Who commands the winds and eddies of the galaxy, we are miserable men adrift in peril. We cry unto thee for help, save us or we will perish.’ 
 	Isaias stopped and slowly turned back to face us. He cocked his head slightly.
 	‘We see how great and terrible Thou art. We fear you, and offer You our awe. We fear naught but Your wrath, and beg a chance to prove ourselves…’ The remainder of the prayer had been torn away, but my point was sufficiently made. 
 	‘The Prayer for the Lost and Endangered,’ Isaias said to himself.
 	‘I will stand for these men. I will be their spiritual centre.’
 	Verevya Basilica had once been beautiful, a sweeping structure of white-washed rockcrete and stained glass windows, but now it was a monument to evil. Blood dripped from the eaves and ran down the walls in rivers, staining everything red. The colourful scenes of Verevya’s life had all been smashed to pieces. Torches and bonfires burned in their place. We also discovered where the severed heads of Rycklor’s citizens had been taken. The skin and flesh had been removed from each and every one, leaving only a gleaming white skull. The stairs leading up to the enormous double doors were littered with them. They were clustered in piles along the window sills and hung on brass wires from the corners of the bell tower. It was defilement on a scale that none of us had ever seen. 
 	Our part in the mission was largely complete. We had, despite the losses, guided the Templars to their destination with their precious Land Raider completely unscathed. Now, it was their turn to take the lead. 
 	Before the church was a spacious courtyard, paved with flagstones and lined by statues of Zhenyan saints and religious leaders. The heads had all been lopped off and replaced by piles of burning coals. Cultists filled the space – it seemed as if the entire population of Ryklor was concentrated in this one spot. They gathered around roaring bonfires and piles of salvaged equipment, gibbering and moaning. They gouged at themselves, or one another, with pieces of rusted metal and branded their chests with twin circles of iron. 
 	Integuma surged forward, leaving us behind as its bolter racks unleashed a hurricane of shells into the assembly. The cultists fell in droves, and many who were not shot were ground to a pulp beneath the Land Raider’s treads as it mounted the cathedral stairs and plowed through the entryway. 
 	We ran to catch up, taking the steps two at a time. Through the smashed doors lay a narthex filled with yet more skulls. Ahead of us, the Land Raider continued into the nave, its weapons mowing down cultists with impunity. It pitched forward as it descended down a flight of steps into the main sanctuary. Pews, handcarved and made of polished Zhenyan pine, utterly priceless, were ground to splinters beneath it until it finally came to rest. 
 	We came to a stop at the top of the landing as a horde of cultists suddenly began to pour out of every doorway. Like those who had attacked us on the bridge, their eyes were filled with blood and their bodies bore signs of mutilation. They screamed incoherently as they tried to attack Integuma. The machine responded by powering up its assault cannons to thin the horde. Chunks of flesh filled the air and the floor of the basilica became awash with blood. Steam rose as it cooled in the winter air. 
 	We did our part by adding lasbeams to the fray, but this moment truly belonged to the Space Marines. Minutes went by and still the people came. Spent shell casings piled in drifts around the base of the Land Raider, and I smiled to think that Integuma carried more ammunition than I had seen in the past year. 
 	Suddenly the tank’s assault ramp dropped open and the Black Templars poured out with their Castellan in the lead. They no longer bothered to fire their boltguns, but threw themselves immediately into close combat, pummelling the enemy with short and precise movements, breaking bones and caving in skulls with every blow. 
 	At last, the tide slowed to a trickle and stopped. Integuma’s weapons ceased their din and came to rest. Smoke drifted up like incense towards the vaulted ceiling. 
 	Isaias nodded to me, signalling our position to be secure. Now, we had to begin the search for Samnang Margh, a lengthy and exhausting endeavour. 
 	Or so we thought. 
 	All at once, the space was filled with peals of laughter and Lantz’s face went pale. Somewhere in the shadows came a voice. 
 	‘Isaias, Isaias. It certainly took you long enough.’
 	The Templars looked every which way. Integuma’s weapons moved back and forth, unable to identify a target. 
 	‘Show yourself, Margh!’ Isaias roared. ‘Come within my reach, and I may grant you a quick death.’
 	A figure stepped forward from the shadows of a choir loft set high into the wall above the central altar. It was a man, huge across the chest and shoulders, and dressed in power armour, much as Isaias, but in shades of reddish-brown. Spikes jutted out from his shoulders, elbows, and knees. And his misshapen face was dominated by a black, cross-shaped tattoo that covered his left eye and cheek. 
 	‘Clever of you to conscript a psyker, Isaias,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you would be able to get over your prejudices so easily. No, my old adversary, it is you who should surrender. For you see, Zhenya is set to fall, along with the seven other planets in this system. And once they belong wholly to the Blood God, the false emperor will have no power here. Real space will give way to the immaterium, and the full fury of my lord’s daemonic will be unleashed upon your precious Imperium.’ The Traitor Space Marine laughed. ‘In the years to come, they will say that the great tide of blood began here and that the eight worlds of the Krandor System were the undoing of all that you hold holy.’
 	‘Fire!’ Isaias cried, but the machine-spirit within Integuma was already in motion. The hurricane bolter racks swivelled to the right, elevated in unison, and destroyed the place where Samnang Margh was standing. The choir loft exploded into chunks of wood and stone and tumbled to the floor in a cloud of dust. 
 	I had difficulty seeing past Isaias and the Templars as they converged on the place where the Chaos Space Marine had fallen, but I could hear him cough and sputter. Isaias gestured to his men, granting them some kind of permission, and they descended on Margh. Each of them was eager to land at least one blow against this renowned enemy, exorcising his traitorous spirit by beating his body into a pulp. 
 	Finally, Isaias raised his hammer high above his head and the Templars cleared out of the way. I caught a glimpse of Samnang Margh as he struggled to stand. Emperor help me, he was not only still alive, but sporting a smile despite the bloody ruin of his face.
 	‘In the name of the God-Emperor of mankind,’ Isaias proclaimed, ‘to whom every knee shall bow and every sin be revealed, I condemn you, Samnang Margh, to an eternity in torment and darkness.’
 	‘No pity! No remorse!’ the Templars cried. 
 	The hammer began its final, crushing, death blow, but it somehow never arrived. I’m not sure what Margh did in those last few seconds, but there was a flash of light and a concussion wave that tossed the Templars backward. I threw an arm across my face to shield it from a hail of tiny stones and splinters. When I looked again, Margh was surrounded by a swirling cloud the same rusted-blood colour as the miasma. Noises emerged from it: awful sounds that brought to mind images of snapping bones and tearing skin. 
 	The Space Marines fired their boltguns into the cloud to no effect that I could see. Isaias launched himself towards it, only to be thrown back once more the moment he made contact. He smashed through a row of pews and leapt back to his feet just as the cloud dispersed. 
 	Samnang Margh was gone, but he had transformed into – or perhaps, been replaced by – a towering daemon.
 	To describe it was nearly impossible. It had the general shape of a man, but was colossal in stature. Its head was like that of a snarling dog, and brass plating covered its chest, shoulders and upper legs. In one hand, it held an axe, whose edge was composed of jagged teeth. In the other hand was a whip made of living fire. It shook the building with its birth cry, and as it spread wide its leathery, bat-like wings, pieces of masonry plummeted from above and crashed around its hooved feet. 
 	It radiated such evil, such hatred, that my eyes began to water. It took every ounce of strength I had to stop my knees from giving out. Behind me, I was certain that I heard at least one man whimper. I didn’t blame him one bit. 
 	The first thing it did was to stomp Integuma with all its might and its assault cannons crumpled and split. 
 	The Templars were back on their feet, charging fearlessly towards the daemon who swept its axe into their midst. Two Space Marines were immediately decapitated, and a third was sliced cleanly in half.
 	I was stunned. After seeing their armour take more punishment in a day then some tanks endure in a month, I had begun to think of the Templars as being nearly indestructible. 
 	The surviving Space Marines unleashed a fury of blows upon it, but were given no reward for their efforts. The thing that had been Samnang Margh was completely unharmed. 
 	Then, Isaias leapt into the air and drove his hammer into the daemon’s chest plate. In the confined space of the basilica, the sound of the impact was enough to crack the very walls. The Castellan landed heavily, crouching low, and spun around for another attack. This time the hammer caught a leg, and a hunk of daemonic flesh tore free. The daemon howled, stumbled and fell against the back of the church, turning two support columns into powder. 
 	Isaias’s men regrouped and brought up their bolters. Explosive shells rained into the creature, but failed to find any purchase. The daemon screamed and sent the pommel of its axe through the helmet of the nearest Templar, tearing him in half. Its whip lashed out, wrapping itself around four of the Templars with lighter armour. The ceramite plates instantly liquefied and gave way, tearing the four Space Marines in two. The flaming halves of their corpses filled the space with a sickening stench.
 	Isaias swung his hammer in a horizontal arc, catching the daemon across the face. It should have been a killing blow, but instead of collapsing, the monster rose up again to its full height. 
 	A cold, unnatural terror had nested beneath my ribs, stopping my breath and freezing my heart. This creature was simply beyond anything that I had ever encountered or been trained to face. 
 	I turned my head as a hand came to rest on my shoulder. Velez and other troopers were gathered behind me. I saw in their faces the same fear and grim resolve as they fixed their bayonets for a charge. We said nothing. There was no need. Our duty in this matter was clear. With its attention focused singularly on the Templars, the daemon seemed certain to emerge victorious from this fight. Though, if its attention could be divided, then perhaps the Space Marines could destroy it. 
 	I gripped the rosarius that I had taken from Lantz’s corpse and held it up for the others to see. The golden pendant, worn only by the Emperor’s ministers, felt warm in my hand. The men nodded with reassurance. Behind us, part of the ceiling began to shift, and a huge plascrete beam came crashing down.
 	Velez raised a palm towards the daemon, and then curled his fingers inward. I had no idea what he was doing, but it caught the attention of the beast. Its head whipped around, and it roared. 
 	I suddenly recalled one of Lantz’s favourite inspirational quotes. ‘Fear not, men! We go to the Emperor’s side to fight at the end of time!’ At that moment we hurled ourselves down the steps, leaping over broken pews and shattered pieces of masonry. The daemon’s axe barely missed me and to my left there came a collection of stifled cries. A wash of hot liquid flowed across my legs, and I knew without looking that half of those behind me were dead. 
 	The whip of fire descended towards us like an infernal judgement. I dropped and slid down the last few stairs, but Velez was not so fast. He screamed horribly as his skin burst into flame, and his right arm was severed. Then, the daemon kicked him across the room. Velez struck one of the upper balconies and plummeted like a discarded doll into a heap of tumbled rockcrete.
 	The last four of my men and I joined Isaias and his surviving Templars who once again tried to defeat their foe in a melee. We cut and stabbed, slashed and pounded, but to no avail. The axe swung again and, in a single motion, caught myself and those beside me with its tooth-lined edge. Their flimsy armour did nothing to protect them, and they were torn apart in a wash of red. But I had something they did not: the rosarius. Built into the pendant was a conversion field, a personal energy barrier powerful enough to stop me from being instantly killed. Even so, the impact of the blow sent me reeling. 
 	I fell against the steps. My ribs ached, and my mouth had started bleeding again. Through a gathering haze of agony, I saw Isaias’ hammer finally punch through the daemon’s brass armour. Its face flashed from confusion, to realization and then fury. Deep cracks appeared across its body, widening to pour forth both a sickly red light and rivers of steaming blood. It howled with an infinite rage and collapsed in on itself. There was an explosion from somewhere inside its chest, and then it was raining on us. Bone and flesh flew out in all directions, and an ocean of blood came crashing down into the once sacred space of the basilica.
 	After some time, I pulled myself into a sitting position. The daemon was gone, sent back at last to whatever netherworld it had come from. I was suddenly more tired than I had ever been in my life. I watched as the Templars gathered their dead and carried them back into Integuma’s hold. Though damaged, the Land Raider was apparently still quite operational. Finally, Isaias came and stood before me as I struggled to get back up on my feet.
 	‘Captain Kervis, our mission is complete. We will now take our leave of you.’
 	I continued to grip my sword. ‘How will you get safely out of the city? There’s no one left to guide you.’
 	‘There is no need now that Samnang Margh is dead.’ He gestured upwards. Half of the basilica’s roof had caved in during the battle. In the cold sky above, the miasma clouds were beginning to thin and break apart. ‘Our Thunderhawk is already on its way to rendezvous with us in an open area nearby.’ 
 	I leaned forward and spat bloody saliva from my mouth. I wanted to ask if I could trouble him for a ride, either back to my original post or perhaps even off-world, but I couldn’t think of how to do so without sounding like some lost child. Besides, Space Marines surely had more important things to concern themselves with than the welfare of a single Cadian shock trooper. 
 	‘Where will you go now?’
 	‘Margh was not the last of the bloodlords,’ Isaias said without further elaboration.
 	‘Of course. My condolences about your men,’ I said. 
 	Isaias looked puzzled. Did Space Marines even have a concept of what sympathy was? I had no idea. 
 	‘They have earned the rest and peace that only death in the Emperor’s service can bring,’ he said at last. ‘There can be no greater achievement. Did you not learn this during your childhood seminary studies?’
 	‘Never mind,’ I sighed. 
 	Isaias placed his fist over the place where his heart presumably lay. It took me a moment to understand that he was saluting me. I returned the gesture of respect in the traditional, Cadian way, fingers pressed against my temple and palm facing forwards. 
 	Just then, the gulf between Space Marine and shock trooper was not quite so vast. Isaias dropped his arm and turned to board the Land Raider. The front ramp slowly closed behind him as the engine rumbled to life, and the machine made an exit through a gaping hole in the west wall. 
 	I stood alone for a moment. There was nothing to hear but my own breathing. 
 	No, there was something else. A faint groaning. I followed the sound, carefully picking my way over piles of rubble until I came upon Velez. It was obvious from the way in which he was lying that his back had been broken. He looked at me with glazed eyes. 
 	‘I heard… what he said. About the Emperor’s peace. Do you… do you think I’ve earned it, abomination though I am?’
 	It was a good question. I wasn’t sure. 
 	‘Of course you have,’ I said softly. 
 	Velez shut his eyes, and smiled weakly. ‘Then, give it to me.’
 	‘What?’
 	He opened his eyes again. ‘Give me the Emperor’s Peace. I mean, you’re qualified now, yes?’
 	I looked down at my sword. The rosarius gave a pale glow.
 	‘Or weren’t you serious about taking on Lantz’s mantle?’ 
 	I paused for a moment. ‘I was serious.’
 	Relief washed over Velez’s face, and he once again shut his eyes. I impaled him through the heart in a single motion and did not remove my blade until I was certain that he was gone.
 	‘Emperor,’ I whispered, ‘this man was a fine soldier and a trusted friend. I hope that counts for something in Your eyes.’
 	I sheathed my sword, adjusted my hat, and shoved my hands into my coat pockets. The crumpled prayer from the Infantryman’s Primer was my only companion as I began to forge a path back out of the city. 
 	I sincerely prayed that I would make it.