COVER OF DARKNESS
Mitchel Scanlon

IT WAS A night made for war by stealth. The night sky was moonless, with an opaque covering of clouds hiding the light of the stars. Cresting a ridge on his bike, Sergeant Kergis of the White Scars paused for a moment and scanned the arid landscape spread out before him. Ahead, the twisting maze of gullies and snaking furrows of the region known as Volcan's Cradle were bathed in Stygian blackness. To Kergis's mind, it seemed a favourable omen. Success in their mission was dependent on catching the enemy unawares. Tonight, the darkness would be their ally.
Turning his bike to follow the sinuous curve of the ridge slope as it descended toward the next gully, Kergis spared a glance at the rest of the eight-man squad behind him. His men travelled in single file, the lights of their bikes turned off, their armour covered in a thick layer of dust courtesy of the terrain around them. Occasionally, there was the ominous clatter of falling stones as they dislodged a few small rocks in crossing the slope, but the White Scars negotiated these hazards with the smooth assurance born of a lifetime spent in the saddle.
Reaching the foot of the slope in safety, they pushed on with their journey, following the trail of the gully as it headed northward. Much of Volcan's Cradle was open plain: a vast dusty expanse of dried lava created by millions of years of volcanic activity. But the need for stealth had forced Kergis and his men to take a circuitous route to their target, hugging the zigzag contours of a series of ravines and gullies in the western part of the region, cut by the effect of rain erosion on the yielding surface of the lava plain. It had made their path through the Cradle longer and more difficult, but given the nature of their mission it was vital they stayed clear of enemy patrols.
'I am reading movement,' Kergis heard the voice of Arik, a fellow White Scar, on his helmet-vox as they sped through the gully. 'Several vehicles from the size of the contact. The auspex puts them at six kilometres away, moving towards us on a bearing twelve degrees north-north-west.'
'An interception force?' Kergis voxed back.
'No,' Arik's voice was confident. 'Based on their bearing, I'd say it's a routine patrol. If we stay to our plotted course and maintain our speed, we will be long gone by the time they get here.'
'Good. We can't be more than a kilometre away from the geyser field by now. Take the lead, Arik. You will be our pathfinder. The rest of us will follow behind you.'
Throttling back his bike, Kergis allowed the other man to overtake him. Briefly pressing his right fist across his breast in a salute as he passed, Arik took up the sergeant's position at the head of the line of White Scars and veered eastward as he came to a fork in the gully. Kergis and the others followed suit.
The darkness would have been impenetrable to any normal man, but thanks to their enhanced eyesight and the autosenses of their armour the White Scars could navigate the desolate terrain of the Cradle with equal facility by day or night. The same sharpness of the senses alerted Kergis to the stink of sulphur long before the geyser fields became visible.
During the briefing that preceded the mission, a Techmarine named Goju had attempted to outline the unusual conditions which underpinned the geography of the Cradle. The planetary crust was thin here, he had explained, likening it to a frail wafer laid across a huge broiling sea of lava. In some places, the crust had cracked due to the enormous stresses upon it, creating a path to the surface for red-hot magma.
In the area the White Scars were headed for, the magma had heated the water stored underground in naturally formed aquifers, causing geysers and thermal springs to emerge in place of lava. Such phenomena were relatively common in the unstable volcanic landscape of the Cradle, but Kergis and his men would be travelling through the largest geyser field in the region, riding tens of kilometres through dangerous territory in the hope of keeping their presence hidden from the enemy.
Following Arik's lead, the squad of bikers emerged from the gully and sped on through the short distance of open plain separating them from the geyser field. Ahead, a strange and deadly landscape lay ready to greet them.
'Keep your helmets sealed and respiratus systems engaged,' Arik warned as they entered the geyser field. 'Leave at least five metres between you and the man in front. And stay on my track. The ground is fragile here. If it gives way beneath the weight of your bike, you'll be swimming in boiling water.'
According to the Imperial survey maps Kergis had inspected before making planetfall, it was known simply as Geyser Field Septimus. The prosaic title hid a sinister reality. The entire area was dotted with steaming vents and smoking craters. The colours were mostly concealed by the night, but Kergis knew the ground was covered in a thick multi-hued residue in startling shades of red, green and yellow, alongside vast white carpets of glittering salt crystals. The residue and the crystals were accumulated from the minerals leached from the rocks by the underground heat and brought to the surface as tiny particles over thousands of years every time one of the geysers erupted.
Kergis did not doubt the geyser field would be beautiful by daylight, but it was also treacherous. The vapours rising from the vents included deadly gases as well as scalding superheated steam, while the sluggish liquid bubbling in some of the craters was concentrated acid created by the same leached minerals responsible for the coloured residue. Enemy patrols tended to avoid the geyser field with good reason. By any standard, it was a lethal environment.
Carefully staying to the line of Arik's trail as it twisted between the smouldering vents, Kergis checked his auspex for any sign of the enemy patrol detected earlier. Seeing no trace of them, Kergis was pleased. The range of the auspex on his bike was limited, but even if the enemy were nearby there was little chance of his squad being detected while they were in the geyser field.
The throaty roar of the White Scars' engines was drowned out by the noises of the vents around them. Listening to the hiss of steam and the cackle of bubbling acid, Kergis was reminded of the sounds of breathing. It was as though they had intruded into the domain of a massive, slumbering beast, an illusion underlined by the occasional whoosh as one of the geysers erupted. The sound brought to mind the sea-leviathans that inhabited the oceans of Chogoris: gargantuan creatures that emerged periodically from the waves to breathe out through their blowholes, emitting great clouds of spray before returning once more to the deep.
Having never seen a body of open water until he was thirteen years of age and already on the path to becoming a White Scar, Kergis had always regarded the sea and its denizens with awe. He was Astartes, so he did not fear them. Still, they impressed him.
Inside Kergis's helmet, a warning sensor flashed an angry red to draw his attention to the rising levels of poisonous gases in the air outside, already far beyond human tolerance. He ignored it. The geyser field was a labyrinth of death, but the sergeant trusted Arik to guide them through it. Arik had always shown an unerring ability to find the correct trail through any terrain, no matter how difficult.
It was not an uncommon talent on their home world. Countless generations spent navigating the shifting pathways of the endless plains of Chogoris meant that some were born with a special aptitude for finding their way, whatever the circumstance. They were not psykers. It was simply that they took more notice of the subtle clues around them, whether in the landscape, the weather or the stars, relying on the patterns of past experience to guide them onto the best path to their destination.
In Arik's case he was aided by the fact his bike was equipped with a more powerful auspex unit than the others in the squad, but Kergis had no doubt he could have guided them through the geyser field without it. Even if Arik had never left Chogoris, never become Astartes, he would have been a pathfinder to his people, responsible for guiding his tribe to the watering holes for their herds and the best winter pastures.
As the White Scars moved deeper into the geyser field, the clouds of steam and poison grew thicker. Soon, visibility was reduced to a few metres. Still, they pushed onward, each warrior trusting to the man in front to lead him safely through the miasma.
It was no more than Kergis would have expected. The habit of mutual trust was deeply ingrained between his men. Their bonds of brotherhood were strong; bonds forged and tempered across a hundred battlefields. With it came a sense of debt, of obligation. Kergis did not doubt that any man in the squad would be willing to die for his brothers.
Certainly, it was part of the reason he had come to Volcan's Cradle.

'TEPHRA VII,' JURGA Khan had said to him, two days earlier. 'It has been an Imperial world for ten thousand years. Our great Primarch Jaghatai Khan, may his memory always be honoured, played a part in its liberation. But a year ago it was all undone. Chaos has seized this place, Kergis. Now, it falls to us to follow in the footsteps of our primarch. This planet will be liberated again. And the White Scars will be the spearhead, the first among the liberators.'
They were standing on the strategium deck of the strike cruiser Warrior of the Plains. A few minutes earlier Jurga Khan had concluded a briefing for the squad leaders under his command, indicating the roles they would be expected to play in the coming invasion. When the briefing was done, the Khan had dismissed everyone except Kergis. Even the Chapter serfs had been sent to perform duties elsewhere on the ship, ensuring the two men's privacy.
Courtesy of the strategium's display units, a shimmering translucent globe hovered in the air showing a hololithic representation of Tephra VII. Kergis noticed part of the planet's power grid had been highlighted, creating a network of fine golden lines that crisscrossed the northern hemisphere.
'We will make our first strike here,' Jurga Khan said, lifting an armoured finger to indicate a city. 'The planetary capital, Chaldis, is the main centre of the enemy's power. If we can defeat them here, in one assault, we will break the backbone of their resistance. But the city is protected by void shields. It will not be easy. We may face heavy losses.'
Kergis nodded. The invasion and re-conquest of Tephra VII was a major undertaking. The Warrior of the Plains was one of nearly thirty Imperial ships massing at the edge of the system. As the only Astartes taking part in the invasion, the White Scars could expect to bear the brunt of the fighting in the crucial opening stages when the enemy's defences were first breached.
'But there is a way we can lessen some of the price in blood,' his commander continued.
The Khan moved his finger to point to an area several thousand kilometres to the east of the capital. Responding to the movement, the hololithic globe turned to reveal a low-lying plain, surrounded by mountains to form a massive basin. Significantly, the golden lines of the power network all seemed to lead to the same region.
'The locals call this place Volcan's Cradle,' the Khan said. 'Goju will give you an in-depth briefing on the region and its conditions later, but you can take it for granted it is hard country. It's a desolate, volcanic wasteland. No one would ever go there, except for this…'
The Khan pressed his finger into the surface of the globe. The hololith shimmered and changed as the floating image zoomed in to a three-dimensional representation of a large manufactory complex, evidently based on the data from reconnaissance picts. Studying the image, Kergis realised the facility was situated on the slopes of a smouldering volcano.
'It is some kind of power generating facility?' he said, comparing the design to similar buildings he had seen on other worlds, even fought over, in his time as a White Scar.
'Geothermal,' Jurga Khan told him. 'You are looking at a power plant situated on the Ignis Mons, the largest active volcano in the Cradle region. Goju will explain the particulars to you, but it is my understanding they generate power by harnessing the heat of underground magma. Tephra VII is deficient in promethium and other fuels, so a number of such facilities were built in ancient times to provide for the planet's needs. The Ignis Mons complex supplies power to almost the entire western section of the northern hemisphere, including the void shields protecting the capital.'
'So, if this facility is destroyed, the shields go down?'
'Exactly. There are supposed to be backup power sources to supply the void shields in the event of an emergency. But the systems are old and it is believed the enemy have been lax in their maintenance. To add to its value as a target, the Mons complex also supplies power to the planet's sensor array network. If we destroy it, the enemy will be blind as well as shield-less.'
'But the enemy must also be aware of its value. The target will be well-defended?'
'It is,' Jurga Khan nodded. 'Including the forces manning a series of sentry points surrounding the area, the enemy can call upon at least two thousand warriors to defend the complex. Added to which, the main access ways into the facility are protected by multiple bunkers and other secure emplacements armed with autocannons and anti-tank weapons. The heart of the facility is situated deep underground, so orbital bombardment won't work. It would take a major assault to capture the Mons. And not only would that warn the enemy of our intentions, it would divert manpower away from the main assault on Chaldis.'
'But there is another way?' Kergis asked him. The Khan's briefing seemed to be headed in one direction and he could see its logical conclusion. 'A stealth assault by a small team, ideally to be inserted into the area under cover of darkness. It would be their task to destroy the complex, or at least sabotage it to deny its use to the enemy. Given the importance of the mission, and its risks, it is a task for Astartes rather than Imperial Guardsmen.'
'Very good,' Jurga Khan smiled, the expression highlighting the honour scars crosshatching his features. 'Perhaps you missed your calling with the Stormseers, Kergis. You seem to have read my mind.'
'It was simply that I could see your intention, my Khan. When you assigned tasks to the other sergeants during the briefing earlier, I was surprised when myself and my squad were left without duties. Then, you called me aside to this briefing out of earshot of the others. I have never known you do something without reason. It suggested you had a particular mission in mind for me and my men.'
'Not a psyker, then,' the Khan's smile deepened. 'Simply a man with the mind of a chess master, always able to think several moves ahead of his commander. I said you missed your calling as a Stormseer. Perhaps I was in error, and your true calling was as a savant.'
He raised a hand good-naturedly to stifle Kergis's protests.
'There is no shame in having a sharp mind, Kergis. The histories record that Jaghatai Khan, may he always be honoured, possessed one of the great military minds of his era. Too often we forget our primarch's example in this. We honour our warriors for feats of arms, but we forget it is a man's mind and the character of his heart which wins battles as much as the strength of his sinews. In this case, I chose you for this mission because you are well served in all three of those qualities.'
'My Khan's words honour me.' Kergis bowed in obeisance.
'No more than your character merits it.' The Khan's face became serious. 'Besides, there were other considerations. Before you joined this company, you served with Kor'sarro Khan during the Hunt for Voldorius. I know you fought side by side with the Raven Guard, and learned some of their tricks of stealth. I know you have passed some of these lessons on to the men in your squad. I hear you emphasise to them that the lightning attack is negated in value if the enemy knows which direction it will come from. Such skills may be important on Tephra.'
Raising his hand again, Jurga Khan banished the hololith with a gesture. As the shimmering image of the geothermal complex faded away, the Khan's expression grew darker. He lowered his hand to hover over the manual control of the hololithic generator.
'But there is something else, Kergis. Another reason I chose you for this mission. The same reason I decided to banish the others and hold this briefing in private. You will soon see I had good cause for secrecy.'
Jurga Khan's hand moved over the control system's keypad, inputting a coded sequence of numbers. In response to the code, the hololithic generators hummed to life once more and a new image began to form.
'The attack on Chaldis is scheduled to begin in a little over two days. It will be a dawn assault, meaning you and your men will be expected to infiltrate the complex the night before. But there are other considerations at work here beyond the re-conquest of this world. What I am going to show you is for your eyes alone. It is not to be shared with your squad. In time, when the matter is resolved, the need for such secrecy may pass. But for the present, it is better we keep this between ourselves.'
The new hololith coalesced, revealing a pict-image taken at a distance of an armoured figure standing on top of a plascrete bunker.
'A Naval Lightning adapted for long-range reconnaissance took a series of picts two days ago during a high-speed sweep over the Ignis Mons,' the Khan said. 'The images are grainy, but you can clearly see the commander of the enemy garrison as he oversees the disposition of his troops.'
At a gesture from the Khan's hand, a second pict appeared. It was taken from a slightly different angle, but it showed the same figure. Helpfully, the enemy commander had craned his head up to look skyward, presenting a clearer image of his face. Seeing it, Kergis felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He barely heard his Khan's next words.
'It is almost as though he knows the spy-ship is there and is looking at it. Impossible, of course. The Lightning was moving at too high an altitude for anyone on the ground to spot it. But you see the reason for secrecy? This is an event of dark moment, Kergis. The honour of our Chapter is at stake.'
Kergis nodded, his mind still reeling at the revelation of the identity of the garrison commander. Standing on top of the bunker was a figure in battered white power armour emblazoned with a lightning insignia. Kergis could hardly believe it, but he saw the face of an old comrade, a man he had believed dead.
He saw the face of a battle-brother, a White Scar.
A friend.

THE RENDEZVOUS POINT was situated seven kilometres from the target. Having successfully navigated though the geyser field courtesy of Arik's pathfinding skills, Kergis and his men reached the meeting place with fifteen minutes to spare. Seeking to stay out of sight, they hid their bikes in a low-lying gully that had once formed the riverbed of a long dead stream. While the rest of the squad stayed with their bikes, Kergis and his second-in-command Gurban climbed the gully's eastern wall on foot to check their surroundings.
'It seems quiet,' Gurban whispered, once he had scanned the area with a handheld auspex. 'I'm not reading any enemy patrols. But there's no sign of Balat and his men, either.'
Balat was a sergeant in the White Scars' 10th Company. When Kergis was told he would rendezvous with a squad of Scouts under Balat's command before making his approach on the target, he had been pleased. He and the Scout-sergeant were old comrades. Before Balat had transferred across to 10th Company, they had served together for several decades. Balat had been the sergeant of the squad Kergis had served in during his early days as a battle-brother. Kergis had always regarded the older man as something of a mentor.
'I would be more surprised if we did see them,' Kergis replied. He raised his hand in a thumb-sideways gesture to signal to the men in the gully that the area was clear but they should remain wary. Then, he turned back to Gurban.
'Keep your eyes sharp,' he told him. 'A broken undulating landscape like this one can play havoc with the auspex. It creates dead spots the sensors can't reach. A platoon could be hiding within fifty metres of us and we wouldn't know it.'
As though in proof of his words, the sound of a birdcall abruptly broke the silence. Kergis recognised it as the cawing of a razorhook, a sharp-beaked carrion eater native to the plains of Chogoris. Having been expecting the signal, Kergis had already removed his helmet. Decades ago, on a world called Quintus, a Raven Guard Space Marine named Melierax had taught him the vox-amplifiers in an Astartes helmet gave an unnatural timbre to attempts to imitate the sound of birds. An unknowing listener hearing the noise would be less likely to assume it was a genuine birdcall and ignore it.
Kergis responded to the razorhook's cawing by whistling three times in imitation of another native Chogorian bird. In reply, the cawing stopped. After a second, he became aware of dim shapes moving through the darkness towards them. Kergis kept his hand on his bolt pistol, ready in case it was a trick, but as the figures came closer he recognised the face of his old sergeant, Balat.
'It is good to see you again,' he said, clasping Balat's hand once the Scouts had joined them in the gully. 'What is our situation?'
Before answering, Balat made a signal to his men. Silently, they deployed to take up sentry posts around the lip of the gully.
'The immediate area is clear,' Balat said, once the Scouts had moved into position. 'Enemy patrols don't like to come this close to the geyser field in case the wind blows the poison clouds towards them. Still, it is better to be careful.'
Satisfied his men had covered every approach to their location, Balat walked a little distance along the bottom of the gully with Kergis beside him until they were out of earshot of the others.
'I made planetfall with my squad forty-eight hours ago,' the Scout-sergeant said. 'In that time, the enemy have tripled their patrols. This entire region has become a hotbed of activity.'
'Do you think they detected your arrival?'
'Perhaps,' Balat shrugged. 'We were inserted by Thunderhawk, as you were. The pilots did their best to fly us in under the enemy's sensor network, but it is possible we were detected. But, if that is the case, the enemy don't appear to be actively searching for us. We have seen no flyers, nor any sign of auspex sweeps. Rather than being a direct response to our arrival, it seems more likely they have stepped up their patrols because they are expecting trouble.'
'It would make sense,' Kergis agreed. 'They must know an invasion is coming. They may even have detected our reconnaissance flights. And they would realise the power complex is a target. They have probably increased their patrols as a precaution.'
'Even so, it is strange they have not brought in flyers or auspex,' Balat said. 'Why take half-measures if they think the invasion is coming? They must know the landscape of the Cradle makes an attack by stealth a real possibility. You would think they would take every step they could to prevent it.'
Balat shook his head in frustration. He was old, even by Astartes standards. He had nearly four centuries behind him, the years etched as lines on his face as surely as the many honour scars he wore as mark of his deeds. Kergis had heard rumours that Balat had once respectfully declined a promotion to become Master of the Watch back on Chogoris. In its place, he had asked to remain a simple sergeant and transferred to the 10th Company so he could pass on his skills to new generations of White Scars. Having experienced Balat's tutorship himself, Kergis had no doubt the Chapter's Scouts would be better warriors for it.
'Still, we should not be surprised if we find it difficult to divine the enemy's plans,' Balat said. 'It was always the same in the battle with Chaos. Do you remember Cernis? We thought to catch Voldorius unawares there, but he was ready for us.'
'I remember,' Kergis nodded. Briefly, he thought of the battle in the polar wastes. He remembered the race across the ice fields and the monstrous enemy they had fought under the northern lights. His memories brought to mind other battles: he thought of Kavell and icy Zoran, of the underhives of Modanna and the guntowers of Quintus. He thought of his encounter with the Bloodtide. He had come far and survived much. With Balat as his mentor, he had learned lessons in every battle.
'It was always so,' the Scout-sergeant continued. 'Of all the enemies we face, Chaos is the most treacherous, its champions the most cunning.'
Abruptly, Balat fell quiet. Staring intently at Kergis, he grimaced.
'You are smiling. I have said something amusing?'
'Forgive me, arban,' Kergis said, using a traditional Chogorian word for sergeant. Strictly speaking its meaning translated simply as ''leader of ten men'', but among the White Scars it had grown to mean much more. The word held no official standing, but it was used commonly when referring to a sergeant whose courage and wisdom were highly regarded. It was meant as a mark of honour, a term of great respect.
'I was reminded of the old days when I served in your squad as a newly promoted battle-brother,' Kergis continued. 'To become a White Scar, I had passed through trials that not one in ten thousand men could have survived. On my first day, you told me not to get too cocky.'
'I was right,' Balat scowled. 'Arrogance is a dangerous vice in a warrior. It blinds him to his own weaknesses and the enemy's strengths.'
'Yes,' Kergis agreed. 'You taught me what it truly means to be Astartes. You moulded me to be a better warrior, a better servant of the Chapter and our Khan. I was smiling because the lessons continue. Despite the passing of a century, I am still the student and you the master. And, to be truthful, I was also smiling because your motive is transparent. In discussing Chaos and reminding me of Voldorius, you were not talking idly. You had a specific aim in mind.'
'Subtlety was never one of my own vices,' Balat admitted grudgingly. 'I have been fully briefed on the details of your mission. Including the identity of the enemy commander.'
'And you were wary I might need reminding of my duty?'
'No, not that. Never that.' All through their conversation, Balat had continued to stare at Kergis's face. Now, his gaze became more searching, more insightful. 'I simply hoped to remind you that Borchu is gone. Don't let your hand be slowed by the memory of past friendship. Strike fast, and strike to kill. If you hesitate, the enemy will make use of it.'
'Sound advice,' Kergis nodded again. 'I will follow it, I promise you.'
He glanced briefly above their heads. The sky was dark and overcast. Night still held its grip over the Cradle.
'But now, my men and I need to make ready. The darkness will not last forever. And we need to be at the Ignis Mons before dawn.'

IT SOON BECAME apparent Balat and his Scouts had made able use of their time on Tephra VII. In their forty-eight hours in the Cradle, while being careful to stay out of sight, they had observed every aspect of the defences surrounding the Ignis Mons.
By the time he and Kergis met at the rendezvous, Balat possessed the kind of in-depth intelligence that might well prove vital to the successful outcome of their mission. While Kergis and his men watched and listened, he sketched out the positions of the ring of sentry points, minefields and hidden bunkers protecting the Mons. He provided an analysis of the enemy's patrol schedules, indicating the route each patrol took through the Cradle. He had even prepared a map outlining a suggested approach to their objective. Checking the approach and finding no flaw in it, Kergis ordered his men to memorise it.
Once Balat had passed on all the intelligence, the two groups took their leave of each other.
The pre-arranged mission plan called for the Scouts to remain behind and cover the line of retreat of Kergis's squad. At the same time, they would guard the mission team's bikes. They were close enough to the target that Kergis and his men could no longer use their vehicles for fear the sound of their engines would give them away. As much as it pained them as White Scars to leave their bikes behind, they had no choice. Henceforth, they would continue their mission on foot.
It was not the only change which had been forced upon them by the needs of the mission. Ordinarily, at least two of the men in his squad would have been equipped with meltas or other heavy weapons. Instead, the nature of their mission in the Cradle meant they had left behind their heavy weapons in order to carry more explosives. Each man in the squad carried a grey, polyleather satchel filled with demolition charges and detonators: necessary equipment to sabotage the power plant. To save on weight, their only other arms were bolt pistols, knives and their normal close combat weapons.
'May the spirits of your ancestors go with you,' Balat said, once preparations had been made and Kergis was ready to leave. The rest of Kergis's squad stood nearby, watching as the two sergeants clasped hands once more in parting.
'May they be your guide and guardians. May they strike the stones from your path and leave your enemies grieving in your wake.'
'And may your ancestors ride with you also,' Kergis responded, completing the form of a traditional Chogorian farewell. 'May they always be beside you.'
To Kergis's surprise, Balat refused at first to release his grip once the goodbyes were done. While their hands were still joined he leaned forward, whispering a few words out of hearing of the others.
'Good luck,' he said. 'I know the choice you have made. It honours you. But do not assume this will be our last meeting. I will see you again, Kergis. I count on it.'
'I hope you are right, arban,' Kergis answered quietly. 'Things will fall where they may. Whatever the outcome, you should know I have always valued your guidance.'
The contact was broken. With nothing more to be said, Kergis turned and took his place at the head of his squad. With a gesture, he set them moving. With half the night gone already, they could not afford to waste an instant. Seven kilometres of hard terrain lay ahead before they reached their target.
Despite that, as he and his men followed a path through the gully, he spared a glance behind him. Balat was consulting with one of his Scouts, his head nodding sagely as he corrected some of his men's positioning. A moment later the line of the gully turned, blocking Kergis's last sight of his old mentor.
Despite Balat's good wishes, he did not expect the two of them would meet again.

IN THE END it was easier to infiltrate his men into the immediate vicinity of the Ignis Mons than Kergis would have expected. Although Balat's warnings of increased activity proved accurate, the sentries and patrols guarding the approaches to the enemy stronghold were surprisingly badly organised and half-hearted in the performance of their duty. Kergis did not doubt that the enemy's troops would fight fanatically to the last man to repel an Imperial invasion. But when it came to the more drudging tasks of soldiery, the night patrols and the long boring hours on watch, the enemy's lack of discipline told against them.
Even as Kergis and his men moved to within sight of the lower slopes of the Mons, the same defects of organisation among the enemy's defences were readily apparent. Any halfway competent commander would have ordered the ground of the lower slopes bulldozed and cleared so as to provide open fields of fire for the defenders' guns. As it was, the entire area was littered with rocky outcrops and dense patches of wiry scrub, as well as the occasional low ridge of dried lava.
The landscape provided Kergis and his men with ample cover as they made their way closer to their target. Similarly, the laxity of the enemy sentries meant they were able to reach the very edge of the slopes without having to once unsheathe their knives.
Suddenly, as Kergis crept onto the foot of the Mons, he heard voices approaching. Careful not to make any noise, he signalled to his men to stay in cover and sought refuge in the shadow of a weathered boulder. As the voices came closer he crouched in the darkness, waiting. His knife was in his hand, the blade smudged with volcanic ash to dull its reflection.
There were two of them. As the enemy sentries drew nearer, he was able to distinguish their voices and footsteps. They were arguing quietly amongst themselves, making no attempt to hide their presence. Listening as he waited, Kergis learned they had been assigned to sentry duty as punishment for failing to recite the litany properly during a rite of offering on a recent day of worship; a collective failure that each one blamed on the other.
As the footsteps came closer, Kergis was struck by the banality of their evil. From their conversation it was clear the rite they were referring to involved the blood sacrifice of innocent victims to the gods of Chaos. Yet, the sentries were more concerned with a petty grievance against their immediate superior in the cult hierarchy.
'It ain't right that Sinner Grell punished us,' the one on the left said. 'The litany's long and the Hierarch speaks so fast it's hard to keep up. I bet Sinner Grell don't know it no better than we do. He had the easy part, holding the salver for catching the blood. He ain't careful, somebody will tell the Hierarch what he does with the sacrifices before we kills 'em.'
They were his last words. Waiting until the sentries had walked past him, Kergis was on him in an instant. Clamping a hand over the man's mouth, he dragged the knife across his throat.
Hearing the sound of movement, the second sentry turned towards his partner. His eyes widening as he saw Kergis, he tried to raise his autogun. He was dead long before he could fire the weapon. Gurban emerged from the darkness behind him to press a hand over the second man's mouth and cut his throat just as Kergis had done to the first.
'We will take the bodies with us,' Kergis whispered to Gurban once he was sure the killing of the sentries had not raised any alarms. 'They are less likely to be discovered if we dump them in the tunnels.'
Gurban nodded. Kergis had made no gesture of thanks to the other man for killing the second sentry, nor would Gurban have expected one. Aware that his squad were nearby, Kergis had assumed that one of them would back him up when he launched his attack. If the position had been reversed and it was one of his men who had been left exposed by the sudden arrival of the sentries, Kergis would have behaved exactly as Gurban had done in supporting him. Such behaviour was taken for granted among the White Scars. As brother Astartes, they relied on each other implicitly.
Nearby, the rest of the squad emerged from cover. Motioning them to him, Kergis waited until they were huddled around him before he issued his orders.
'The entrance to the tunnels is that way,' he whispered, pointing to an area of the slope that was close at hand. Looking at the helmeted faces the men around him, he gave orders to several of the squad members in turn. 'I will take the lead. Osol, you will help Gurban carry the bodies. Doshin, shift some of the dust to cover the blood splatter from the sentries, then take a piece of scrub bush and use it to obscure our tracks. Arik, you're with me. The rest of you, follow behind us.'
The huddle dissolved as the squad followed his commands. Climbing the slope with Arik by the side of him, Kergis kept his senses sharp for any sign of the enemy. The lower reaches of the Ignis Mons were little more than a gentle incline, but the slopes of the volcano soon began to grow steeper.
Ahead, two kilometres above them, Kergis could see the smoking peak of the Mons. It was lit by a dull red glow from the lake of lava hidden inside it. They were on the northern slope, out of sight of the geothermal complex which was situated on the southern one, but they maintained the same habits of stealth that, so far, had taken them within striking distance of their objective. The most dangerous leg of the journey still lay ahead of them.
'I can see the hatchway,' Arik whispered over a secure channel on their vox. 'It is in the low depression thirty metres away, at three degrees south-south-west.'
'I see it, too,' Kergis replied. 'Signal to the others to stay back in case the enemy have left any unpleasant surprises waiting for us.'
While Arik communicated his orders to the rest of the squad by gesture, Kergis made his way cautiously across the slope.
The cone of the volcano and the ground beneath it were riddled with man-made tunnels designed to bleed off the hot magma and prevent the Ignis Mons from erupting. The same tunnels channelled the excess magma to heat steam which was then redirected to drive turbines to create an energy supply for the planet's cities. Based on the information gathered from debriefing some of the Imperial refugees who had escaped the fall of Tephra VII, the invasion forces had learned some of the tunnels beneath the Ignis Mons had not been used for centuries. Assuming the intelligence was right, Kergis and his men could use the tunnels to sneak into the power complex right under the noses of the enemy.
The access hatchway into the tunnels was set in a shallow well of plascrete to help protect it from the elements. Despite such precautions, its surface was pitted and scarred with rust. It was clear it had not been opened for some time.
Checking the surface of the hatchway for heat, Kergis took hold of the wheel-like opening mechanism and experimentally tried to turn it. The hatchway held fast, its inner workings rusted in place through centuries of disuse. Kergis increased the pressure incrementally, wary in case his gene-seed-wrought strength caused the wheel to shear off in his hands. With a protesting squeal of rusted metal, the wheel started to move. Slowly, he managed to turn it half a revolution.
The shriek as the hatch finally came free seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence of the night. Expecting to see sentries hurrying towards their position, Kergis waited with Arik beside him, carefully scanning their surroundings. To his surprise, there was no sign of activity. Evidently, the remaining sentries had been too far away to hear it.
'Quickly,' Kergis said, easing himself into the tunnel. 'The moment I give the all clear, tell the men to follow me. I don't want to test our luck out here any longer than necessary.'
Inside, the tunnel was dark and quiet. There was a vaguely sulphurous smell in the air; a side-effect, Kergis assumed, of the proximity of a live volcano. It was clear, however, that the intelligence from the refugees had been correct. The air was warm and damp, but it was obvious the tunnel had not been put to work in recent times.
The inner surface of the tunnel was rough with a residue of dried lava, but overlaying it was a thick layer of undisturbed dust. The tunnel itself was over four metres tall. Standing with ease once he had dropped through the hatchway, Kergis signalled to Arik above him that everything was all right.
Soon, the rest of the squad had joined him in the tunnel. As the last man dropped through, Doshin shut the hatchway behind him. Meanwhile, Gurban and Osol dumped the bodies of the dead sentries to one side of the tunnel.
'We will move forward in single file,' Kergis told his men once they were ready to proceed. 'If we meet the enemy, we will fight with swords and knives. We will only use our bolt pistols as weapons of last resort. Remember, the sound of a shot might echo across the whole length of these tunnels, alerting the enemy.'
The squad nodded their understanding. Turning, Kergis faced into darkness. The tunnels were even blacker than the night had been outside.
He and his men carried compact luminators attached to the sides of their helmets. He gave a signal to switch them on. The dull glow of the luminators revealed the shape of the tunnel in their immediate vicinity. Beyond it, there lay yet more darkness.
They had been furnished with a layout of the tunnel network courtesy of an ancient survey blueprint from the planetary archives; one of thousands of such documents the planetary governor and his retinue had taken with them when they fled the fall of their world to Chaos. Ordinarily, Kergis would have expected a governor to spend more time defending his planet and less saving some mouldering parchments, but on this occasion he supposed the man's weak backbone had played in his favour. Always assuming, of course, that the tunnels had not been substantially altered in the millennia since the survey had been completed.
'Move out,' he voxed his men.
As one, they marched forward into the darkness.

AN HOUR LATER, they had made steady progress. The tunnel layout recorded in the survey blueprints had proven to be accurate, allowing the squad to move faster than Kergis had expected. The luminators supplied only limited radiance, but this was not an insurmountable obstacle. Within minutes, the White Scars' eyes had begun to grow accustomed to the gloom. Soon, they could see as well in the tunnels as they had in the moonless night on the approach to the Ignis Mons.
By Kergis's reckoning, they were another three quarters of an hour from their destination.
'We need to pick up speed,' he told his men. 'The assault will be easier if we time our attack to the middle of the workers' shift, when they are likely to be at their most tired and dull-witted. From now on, double-time.'
Uncomplaining, the squad followed his example and broke into a jog.
Their objective was the control room which oversaw the operation of the lava tunnels. It was the most critical part of the facility. The White Scars were carrying a number of demolition charges with them; more than enough, he hoped, to destroy the control systems responsible for directing the movement of lava. Back on the strike cruiser, Goju, the Techmarine attached to their company, had given the squad an in-depth briefing, highlighting what each piece of the control apparatus looked like and where to place the charges to achieve the greatest effect. If the White Scars were successful in their plan of sabotage, the geothermal complex would be destroyed.
It would be harsh medicine for the people of Tephra VII. Assuming the invasion was a success, the newly liberated population in the western regions would be left without power. But the needs of victory outweighed any other consideration. First, Tephra VII would have to be liberated from the yoke of Chaos.
Compared to that noble aim, anything else was of secondary importance.

* * *

THE WHITE SCARS had travelled another half a kilometre before they discovered the tunnels had guardians. Hunters by nature, these guardians did not practise the lax habits of the sentries protecting the slopes of the Mons. They did not announce their presence with loud footsteps or idle conversation. They were not even human.
Kergis and his men had reached a place where the tunnel they were following suddenly opened out into a broad, empty space at least a hundred metres long and an equal distance wide. The ceiling high above was partially hidden in the gloom, but Kergis could see it was gently rounded, while the floor of the chamber was rough and uneven due to a coating of dried lava.
Entering cautiously into the hemispherical expanse, Kergis noted that the walls were dotted with the entrances of dozens of other tunnels, some of them set high above the floor of the chamber.
'What is it, do you think?' Gurban asked as he followed Kergis into the open. In keeping with Chapter tactics, the rest of the squad had stayed back at the mouth of the tunnel, ready to cover them in the event of an ambush.
'Some kind of overflow chamber, perhaps?' Kergis shrugged. 'If Goju was here, we could ask him.'
Summoning up the tunnel blueprints on his helmet display, he checked for the chamber in the layout. There was no sign of it.
'Whatever it is, it was built after the survey blueprints were made. Still, it doesn't look as though it was created recently. The stonework appears ancient. What does the auspex say?'
'The area reads clear,' Gurban said, grimacing as he checked the handheld unit he was carrying. 'But the reading may be unreliable. The tunnel walls are warm, hot even in places. I think some of these disused tunnels run parallel to pockets of lava. The temperature fluxions are confusing the auspex.'
'Understood,' Kergis said. He contacted the rest of the squad by vox. 'The auspex readings are unclear. Gurban and I will remain on point. Osol, you'll cover the others as last man. The rest of you, spread out. We move with caution.'
Blades at the ready, the White Scars fanned out across the chamber. Taking the lead with Gurban at his side, Kergis followed the lessons he had first learned as a Scout, then later as a battle-brother under the tutelage of Balat.
Given the proliferation of tunnels entering into the chamber, there were dozens of places an ambusher could hide. Rather than allowing his attention to become fixated on any particular point, Kergis broadened his perception and tried to take in the totality of his surroundings, relying on his armour's autosenses to supply him with a continuous feed of details. Above all else, he attuned himself to respond to any sign of movement - be it sight or sound - from the various tunnel mouths around him. At the same time, he listened for a warning shout from any of his fellow White Scars, each of whom acted as an extra set of eyes and ears for their brothers.
In the end, it was the smell that warned him of the enemy's presence. He picked up on a rank odour. It was only the merest trace. An animal stench, familiar yet elusive.
'Contact!' Gurban yelled a warning as the proximity alert on the auspex in his hand burst suddenly into noisy life. 'I make a dozen at least. They are all around us…'
The rest of his words were lost as the first of the attackers emerged from their hiding places to ambush the White Scars.
Kergis caught a blurred glimpse of slavering jaws as their owner leapt towards him. He responded with a sweep of his sword, the blade of the power weapon sizzling eagerly through the air as it hurried to meet its target. The blow caught the creature in the flanks in mid-leap. Kergis heard the attacker scream as his armour was splashed with hot alien gore.
Amid the stench of blood he smelled the same rank odour he had sensed before, stronger this time. It was a enamel smell of malice and corruption, one he recognised from bloody encounters on a dozen different worlds.
A second creature emerged from a nearby tunnel and bounded towards him. This time, given more opportunity to ready his defence, Kergis was able to take in the full nature of the creature as it charged. To any man who was not Astartes, it would have seemed a source of terrifying horror; a thing of nightmare given swift and shrieking life.
The beast was perhaps two metres long. Its body was lean and hungry, with powerful rippling muscles and a head that seemed too large for its torso. Its legs ended in sharp claws that gouged scratches into the surface of the ground as it ran. The oversized head ended in a long snout set with a row of massive, interlocking fangs. The first beast had been covered in matted fur, but this one was disturbingly hairless. Its skin was a leprous ashen shade of grey.
As the creature began its death-leap towards him, Kergis saw a pair of bony hooks emerge from concealed sheaths on its shoulders, ready to strike in unison with its jaws. Holding to the last moment with the confident assurance of a skilled swordsman, Kergis waited until the creature was almost upon him before he lashed out with his sword.
The blow caught the beast in the centre line of its skull. The head and brain were split down the middle, killing it.
Propelled by momentum, the dead creature's body continued moving. Sidestepping it with ease, Kergis heard it flop to the ground behind him.
In the brief breathing space accorded by the death of the second attacker, he snapped a quick glance towards his men. Behind him, the rest of the squad were each busy with their own battles, fighting with knives and whirring chainswords against the teeth and claws of a horde of similar monsters.
Kergis turned, intent on offering aid to his brothers. Suddenly, he felt a blow hit his side. Caught unawares, it knocked him from his feet.
Too late, he realised the creatures attacked in threes.
Falling to the ground, Kergis found himself looking up at a pair of red, rage-filled eyes. The third beast was bigger than either of its two fellow hunters. It had Kergis on his back, its weight pressing down on his chest. His sword arm was held gripped in its jaws. Kergis tried to pull the arm free, but the creature's hold was too strong.
As he struggled, it bit down harder into his arm. Incredibly, Kergis saw the teeth had made an impression on the ceramite skin of his armour. A minute series of cracks had begun to appear in the armour's surface. Kergis would have hardly thought it possible, but the creature gave every impression of being able to bite through his armour if he gave it long enough. Unable to bring his sword to bear as long as his right arm was in its grip, Kergis's left hand scrabbled to free his knife, then stabbed the creature with all his strength.
He felt a brief moment of resistance as the blade cut through the beast's tough outer skin before sliding deep into its body. The monster seemed indifferent to the blow; if anything, its grip on his arm tightened.
Kergis pulled out the knife and stabbed it again. And again. The blade of the knife arced back and forth in a rapid succession of blows, making a bloody ruin of the creature's side as Kergis fought desperately to kill it.
Abruptly, his efforts were rewarded. Still gripping tightly on his sword arm, the beast closed its eyes and died.
Kergis's view of his fellow White Scars was obscured by the body of the creature on top of him, but as he recovered his breath he became dimly aware the struggle around him had been brought to a close. The noises of war, the battle cries of his men and roars of the creatures had faded. In their place he heard a strange, mournful howl echo in the distance.
Unsure of the sound's origin, Kergis pushed the creature's bulk to one side. Unable to break its death-grip on his arm, he managed to work his power sword free and took it in his left hand. Then, activating the blade, he sliced through the upper and lower jaws of the dead animal's snout just below the point where they gripped his arm.
With nothing left to maintain their hold, the two parts of the severed snout came away. Looking down at the indentations that the beast's fangs had left in his armour, Kergis could not help but wonder how much longer it would have taken the monster to crack through his defences.
Now that the beast was dead, Kergis could see it was different from its fellows. Gazing at the dozen or so creatures lying dead around the chamber, he observed that each individual bore only the vaguest signs of kinship to the others. He saw fur and armoured scales, retractable claws and envenomed fangs, poison-weeping musk glands and iridescent insect eyes; sometimes all combined in the body of a single creature. For all that, however, there was a resemblance between each and every one of them, no matter how slight. It was as though each of the monsters had been badly drawn from memory to the same basic design. 'Ugly beasts, aren't they?'
It was Arik. Looking up, Kergis saw the rest of the squad had gathered around him. He was relieved to see there were no casualties among them. Despite the deadly nature of their opponents, his men had passed through the fight unscathed.
'What were they?' Osol asked. He was the youngest man in the squad, with barely half a decade as a battle-brother behind him.
'A hunting pack,' Kergis replied. 'A Chaos warband may raid on dozens, even hundreds of worlds. Sometimes, they capture particularly fearsome examples of the local animals, predators especially. Some they use for sport, but others they breed together, creating hybrid monstrosities that they train as hunting packs. Making use of the powers of Chaos, they can combine even completely different animals, creating chimera creatures like these. We have fought them before, maybe a dozen times. Each time the creatures look different. But the smell is always the same.'
'They must have left them down here because they knew the tunnels would be a target for infiltrators,' Arik said. 'You realise the noise of the fight may have warned the enemy of our presence?'
'No,' Kergis shook his head. 'It doesn't necessarily follow. We are deep underground, and none of us fired our bolt pistols. The enemy may not have heard the battle at all. Or, if they did, they may rely on the hunting pack to have killed us. What concerns me more right now is the howling.'
The sound had continued, growing louder as the creature making it moved closer to their position. In his long service as an Astartes, Kergis had never heard anything to match it. It was a keening sound, long and ululating, rising and falling in pitch in a harsh, continuous wail. The noise of it was grating, even disturbing.
Kergis would have preferred to believe no human voice was capable of making such a sound, but the howling seemed to speak wordlessly of all too human emotions. Kergis recognised a sound born of rage and insanity. There was a squall of white noise underlying it, which seemed to indicate the howl was issuing from a vox unit, but there was no mistaking the raw seething emotion behind it. Kergis heard tones of outrage, grief and betrayal. Above all else, he heard the sound of madness.
'It started in the middle of the fight,' Arik said. 'When the hunting pack heard it, they fled.'
'Spread out,' Kergis ordered his men. 'It's getting closer. Given that sound, we can assume it's hostile. And if it scared the hunting pack away, it must be dangerous.'
The howling grew louder. Although the sound echoed around the chamber, it was clear which tunnel it was coming from. Taking a step forward, Gurban raised his auspex and tried to gain a reading.
'It's big,' he said. 'From the size of the contact, it must be barely able to fit in the tunnel.'
'All of you, check your bolt pistols and melta charges,' Kergis said as Gurban stepped back to join the line of White Scars standing in the centre of the chamber. 'But only use them if you hear my order. If possible, we will try to use our blades.'
Privately, he doubted the White Scars' swords were up to the task of killing the thing lumbering its way towards them, but he was willing to try so long as there was any chance of maintaining the element of surprise in their mission.
The volume of the howling had risen to an ear-splitting roar. Kergis pressed the activation rune on his power sword as a dark shape emerged from the mouth of the tunnel.
As the creature stepped forward, Kergis saw it clearly for the first time. He realised he and his men were in deep trouble.

HIS NAME WAS long forgotten. If his current captors referred to him by any name at all they called him Shulok-ahk-alim-neg, a phrase meaning 'he howls without end' in the corrupt argot favoured by the warband's leaders. Or else, they simply called him Shulok.
He did not care. His true name had been lost on the day his brothers betrayed him.
Once, he had been handsome and well featured. He was strong of limb and purpose. He was Astartes. When his brothers rebelled against the Emperor, he had followed their example. Ultimately, they had been defeated in their struggle, but they consoled themselves with the thought they had helped deliver a deathblow to the Emperor and all His works.
The years would prove them wrong. The Emperor's followers refused to accept His demise. They placed Him on a golden throne, a corpse-god effigy to rule over a conquered galaxy. Incredibly, the Imperium He had founded prospered and grew stronger.
Angered by this inexplicable development, Shulok and his brothers had begun to raid the Imperium's territory. Bitter and vengeful after their defeat, they sought to destroy the Emperor's dominions in piecemeal fashion.
In truth, there was no longer any grand strategy or noble aim. Once, they had made war in the name of ideas. But defeat had changed everything. Now, they simply killed for its own sake. They fought to bring destruction to their enemies, with no thought of high ideals or consequence.
To the mind of the creature who would one day become Shulok, they had been wonderful times. His memories had been blurred and darkened by the years, but he remembered the heady sense of freedom, of licence. He had fought across the stars with his brothers beside him. He had known glory and victory.
Then, one day he died.
He remembered it vividly. They had fought beneath a giant red sun. A warrior with a crimson fist had raised a bolt pistol as the two of them struggled in hand-to-hand combat. Point blank, the barrel opening of the bolt weapon seemed huge, a yawning chasm. He had tried to grab the pistol, to deflect the shot, but it was too late. There was a bright flash from the muzzle and his world passed to darkness.
After that, there came the betrayal. He awoke to find his body felt strangely numb. Puzzled by unfamiliar sensations, he tried to lift his arms to inspect them. What he saw once he did so made him cry out in anguish.
He had been encased in a metal shell. His body, too badly injured to be healed, had been entombed inside a cold sarcophagus, henceforth to serve as the central cortex piloting a hulking war machine.
Raging at his imprisonment, he had screamed for release. Alternating between fury and bouts of pleading, he had called for someone, anyone, to have mercy. Even death would be better than an eternity trapped inside a machine. He had begged to be killed.
His only answer had come with cruel laughter. Focusing on the sound, he had realised several of his brothers stood nearby. Standing at their head was their leader, the warsmith. He smiled, his expression insufferably smug and mocking.
'Kill you? I think not. You are a resource to us now, a valuable one. And, really, you can't complain. We simply took you at your promise all those times you uttered our battle cry. ''Iron within, iron without''. Now, my friend, you truly are an iron warrior.'
It was then that the creature who would one day be known as Shulok began to earn his name. He started to howl, giving vent to pain and frustration as he strained against the chains his brothers had used to bind him.
From that day on, the howling had never ended. The men who betrayed him were dead and gone, killed in a long ago battle he could barely remember. But even with their deaths his captivity and his torment had not ended. Over the course of thousands of years he had been passed from warband to warband, traded as a chattel or captured as part of the spoils of war.
Through it all, the howling continued.
It had become a reflex. A man of flesh and blood cannot scream forever; he needs rest and sleep. But a machine knows no such limitations. After thousands of years, the vox unit in his war machine body still gave voice to the same keening, strident shriek.
His reason had long since left him, his wits broken in the centuries since his betrayal. If there was one saving grace left to him, it was that he could still take pleasure in killing his enemies.
In particular, he cherished the killing of Astartes, especially the heirs of the loyalist Legions who had taken the Emperor's side in the rebellion. He hated them most of all. They reminded him of all he had lost. Killing them gave him respite, creating a brief moment of joy that drowned out his pain and anguish, even if only for a second.
In recent days he had been accorded little opportunity for killing of any kind. Weary of his howling, his current captors had imprisoned him in the disused tunnels beneath the Ignis Mons. Left to wander alone, he had soon discovered the only creatures other than himself in the tunnels were the warband's hunting animals. He had tried to stalk them, to sate his need for killing, but they proved to be difficult quarry, too quick and wily to be easily caught.
The lack of killing had made his existence even harder to endure. Until, one day, the sounds echoing through his underground domain had brought news of the presence of fresh prey in the tunnels.
Soon, the roar of the hunting animals and the smell of blood had seemed to confirm his hopes, bringing him hurrying to investigate. Stepping forward from the confined space of the tunnels into open territory, he saw nine figures clad in white power armour emblazoned with a lightning insignia.
White Scars.
A thrill of anticipation ran through him.
The pistons of his leg hydraulics hissing like a pit of angry vipers, he strode forward into the chamber and made ready to kill them.

'DREADNOUGHT!'
Forewarned by his auspex a split second before the metal giant emerged from the tunnel, Gurban shouted out a desperate warning.
The war machine was huge. Dust fell where its massive hulking shoulders had scraped against the tunnel walls. Still howling as it moved into the chamber, it advanced with thudding, foreboding footsteps. Its exterior was a dull gunmetal grey in colour, overlaid with riveted Chaos symbols in brass and copper. On one shoulder, Kergis could see an ancient skull insignia indicating the Dreadnought had once belonged to the Iron Warriors. The skull had been crudely scratched out and defaced, but the outline of the insignia was still visible.
Unlike the majority of Astartes Chapters, the White Scars had never made use of Dreadnoughts. To warriors accustomed to the freedom of the plains of their home world Chogoris, the idea of being entombed in a walking sarcophagus seemed like a fate worse than death.
Despite this, as the Chaos Dreadnought advanced on his position Kergis was forced to grant that the machine was impressive. He did not doubt that a group of lesser warriors might have decided to flee rather than face the monster. But he and his men were White Scars. They were made of sterner stuff.
The Dreadnought came closer, eager to begin the fight.
'Switch to bolt pistols!' Kergis called out to his men. 'Rapid fire! Aim for the legs!'
Fanning out to create more room between themselves and their opponent, the men of the squad drew their pistols and began firing. Following their sergeant's order they aimed at the Dreadnought's legs, hoping to knock out the motive hydraulics enabling its movement.
It was an old lesson of the plains that an immobilised enemy was nearly as good as dead. When facing a more powerful opponent, the White Scars would often attempt to hamstring him in order to take the greatest advantage of their manoeuvrability on their bikes. Kergis realised that the tactic was less likely to be successful in the relatively confined space of the overflow chamber, especially as the White Scars were on foot. The most he could hope for was that if they destroyed the Dreadnought's movement capability it would allow them to outflank and overwhelm it.
Despite the hail of gunfire, the Dreadnought was unaffected. Almost contemptuous of the White Scars' efforts, it brandished the plasma cannon fitted to its left arm.
Kergis dived to the ground just in time as a stream of plasma scythed through the air over his head. Going into a roll, he came up and fired his bolt pistol at the war machine again. He aimed for the shadowed recess where its head met his body, hoping to find a weak point in the heavy armour protecting it from the front.
Meanwhile, his men had spread out in a wide circle around their enemy. Adapting their more normal tactics to the situation, they fired on the move, each individual Space Marine alternating between phases of advance, retreat and sideways movement in an attempt to confuse the Dreadnought.
Greeted with multiple, moving targets the Dreadnought seemed briefly stymied. Until, seeking to make use of the opportunity presented by the enemy's uncertainty, Osol moved behind the machine and made a sudden dash for its back. In his hand, he held the round shape of a melta bomb.
Guessing his intent Kergis almost called out a warning, but kept his silence for fear of alerting the Dreadnought. His worst fears were quickly realised. As Osol came within a few paces, the Dreadnought suddenly turned, its legs remaining motionless as it pivoted its upper body around one hundred and eighty degrees on its central axis. Catching Osol by surprise, it smashed him to the ground with a blow from the power claw on its right arm.
Using the heavy gauntlet as a club, it hammered repeatedly on Osol's inert form. Attempting to rescue his battle-brother, Doshin swept into the fray firing his bolt pistol. Turning once more on its axis, the Dreadnought moved with surprising swiftness. It raised its plasma cannon to meet Doshin's attack, leaving the charging White Scar staring down the muzzle of the weapon at nearly point-blank range.
'No!'
Activating his power sword, Kergis charged forward to intervene.
It was too late. The plasma weapon fired with a blinding light. Doshin's head was atomised in an instant, leaving his body still standing, the seared flesh smouldering from the heat of the energy discharge.
Caught in the backwash of the blast as he leapt forward, Kergis's sword strike was deflected. Instead of biting deep into the Dreadnought's arm, he caught it a glancing blow on the shoulder. Shuddering as the crackling energy field surrounding the blade sliced off a layer of its metal skin, the Dreadnought bellowed in rage and hit the White Scar sergeant with a heavy, backhanded blow.
The force of it sent Kergis hurtling bodily across the chamber. He landed with a jarring impact, skidding to a halt beside the cadaver of one of the dead hunting animals. Pulling himself up, he saw his men had increased their attacks against the Dreadnought to distract it from going after their sergeant.
Kergis was about to charge back into the battle when he realised he was no longer holding his power sword. Evidently, it had slipped from his grip when the Dreadnought hit him.
Looking about desperately, he saw it lying on the floor of the chamber near the Dreadnought's feet. Spotting it, he almost cried out in frustration. The sword was the most potent weapon he possessed. In the absence of the heavy weapons his squad had given up to carry explosives, it was the best weapon they had against the Dreadnought. Without it, there was precious little chance that he and his men could even hurt the machine, much less kill it.
For a moment, it appeared to Kergis that he and his men were doomed. He would fight to the last, they all would, but there seemed no prospect of their survival. Worse, their mission would be a failure. At dawn, when their brothers assaulted the city of Chaldis they would find the enemy shields were still in place. The likely result would be a bloodbath. The success of the invasion would be at risk.
Then, abruptly, he spotted something in the chamber floor that changed everything.
There was a spider web of cracks in the surface of the floor around the Dreadnought. With each crunching footstep more cracks appeared, adding to the pattern as the great weight of the war machine pressed down on the stone. More tellingly, Kergis could see tiny wisps of steam and smoke rising from among some of the cracks, almost lost in the thin clouds of dust that hugged the chamber floor. At the same time, he noticed the ground beneath his feet was hot to the touch. Looking down, he saw the floor was not composed of the same stonework as the walls of the chamber. Instead, it appeared almost identical to the rocks he had seen while travelling through the Cradle.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, Kergis realised the chamber he was standing in was a sphere, not a hemisphere. He and his men had mistaken a bed of dried lava for the chamber floor. It seemed likely there was yet more lava beneath it, red-hot and still liquid.
A dangerous plan forming in his mind, Kergis's hands scrabbled in the satchel he carried with him. Then, lifting his bolt pistol to fire a rapid series of shots, he charged across the chamber towards the Dreadnought.
'Pull back!' he yelled to his men as he drew closer to the machine. 'Keep firing, but pull back, all of you! That is an order! Leave this monster to me.'
With no time to explain his plan, he could only hope the habit of obedience was so deeply engrained that his men would follow his orders without question.
Ahead, it was almost as if the Dreadnought was waiting for him. Instead of firing its weapons, it spread its arms wide in a taunting gesture and encouraged Kergis to continue his charge. Sprinting closer as the bolt pistol in his hand ran out of ammunition and fell silent, Kergis let out an emphatic battle cry.
'For the Khan and the Emperor! For victory!'
The Dreadnought leaned its great bulk forward, ready to meet his charge. But instead of facing the monster head-on, Kergis changed tack. At the very last instant before he moved into range of its grasp he threw himself to the ground, relying on the momentum of the charge to carry him forward as his body skidded across the filmy dusty surface of the lava floor. Catching the Dreadnought by surprise, Kergis slid between its articulated legs and emerged behind the machine. His momentum exhausted, he slowed to a gentle stop a few metres behind the Dreadnought.
The sound of its howling briefly changing timbre to a cry of rage at the trick, the Dreadnought turned on its axis and angrily moved its arm into a firing position. Levelling the plasma weapon at Kergis as he lay on the ground, it prepared to blast him to oblivion. In response, Kergis lifted a small, handheld remote detonator, making sure the Dreadnought could see it before he pressed the ignition stud.
Too late, the machine realised the White Scar had left something beneath it in his skidding journey underneath its body. Looking down, it saw the dark compact shape of a polyleather satchel lying on the ground at a point almost equidistant between its feet.
The contents of the satchel detonated with a roar that drowned out the Dreadnought's howl of anguish.
The explosion did not penetrate its armour, but it was enough to fatally weaken the ground beneath the monster's feet. With its arms flailing madly, the Dreadnought began to fall screaming as the floor immediately underneath it shattered and gave way, pitching it headlong into a suddenly revealed abyss of burning lava situated below the level of the chamber floor. For the first time in thousands of years the Dreadnought's howls of pain and anguish were replaced by the sounds of fear as it tumbled into a lake of fire. It made a splash as it landed, sending droplets of hissing magma flying into the air as it sank into the red heat of a flowing sea of lava.
Nearby, luck had been on Kergis's side. Although the floor had collapsed to within a few centimetres of his position, the ground had held firm underneath him. Rising to his feet, he saw that his sword lay on the floor barely a metre away. He reached over to pick it up. Behind him, the mouth of the newly created pit was obscured by a pall of steam and rising smoke, as hot air from the lava well met the colder air of the overflow chamber.
Casting a quick glance around him, Kergis could see that his men had followed his orders to pull back. He was the closest man to the edge of the pit. The remaining members of the squad were congregated twenty metres away, on the other side. As he leaned forward to grip the hilt of his sword, he raised his other hand to signal to his men that he was all right.
His presence of mind in immediately seeking out the sword saved his life as one of the Dreadnought's arms suddenly emerged from inside the pit and lashed through the air beside him. Caught by a glancing blow, Kergis was knocked to the ground as the monster's blindly groping claw latched on to his leg and began to pull him into the hole. From the other side of the pit he heard his men call out in horror as they rushed to help him. But they were too far away. With a remorseless strength born of a desire for vengeance, the Dreadnought began to drag him towards the edge of the abyss.
His free hand scrabbling at the floor as he tried to arrest his journey, Kergis turned on his side and attempted to bring the sword to bear. At last, his hand found purchase as the Dreadnought's arm tugged him onto the crumbling lip of the pit. Digging his hand into the relatively soft surface of the floor, Kergis managed to create enough of a handhold to resist the monster's strength.
He held on with all his might, his muscles aching with the strain as the Dreadnought fought mercilessly to pull him into the abyss. Suspended on the edge of the pit, he glanced down and saw the Dreadnought glaring up at him, its body half-submerged in burning lava. Flames and steam billowed from its body as the lava found a way past its defences through the crevices in its armour. The monster was being burned alive inside its own skin. Yet, still, it clung on to Kergis's leg, intent on dragging him to hell with it.
At last, Kergis was able to twist around and bring his sword to bear. He slashed downward, the descending arc of his power sword trailing bright flashes of sparks as the energy field of the blade ignited tiny micro-pockets of flammable gas rising from the lava. Unlike the last time he had struck the Dreadnought, this time the blade hit its mark squarely. It cut through the lava-weakened armour of the Dreadnought's arm, severing it at the elbow.
Its hold on his leg lost, the Dreadnought sank into the boiling lava like a tired swimmer. Its last sound was a final, despairing howl. Then, it was gone.
'Sergeant!' Kergis felt hands at his shoulder. 'Quickly, take my hand! We won't let you fall!'
It was Arik. Together with Gurban, the pathfinder had leapt across the pit to help rescue him. Soon, they had pulled Kergis away from the mouth of the hole. The three of them stood watching the smoke rising from the pit as the other men of the squad rushed to join them.
'That was a close one,' Arik said to Kergis, once he could see the sergeant had regained his breath. 'For a moment, I thought we'd lost you.'
'For a moment I thought the same myself,' Kergis admitted.
He paused for a second to listen. From further ahead he heard the sound of a distant klaxon, echoing shrilly around the tunnels. Evidently, the fight with the Dreadnought had alerted the enemy to their presence.
It seemed they no longer had the element of surprise on their side.

OSOL WAS DEAD. In the aftermath of the fight, it became clear the White Scars had lost two of their number in return for the Dreadnought's death. Kergis had known Doshin had been killed, his head blasted to atoms by the thing's plasma cannon, but the death of Osol came as an unpleasant surprise. He had seen the younger Space Marine fall, but he had still harboured hopes that Osol might have survived the attack.
As it was, those hopes had been swiftly dashed. The Dreadnought's hammering blows had smashed through Osol's helmet and crushed his skull like an eggshell.
The death of both men was a bitter loss to the squad, but Kergis found the death of Osol to be an especial cause for sorrow. The young White Scar had been rough around the edges, but he had showed great promise. Kergis knew he was not alone in expecting that Osol would one day rise high in the Chapter.
Sadly, that promise would never be fulfilled.
'We have lost our brothers,' he said to his men afterwards, once they had taken the weapons and ammunition from the dead men's bodies, along with the explosives and their few personal effects. 'But we know all that was good in them is not lost. They will be remembered in the tales we tell around the campfire, and in the annals maintained by the Chaplains. And their gene-seed has survived their deaths. Through it, they will serve as the forebears of future White Scars.'
His hands were slick with blood as he spoke. As the ranking warrior among his men, it had fallen to Kergis to remove the progenoid glands from Osol and Doshin. He had placed the harvested glands into a cryo-flask and given it to Gurban for safekeeping. In time, the progenoids would be returned to Chogoris where the Chapter Apothecaries would use them in the creation of more new White Scars. Osol and Doshin were dead, but their gene-seed would live on.
While Kergis had performed the bloody work of removing the progenoids, the other members of the squad had removed their helmets as a mark of respect. Now, Kergis looked around at their faces, one by one.
'Remember the teachings of the Stormseers,' he said to his men. 'Even in death, our brothers are still with us. They sit at our shoulder. Their spirits guide us and watch us.'
'In death, their spirits are still with us,' the squad intoned quietly, echoing his words with their heads bowed and their voices as one.
It was a phrase and a sentiment taken from the ancient funerary rites still practised on the plains of Chogoris. The pressure of time meant that Kergis could do little except say a few words over the bodies of his dead brothers. If they had been on Chogoris, things would have been different. As warriors fallen in battle, Osol and Doshin would have been accorded the highest of honours. Instead, the current situation meant the best Kergis and his men had been able to do was to set booby traps to kill any enemy or scavenger who might try to defile their dead brothers' remains.
'We should be on our way,' Gurban said, once their preparations were done. 'The enemy will be looking for us, but they'll have a hard time searching all these tunnels. We'll have the best chance of reaching our objective if we push on now, before they can get the search properly organised.'
'Agreed,' Kergis nodded. 'But there has been a change of plan. I won't be going with you.'
If he had claimed the Emperor had appeared to him in a vision, he doubted it would have had more of an effect on his men. Their faces looked thunderstruck.
'I cannot explain the whole of it,' Kergis said, lifting a hand to stifle the squad's protests. 'I can only say that there is more to our mission here than you were told. I was given a second secret task, to be accomplished alongside the main objective of our mission. I had hoped to complete the main objective first, but events have become our master in this. Now the enemy knows we are here, the only way to achieve both tasks is to split our forces. Gurban, you will lead the squad to the main objective and complete the sabotage as planned. As for the second task, I will continue alone and complete it by myself.'
'But sergeant…' Arik's expression was aghast. 'You can't leave us now. At least let us know what is going on. If you have to leave, let us know it serves some reason.'
'I'm sorry,' Kergis turned to Gurban. 'The mission falls to you now. Remember the importance of what we were sent to do here. If the power supply to the void shield isn't interrupted the assault on Chaldis may fail. Our brothers are counting on you, Gurban. I have every faith you will not let them down.'
'I will not allow us to fail,' Gurban nodded, solemnly. 'But what of you, sergeant? When we are attacking the main objective, where will you be?'
'I will be hunting for the master of this place,' Kergis said. 'He has business with the White Scars that cannot be allowed to go unfinished.'

THE OVERFLOW CHAMBER was a juncture point in the tunnels, so it was there that Kergis took his leave of the squad. Using the survey blueprint to guide him he chose a tunnel that brought him closer to the main body of the power complex while his comrades followed a path deeper into the bowels of the facility. Their objective was the control room overseeing the operation of the lava tunnels, while his lay in the higher reaches of the complex.
All through the journey the sound of the klaxon reverberated through the tunnels. Evidently, the sounds of the battle against the Dreadnought and the explosion that tipped it into the lava pit had stirred up a hornets' nest of enemy activity. All too aware that this might make things harder for Gurban and the others, Kergis decided he would do what he could to ease his brothers on their path through the complex.
It was not difficult. The fact an alarm had been raised meant there were sentries and search parties moving throughout the area. Some of them would be in Kergis's way. By killing them as swiftly and noisily as possible he could achieve two aims at once: clearing the pathway to his own objective while simultaneously drawing the enemy away from the rest of the squad. If luck was on his side every enemy in the complex would soon be chasing him, leaving Gurban and the others with a relatively clear path to the control room.
Given the sheer number of enemy troops now swarming throughout the facility, it was not long before he was able to put his plan into practice.

'WE HAVE FOUND the intruder!' the search party leader screamed into his vox. 'He is Astartes… wearing white armour like the blessed one… he…'
Kergis ended the man's words with a shot from his bolt pistol, the round hitting him in the middle of his forehead and detonating inside his skull.
There were five other men in the group, one of dozens of such search parties currently scouring the Mons. They were armed with autoguns and wore robes indicating their membership in one of the many foul cults which had flourished on Tephra VII since it had fallen to Chaos.
Even by the standard of the scum that frequently attached itself to Chaos warbands, they were poor warriors. They were actively searching for an intruder, supposedly on their guard, but Kergis had been able to get behind them with ease. He had encountered them a little while after he emerged from the lava tunnels into the complex proper. By then, they were the sixth or seventh group of guards he had encountered. He had killed so many he had begun to lose count.
The rest of the search party quickly followed their leader into death. Armed with his power sword, he made short work of them.
'Search Group Nine, are you still there? Nine, can you hear me?'
The leader's vox had fallen to the ground and continued to squawk long after its owner and his comrades were dead. Treading on it, Kergis crushed it.
Turning away from the carnage he had just wrought with barely a thought, Kergis hurried his steps and pushed on through the complex. Still guided by the survey blueprints he had been given as part of the mission, he travelled a twisting trail through the Mons, frequently punctuated by bloody encounters with small parties of the enemy garrison.
Wary of the danger he might be overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers, he was careful to stay away from the main areas of the complex that were likely to feature the greatest concentrations of the enemy's strength. Instead, he stayed to the byways, relying on a network of maintenance tubes and access hatchways to take him through the complex. In this, the facility's very nature worked in his favour.
Inside, the power complex was a vast and uncoordinated maze of rooms and corridors, open spaces and storage areas. It had quickly become clear the enemy lacked the same blueprints that he possessed. Without them, they could only trail in confusion in Kergis's wake while he journeyed unerringly to his target.
His objective was situated in the higher levels of the complex, in the area the warband's leaders had set aside as their quarters. As Kergis followed a twisting path through the tubes and hatchways, he noticed the sentries and guard posts appeared to thin in numbers as he rose higher through the facility.
To his mind it seemed curious that the enemy had chosen to leave their leaders' quarters relatively unprotected. A small, quiet voice in his mind wondered whether he was missing something. It was almost as if the enemy had left the path to their leaders' quarters clear, though any motive they might have had to do so eluded him.
Dismissing his thoughts as idle fancies, he continued on his journey.
Before long he found himself within sight of his objective. Moving quietly down a long corridor on one of the upper floors of the complex, he peered around a corner and saw two sentries standing outside a closed doorway. Based on the survey blueprints, and the intelligence gathered from Imperial refugees who had escaped Tephra after its fall, Kergis knew the doorway was the entrance to the private quarters of the leader of the warband responsible for garrisoning the Mons. Through those doors, he would find his target.
Watching the sentries from cover, he waited until their heads were turned away from him. Then, he struck. He ran towards them, all too aware of the sound of his footsteps as they boomed off the metal surface of the floor. It could not be helped. The time for stealth had passed, replaced by the need for quick, decisive action.
Hearing the footsteps running towards them, the sentries turned and raised their autoguns. Their response came too late. Having crossed the distance to their position in barely the time it took them to lift their guns, Kergis lashed out twice with his power sword. In those two movements, the sentries were dead.
Cautiously, Kergis tried to open the doors into the warband leader's quarters and found them unlocked. Pushing them ajar as quietly as possible, he advanced silently into the chamber beyond. He saw a room decorated in a strangely Spartan manner. There were almost no furnishings, beyond a metal cot at one end of the room and a chair situated in the centre. Kergis noticed they were sized for Astartes rather than ordinary humans. The rest of the room was bare. There was evidence the walls had once been decorated with friezes and mosaics, probably Imperial in nature, but they had been roughly gouged and chopped from the surface, leaving a detritus of dust and plaster sitting on the floor.
His sword and bolt pistol at the ready, Kergis moved further into the room.
'Hello, arban,' a familiar voice said behind him.

'BORCHU?' KERGIS HAD said two days earlier as he stood with Jurga Khan in the strategium, staring at the reconnaissance pict of the armoured figure.
'Yes, it is him,' Jurga Khan agreed, nodding. 'You see now why I thought it best to give you this mission? Borchu was in your squad.'
'But he is dead,' Kergis said, his voice disbelieving. 'He was killed in the caverns of Nephis-Ra. I saw him die myself.'
'His body was never recovered,' the Khan reminded him. 'I have read your battle report. His body was lost in a cave-in after he had been felled by enemy fire. That section of the caverns was destroyed three days later when the enemy unleashed a captured Deathstrike armed with a plasma warhead. It was assumed Borchu's body was annihilated in the blast with everything else.'
The Khan's expression darkened.
'It now seems that assumption was in error.'
'But he was dead,' Kergis said. 'I saw him fall myself. He was hit in the chest by a lascannon. It was at close range and the beam went straight through him, emerging from his back. There is no way anyone could have survived it - otherwise, I would have tried to rescue him. But it was pointless. The heat of the beam would have cooked his internal organs instantly.'
At first, Jurga Khan did not answer. Instead, he made a gesture with his hand and caused another pict to appear. It was taken at the same angle as the previous one, but it showed a close-up of the armoured figure's chest. Despite the grainy nature of the image it was clear the chest plate of the armour had been repaired by an unknown hand. The workmanship was poor and it was readily apparent to Kergis's trained eye that the damage which had occasioned the repair work had been caused by something which had drilled a fist-sized hole through the armour's ceramite surface. Even if he had not seen the wound inflicted himself, his decades spent on the battlefield would have told him precisely which weapon had created the hole.
A lascannon.
'It is impossible,' Kergis said quietly. 'I don't want to believe it, but I must accept the evidence of my own eyes. It is Borchu. Still, I cannot believe he would turn against us. It was his nature to be loyal.'
'He may not have turned on us,' the Khan replied. 'Despite appearances, Borchu may well have died on Nephis-Ra. We have fought enemies who have been possessed by Chaos daemons in the past. Normally, the daemons can only possess a living body, but all things are possible for the creatures of the warp. Perhaps Borchu's body was recovered by the enemy after he died and a daemon now uses it. Or perhaps Borchu's body really was destroyed and a daemon or some xenos creature has shifted its appearance to resemble him. Whatever the truth, it is an abomination. Our Chapter is dishonoured as long as a creature of the enemy wears the face of one of our fallen brothers.'
'Then, the dishonour must be avenged,' Kergis said, lifting a hand to indicate the figure in the pict. 'I will seek him out. Whether it truly is Borchu, or a daemon using his appearance, I will kill him. The Chapter's honour will be restored.'
'You understand the full ramifications of what you are saying?' Jurga Khan asked him. 'I have already agreed, on behalf of our Chapter, that we will lead the assault on Chaldis. I have also agreed to send a mission to sabotage the power complex on the Ignis Mons. I agreed to both these tasks before I saw these picts and spotted Borchu, but that hardly matters. As Khan my words must be iron. If not, if we fail in either mission, our company will be dishonoured. Similarly, whatever his true nature may be, we will also be dishonoured if we fail to act against this ''Borchu''.'
'I understand,' Kergis said, his voice hard and unyielding. 'And I know there may be a price to be paid. But no matter the price or what it costs me, I promise you I will kill Borchu - whoever or whatever he may be.'

'HELLO, ARBAN,' THE thing wearing Borchu's face said. 'What, no smile of greeting? No warm words of welcome for a comrade you had thought lost? I am disappointed.'
Somehow, it had gotten behind him. Kergis had been sure he had checked every corner of the room before advancing, but the creature that was not Borchu had managed to find a hiding place all the same.
Cautiously, Kergis turned to face it. The room was gloomy, with few sources of illumination, but even as he stared at the armoured figure half-hidden in the shadows he knew at once it was not his former comrade. The face and the armour were the same, but the skin held a blue-white pallor Kergis associated with the recently deceased. At the same time, the creature's eyes rippled with seething and unearthly energies as though its physical form was barely able to contain the maelstrom inside it.
Even without these signs, Kergis would never have mistaken it for Borchu. In life his friend had been a good-natured, hearty fellow, always laughing. The creature before him now might wear Borchu's likeness but it was unable to copy his bearing.
'What is the matter, arban?' the thing said, taking a step forward. 'Don't you know me? Don't you recognise your old friend?'
'You are not Borchu,' Kergis replied, his expression severe. 'You may wear his face, but I know your real nature. You are a daemon, some carrion thing that stole his body. Nothing more.'
'Yes,' the creature smiled. For the moment it stayed where it was, not moving closer, but Kergis saw it carried a power axe in its hands. 'To be honest, I didn't think I'd fool you by pretending to be Borchu. But I had to try. Really, you'd be surprised how often even the clumsiest pretence will work. There is something weak in the heart of man. Show them the face of a friend, even one thought long dead, and they will believe almost anything. But you are stronger than that. Aren't you, Kergis?'
In response, Kergis was silent. He knew better than to be lulled by the daemon's words. His senses were alert, carefully reading the thing's stance for any sign it was about to attack. The magazine of his bolt pistol was full, but he was aware it would take almost a miracle to kill the thing with that weapon. His best chance would be to take the head from its shoulders with his power sword, but to do that he would need to move within range of the axe. He watched for an opening, waiting for the moment to strike.
'Aren't you curious as to how I knew your name?' the daemon's mocking smile grew broader. 'You must have wondered? Ordinarily, I'd tell you I learned it from Borchu himself. I'd explain I captured his soul as it was leaving his body, a split second before I entered his physical remains and made them my new home. It would be a lie, of course. But, again, you'd be surprised how often such simple untruths are effective.'
Under cover of its words, the daemon had moved one of its feet fractionally forward of its partner. Recognising the change as evidence it was preparing to attack him, Kergis waited for the daemon to shift its weight from one foot to the other. Once it did so, he knew the attack would not be long in coming.
'It is all a matter of how you play it,' the daemon continued. 'Typically, I'd say something like ''Borchu always hated you, you know''. And you'd wonder whether I was telling the truth or not. It is the nature of human beings to always wonder whether their fellows secretly despise them. If I told you Borchu really did hate you, it would only confirm your worst suspicions. I would not even have to sell the lie too hard. You would convince yourself I was telling the truth. Humans are such easy marks.'
For all Kergis's watchfulness the daemon nearly killed him then. Even as the White Scar waited, it attacked suddenly without having to shift its weight first.
Too late, Kergis realised his error. He had let the fact the daemon was wearing Borchu's body gull him into thinking it would act like a mortal opponent, not a daemonic one.
Leaping effortlessly across the room towards him, the daemon brought its axe down in a deadly arc. Kergis barely managed to dodge the blow in time. Unbalanced, he struck out with a sideways slash of his blade. The daemon parried it easily, before delivering a counter-blow with the butt of his axe-shaft that sent Kergis staggering backward.
The daemon charged forward to press home its advantage, but Kergis was ready. He lashed out once more with his sword. The daemon blocked it, but by doing so it had left the repaired section on the chest plate of its armour exposed. Even as the sword and axe locked together, Kergis lifted his bolt pistol and fired a salvo of shots into the daemon's chest at point-blank range.
The daemon screamed in rage and pain. Striking again with the butt of its axe it hit the bolt pistol and knocked it from Kergis's hand. It tried to follow the strike with another attack from the blade of the axe, but Kergis saw it coming. He leapt backward, landing with catlike agility as he put several metres between himself and his enemy.
'You know, that actually almost hurt me,' the daemon said, lifting a hand to inspect the damage.
The salvo of bolts had blown away the patchwork repair to the armoured plate, revealing a dark wound in the chest of the daemon's host body. Instead of blood oozing out, Kergis saw sparks of eldritch fire leak from the hole. For an instant, the sparks played around the daemon's probing fingers. Then, they were gone.
'Still, there's no real damage done,' the daemon grinned insidiously. 'Not like the last time we met. You think of it often no doubt, Kergis. The good old days, eh?'
Kergis found he was beginning to hate the creature's smile, not to mention its habit of making insinuating, viperous asides every time it spoke. At the same time, he realised he might be able to play the daemon at its own game; using words to distract it in the same way as it was evidently trying to distract him.
'We have met before?' he asked.
'Surely you're not trying to claim you don't remember?' The daemon's grin deepened as his Astartes opponent took the bait. 'Granted, it was decades ago. But really, I thought you'd remember. Of course, my name was different then. I called myself Nullus.'
'Nullus?' Despite his awareness that the daemon would say anything to trick him, Kergis felt a shock run through him. 'I encountered a possessed Traitor Marine on Quintus who called himself by that name. He served as a lieutenant to the daemon prince Voldorius.'
'Indeed, I did,' the daemon said. 'Of course, I did look different in those days, so I can understand that you were slow to recognise me. You remember, Kergis? You killed my host body on Quintus. Sometimes, it feels like it took an eternity for me to find another one. It can be a difficult business finding a suitable body. Which is why I was so happy when I came upon your dear, departed former comrade.'
'And that's why you stole Borchu's body? Revenge?'
'It was part of the motive, I'll grant you.' The daemon's voice was like a satisfied oily purr. 'I had already attached myself to the invasion of this world, close to Chogoris. It occurred to me if I made myself visible enough it was bound to bring the White Scars to me. Naturally, I had no way of knowing it was you they'd send. That was an unexpected bonus.'
'And you did this because I cut you down on Quintus?'
'Hardly.' The daemon rolled its eyes in a curiously human gesture. 'Oh, I'd hoped I would get to settle accounts with you one day. But my aim here goes far beyond any such petty annoyances. I have been an enemy of the White Scars for thousands of years. Does that surprise you, Kergis? I have stalked your Chapter from its earliest days. I was there in the very beginning, on the plains of Chogoris, even before the Emperor came. I know your planet of old, and I knew your primarch.'
'Now I know you are lying,' Kergis told the daemon. 'If you really were such a formidable enemy, I would have heard of you. You forget, the White Scars have their own way of dealing with their foes. If you truly ranked as an ancient enemy of the Chapter, you would have been targeted long ago by the Masters of the Hunt for destruction. You would have been killed and your skull would be sitting on a pike along the road to Khum Karta. Your name would be known from the roster of the hunt.'
'My name? You don't know my name. Not my true name, at any rate. I didn't always call myself Nullus. I'll admit you won't find me mentioned in the annals of your Chapter or in the tales the Chaplains tell, but everything I have told you is true. I am an old enemy of the White Scars, perhaps the oldest. I fought against Jaghatai Khan on Chogoris, just as I had fought against many other petty chieftains on your home world. In the old days, the days before the Imperium, your people knew me, Kergis. They called me Kagayaga. You know that name, I'm sure.'
Again, Kergis felt a shock run through him. The daemon was right. The name was familiar to him, although he had not heard it for over a century.
Kagayaga. It was a word from the old Chogorian dialect. Literally, it meant ''the whisper in the darkness''. It was a name to conjure nightmares. In the ancient folklore of Kergis's home world, Kagayaga had been the title given to a mythical monster. According to the tales he was an invisible, bodiless horror; a malicious spirit who haunted the plains and sometimes stole into the hearts of men while they were sleeping in order to compel them to perform evil acts.
Even today, it was still common for mothers on Chogoris to warn their offspring that Kagayaga would come for them if they did not behave themselves. Kergis had heard the same tales himself in his own childhood at his mother's knee.
Kagayaga. It was impossible. Kergis did not know how the daemon had come to know the name, but he did not believe the creature's claim for an instant. Kagayaga did not exist. He was a fictional figure used to frighten children. A figment of his people's ancient imaginings.
It was clear the daemon was trying to trick him, to frighten him by evoking the terrors of his childhood. It would not work. Kergis was a White Scar. He was Astartes. He was beyond such fears.
'I see you know the name,' the daemon said. 'I thought you would.'
'You are lying,' Kergis replied coldly. 'Kagayaga is a name to frighten children, nothing more. He does not exist.'
'By all means tell yourself that if you find it gives you comfort.' The daemon's smile had grown even more smug and insufferable. 'But, really we both know the truth, don't we? I am Kagayaga. But then, I have used so many names it hardly makes a difference. I am Borchu. I am Nullus. I am no one. I am the voice inside your mind. The whisper in the darkness.'
The daemon moved a step closer to him, shifting the great weight of the axe lightly from hand to hand as though making a game of it.
'For reasons of my own I have a need for the body of a White Scar,' the daemon said. 'Poor Borchu's body is so badly damaged I won't be able to use it for much longer. If only you knew the effort I have to expend just to hold it together and stop his damaged organs from spilling all over the floor like rotten fruit. No, I need something fresher. Not too fresh, naturally. It's true I can possess a living host, but it is difficult. One has to find the moral flaw, a chink in the victim's soul, in order to gain entrance. No, what I really need is the body of a recently killed victim. Your body, for example.'
Without warning, the daemon suddenly leapt forward to attack him again.
Kergis was ready for it. He dodged the first blow, counter-attacking with a low strike towards his opponent's legs. The daemon sidestepped it easily, responding with an axe-head strike aimed at Kergis's chest. The fight continued, the blows raining back and forth only to be blocked or eluded as they struggled without either being able to best the other.
They were evenly matched in terms of skill, but Kergis realised the odds were stacked against him. The daemon held all the advantages. As yet none of its blows had connected, but Kergis did not need to feel the force of them to know the warp-abomination was physically stronger than he was. At the same time, it was tireless and seemingly immune to pain.
Kergis was Astartes, with all the benefits it entailed. At the root, though, he was only a mortal man, while the daemon was something darker, ancient and more powerful. Given enough time, he knew it would wear him down.
The monster had shown him its weakness, though. While it baited and mocked him, Kergis had seen the daemon's arrogance. Experience told him it was a flaw he could use to create an opening.
'I believe you are getting slower, Kergis,' the daemon said as the duel between them continued. 'That last parry was hardly of the standard I'd expect from an Astartes. You're getting tired, aren't you?'
'I am feeling a little extended, it is true,' Kergis replied, trying to keep the strain from his voice as he blocked another strike from the axe. 'But it is only to be expected. I had a bike beneath me last time I killed you. The extra running involved in this battle has taken its toll.'
'The bike was the only reason you won last time,' the daemon commented acidly. He might be immune to physical pain, but evidently Kergis's words had struck a nerve. 'This time, it will be different.'
'I agree,' Kergis came back at him. 'This time, I am not part of a larger White Scar army. I am not accompanied by the best part of a company of warriors, most of them on bikes. I am on my own, on foot, at a disadvantage. Yet still, I am holding my own against you. I see now my Khan was right in sending me here alone. It would have been a waste of resources to have sent a bigger force after you, when one sergeant on his own is equal to the task.'
Kergis let his barbed words hang in the air for a moment before twisting the knife.
'Perhaps you are Kagayaga, after all. A bogeyman whose name is invoked to frighten children. Scaring children would seem to be all you are good for.'
His words provoked an immediate response. Its face a mask of rage, the daemon swung its axe in a powerful two-handed strike intending to cut Kergis in half. Expecting the reaction, the White Scar dodged the clumsy blow and responded with a low, rising cut while the daemon was still off-balance.
His blow caught the daemon's host body in the midriff, slicing through armour and exiting just below the shoulder. Showing the first real sign of pain, the daemon briefly lost its balance and fell to its knees. Trying to regain its feet, it lifted its axe to defend itself. But, as it looked up, it saw the bright flash of Kergis's sword arcing towards it as the White Scar prepared to deliver the coup de grace.
'For Borchu,' Kergis said, as he brought the sword down and took the daemon's head from its shoulders.
It felt like a benediction.

AFTERWARDS, KERGIS WOULD never know how long he stood over the headless corpse. With the destruction of its host body, the fell light of the daemon's eyes had been immediately extinguished. Nullus, or Kagayaga, had been banished back to wherever it was daemons went when their physical forms were destroyed. Kergis was left alone with the body of a friend.
Ordinarily, Kergis would have felt pride or exultation in the aftermath of victory. This time, he felt only sorrow. He had defeated the daemon, but though he had driven the thing from Borchu's body he was acutely aware of a loss to his Chapter.
Unlike Osol or Doshin, Borchu's gene-seed would never be used to create new White Scars. For all Kergis knew, the progenoid glands inside Borchu's corpse were still intact. But that same body had been possessed by a daemon, a thing of Chaos. It did not matter that the daemon was gone. Borchu's body was irredeemably tainted.
Similarly, Kergis suspected the record of Borchu's deeds would be quietly purged from the tales the Chaplains told to remind the White Scars of their fallen brethren. No one would want to be reminded of Borchu now. Whatever his achievements in life, his body had suffered ignominy and dishonour after his death. It did not matter that Borchu himself had been innocent of that dishonour. The tales the Chaplains told were as much lessons as anything else. There seemed no good lesson to be learned from Borchu's post-mortem disgrace.
It could not be helped, but to Kergis it felt like he had lost his old comrade a second time.
Abruptly, he felt a tremor run through the floor beneath his feet, bringing him back to the present. It was followed by another tremor, and another, each one more insistent than the last.
Kergis knew at once what it meant. Gurban and the others had succeeded in their mission of sabotage. They had destroyed the control systems responsible for holding the eruptions of the Ignis Mons in check. Once the damage had been done it was only a matter of time before the magma pressure built up to a critical level, resulting in an eruption that would engulf the power complex in a rising wave of red-hot lava. After being kept under artificial control for so long, it was likely the eruption would progress quickly. At most, Kergis supposed he might have ten minutes to escape the complex before it was destroyed.
Ten minutes. It was barely enough time for him to find his way out from the complex, never mind the fact it was teeming with enemy troops, none of whom would take it well that he had just killed their leader.
In all likelihood, Kergis expected to die on the Ignis Mons. He had suspected as much from the very beginning. He had known it was the most probable outcome once he had volunteered for his part of the mission. Jurga Khan and Balat had both said as much to him, at different times and in their own individual ways.
Yet, Kergis had accepted the potential sacrifice ahead of him gladly. The fact that the daemon-possessed Borchu was the leader of the garrison guarding the Mons had left the White Scars facing a conflict between duty and honour.
On one hand, the honour of the Chapter dictated the creature had to be destroyed. On the other, they were already committed to destroying the power plant - a mission vital to the success of the coming invasion. Unable to see any other way to achieve this dual purpose, and unwilling to let more of his brothers be put at risk, Kergis had accepted the mission knowing it would probably be his last. It was a suicide run from the very beginning.
Still, if he was to die on this strange world far from home, he would die fighting. Retrieving his bolt pistol and igniting the blade of his power sword once more, Kergis took a last glance at Borchu's body and turned for the door leading from the chamber.
Expecting to find dozens of enemy warriors waiting for him on the other side, he prepared for the onslaught, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.
Unexpectedly, it was quiet.
It was empty except for the bodies of the two sentries he had killed earlier. Surprised at his good fortune, Kergis hurried on down the corridor. No matter how far he went there was no sign of the massed ranks of enemy fighters he had expected. The upper levels of the complex seemed almost eerily deserted.
Then, Kergis turned a corner and saw dozens of bodies lying strewn across a broad, open hallway. They were cultists, like the ones he had met earlier, and they had died with great violence. From the amount of autogun casings littering the floor it was clear they had fought savagely, but their killer had cut through them like a scythe through wheat.
'Hello, sergeant.' A smiling figure stood waiting for him in the centre of the hallway. 'I had hoped to catch up with you earlier. But it took longer to kill this scum than I expected.'
It was Arik. Staring at him in disbelief, Kergis realised he was the reason there had been no enemies waiting when he left the daemon's quarters.
'I discussed the matter with Gurban after we planted the charges in the control room,' Arik said.
'We decided it really didn't need all five of us to fight our way out of the complex once the job was done. And Gurban thought you might need a pathfinder. I realise, strictly speaking, we violated your orders. But I hoped you might forgive us if I helped you escape before the volcano erupts.'
'Perhaps I will forgive you,' Kergis smiled back. 'Always assuming you actually have a plan to escape and you aren't just hoping for a miracle.'
'A miracle couldn't hurt,' Arik shrugged. 'But I notice on the blueprints there's a landing pad at the top of complex. If we can reach it before the whole place is destroyed, we might be able to seize a shuttle.'
As though underlining his words, another tremor shook through the walls around them.
'All right,' Kergis said. 'You're the pathfinder. Find us a path out of this hellhole.'
Together, they ran down the hallway.

THE SUN WAS rising by the time they reached the landing pad, the first glimmerings of dawn painting the sky a vibrant red.
Having taken advantage of the confusion caused by the worsening tremors rumbling through the complex, Kergis and Arik fought their way to an ancient shuttle sitting on the landing pad. It was a light cargo lifter of the kind designed to ferry supplies and the occasional passenger to distant outposts.
Boarding the shuttle before the crew could lift off, the two White Scars killed them without breaking stride. Kergis took the controls, while Arik searched through the channels on the shuttle's vox for the telltale comms-chatter that would indicate the invasion of Tephra VII was underway.
Kergis had seen a fuel tanker parked beside the shuttle when they came on board. As he triggered the engines, he found himself hoping the tanker had finished its work rather than not yet started it.
In the event, the engines purred into life smoothly. Except for a few desultory bursts of autogun fire plinking against their hull, they took off without incident. Hurtling through the vast smoke cloud now billowing from the summit of the Mons, Kergis sped westward as the tremors shaking through the complex reached a final crescendo.
Sparing a glance behind him, he saw the eruption of the Ignis Mons. Lava issued from the summit and poured down the slopes, an inexorable and slow moving blanket of death.
There was no question their primary mission had been successful. The power complex, along with the body of Borchu, would be engulfed and destroyed. The void shields protecting Chaldis would come down.
After much adjustment of the unfamiliar controls of the shuttle's vox, Arik found a great welter of encrypted chatter across a dozen channels on Imperial wavelengths. Hearing it, they smiled in satisfaction.
The invasion had begun.
Somewhere, out in the desolate Cradle, Gurban and the other men from the squad would be on their way to rendezvous with Balat and his Scouts, before heading for a pre-arranged extraction point where a Thunderhawk would be waiting to take them back to the Warrior of the Plains. With any luck, Kergis and Arik would be there before them.
Kergis's smile grew broader when he thought of the surprised looks his comrades would be sure to wear when they arrived and saw him and Arik already waiting for them.
Today, at this time and place, it was a good day to be alive. The mission had achieved its aims. Hopefully, soon, Tephra VII would be free. A daemon had been slain. An old comrade laid to rest.
Kergis did not fool himself his current mood of contentment would last for long. Experience told him to enjoy it while he could, for he knew such times were fleeting. Soon, there would be new conflicts, new dangers, new battles. The galaxy was not made for times of peace.
In the grim darkness of the forty-first millennium there was only war.