Chapter 18: Under the Burning Sky
The Krieg Engineer and Grenadier withdrew under Dos's orders. At last, someone was listening to him.
Among the three hundred-plus noblemen's sons, only a handful had suffered minor injuries. No one was dead. That counted for something. 'It's a goddman miracle, I should get a reward for this, shouldn't I?' Doss thought
The hour-long defensive battle had drained everyone. By Dos's reckoning, reinforcements from the other noble families should have arrived by now. He held his lasgun ready and surveyed the scorched street, watching for movement.
Sure enough, Blackmoor appeared with PDF support, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "You scared me half to death! Are you all alright?"
The fanatics had been charging like madmen, blocking his advance at every turn. His troops had been stalled for half an hour, and he looked like he'd aged years in that time.
"Only minor injuries," Dos said. "Looks like your blood pressure's still spiking."
Blackmoor wasn't interested in banter. He just wanted to get these pampered fools home alive and let their families deal with the consequences. Within minutes, Dos and his men had pulled back to friendly territory.
As reinforcements from various noble houses arrived, the numerical advantage began to shift. The fanatics were strengthened by the presence of the Khorne Champion and his daemonic blessing, but they couldn't break through. Not anymore.
Dos noticed that the Salamanders hadn't withdrawn after their initial engagement. More striking still: Stuar People, who'd been absent for two days, had been called back.
Okay, this is serious. Something wrong. By the Emperor, even these idiots are here.
What Dos didn't know was that five people deep in the Warp were currently losing their minds.
Immaterium
The Emperor's cursed legions clashed with Khorne's demonic horde in an endless apocalypse of violence. Tzeentch's armies tangled with Nurgle's plagues in intricate, nightmarish geometries. Slaanesh's daemons launched sneak attacks from the periphery, only to be swallowed by overwhelming waves of enemies.
Pink, purple, blue, green, red, and golden yellow, the colours of the Chaos Gods, mixed together like spilled paint.
In the distant void, upon a throne of bronze and bone, there sat a being of absolute malevolence.
Khorne, the Blood God, ruler of slaughter and war and courage. He gazed across the empyrean at a golden sun, distant, vast, and dreaming.
"Human Emperor," Khorne's voice was thunder and screaming. "Hand over that human's soul, or none of us will claim it!"
The golden sun flickered but said nothing, only a flick from the sun the size of seven Earths, as if saying, Dream on.
"You shall see," Khorne whispered, and ordered his armies to intensify their assault.
...
In a crystal palace that shifted and reformed with every breath, Tzeentch watched his scribes work beneath the eyes of His ever-changing form. This was the Palace of Wisdom, the dwelling place of the Changer of Ways.
"That fool with his bone-dust brain, thinking he could trick me..." Tzeentch's laughter was the sound of a thousand schemes converging at once. "Perhaps I should intervene personally..."
...
Primarch Ferrus Manus knelt before the Emperor's presence. "Father, the front lines are about to collapse."
Send another force. We cannot allow this demonic incursion to reach the material realm.
"Your will shall be done." Manus rose and departed, taking a Retribution-class battleship and five Gladius-class frigates with him.
....
Dos found 0361 immediately. "Situation report, give me Casualty count."
"Units are scatters," 0361 said flatly. "Impossible to tally for now. Everyone's still fighting."
Dos stared at the blood-red pillar of light stabbing skyward from the Upper Hive. His gut told him something catastrophic was about to break loose. Then he heard it, a faint murmur, barely at the edge of perception, which made his skin crawl.
Then came the humming, which turned into a murmur, and slowly the murmur swelled, becoming a shriek.
Even with his hands pressed against his ears, the pain didn't diminish. His skull felt like it was being split open from the inside.
"What's wrong?" 0361's voice barely cut through the noise.
"Those damned evil gods are throwing a party in my head! Fu-" Dos ground the words out through clenched teeth. His scalp tingled. His teeth chattered. Then—
ROLL!
The command exploded in his mind like a bolt of lightning. It was the Emperor's voice; he was certain of that. But there was another voice layered beneath it, one he didn't recognize.
Listen, child. I am Tzeentch, or call me whatever you like. What I am saying now, only you and that hypocrite can hear. He's lied to you about something, but I'm giving you a gift that will tell you the truth from the falsehood in what people say. It's in your pocket now....I'd better go before the Emperor notices.
Dos wanted to curse, but instinct made him check his pocket. His fingers found something solid. Small. It felt like... an Imperial Twin-Headed Eagle emblem?
Tzeentch's sense of humour is as twisted as everything else about him.
Dos already understood what was happening. The thing in his pocket could probably identify lies, sure. But the side effects? That was where the real trap lay. Best case scenario: mental degradation. Worst case: he'd become a twisted monster warped by Chaos corruption.
Tzeentch had been swindling people since before records began. Half ended up dead. The other half? Died even worse.
He took several deep breaths, trying to center himself. When he looked up, 0361 had her hand on her meltalance.
Dos extended his hand; 0361 kept the meltalance raised and stepped back.
Crack.
Dos could hear his heart break in pieces. What happened to trust? Then again, she hadn't impaled him on the spot, so he ought to be grateful… like hell he was!
What a load of rubbish this world is.
"Oh, you're fine now? Great?" 0361 asked.
'Then put the meltalance down, woman.' Dos thouht bittelry, he rolled his eyes and turned away to nurse his broken heart in peace
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. TONNNN
A rhythmic sound echoed across the battlefield, loud, deliberate, like war drums. Dos turned to see three Knight Mechs and a squadron of Squire Mechs advancing through the smoke. These noble families had knights in their lineage.
The Squire Mechs stood four to five meters tall, each bristling with automatic cannons. The Knight Mechs towered ten meters high, bristling with varied armaments.
These three were Questor-class: Ranger, Expedition, and Paladin, all named for their similarity to heavily armoured knights, their hulls completely encased in thick plates. They moved like mobile fortresses, cutting through ordinary troops with contemptuous ease.
Leading the advance was the agile Ranger-class Knight. Its heat cannon and chainsaw fist were enough to tear apart most tanks at close range. Even the Warhound-class Titans, mechs that stood above Knights in the hierarchy, might struggle against it.
The Knights would punch through the enemy defenses and strike at the heart of their position. Dos didn't need tactical expertise to understand what was happening: the enemy was trying to open a Warp rift. If they succeeded, countless daemons would flood into realspace. This wouldn't be just another hive city falling to ruin.
This would be an extinction-level threat to the entire sector.
Two more pillars of light rose from the Upper Hive, their radiance cutting through the smoke. The enemy's ritual was accelerating.
They had to race against the clock, beneath this burning sky. And Dos had the sinking feeling that time was running out faster than anyone realized.
[End of Chapter]