Argin-Beta
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| [//Omorî +] [//liam_m/@6pluspaintinng+] |
Servo-skulls flitted silently around the high ceilings of the chamber. Some bore candles, others grasped long scrolls of yellowed parchment. Glow-globes hung from the ceiling at regular intervals from black iron chains, casting soft orange light onto the marbled floor below.
Vast reliquaries were set into recesses along the chamber walls as he approached his Captain and the Inquisitor. Some of the trophies were centuries old. Others, bearing metal service studs and the tell-tale signs of gigantism wrought by Astartes gene-enhancement, were more recent.
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| [//liam_m/@6pluspainting+] |
***
The acrid stench of gore filled Selvaine’s nostrils as Castor Helios came to a halt at the end of the chamber and obediently drew both hands to his chest in the sign of the Aquila. The joints of his obsidian armour whirred lightly as he moved. It was caked in filth, a back-wash of blood and innards thrown up in the carnage of recent battle. Inquisitor Selvaine was no stranger to the manner in which the Charnel Guard waged war. He had observed them for decades now; their unfettered bloodlust both repulsed and drew him ever closer.
Familiarity, however, could not stop the bile rising in his throat, nor a grimace creeping across his features.
Captain Leistryg Diantos, who had stood gazing out from the massive windows across the prow of his great ship, turned to face his sergeant. His heavy Cataphractii pattern war-plate was backlit, blotting out the light from the system’s distant star and casting an immense shadow that plunged like a dagger towards the opposing end of the chamber. His pale face was bare, his helm mag-locked to his thigh-plate, inactive.
“I am to presume you have come to the flagship to report your success, sergeant.” The Captain’s stony voice reverberated through the chamber; his gauntleted hands folded across the vast bulk of his armoured frame.
The sergeant’s faceplate, an emotionless slate of black punctuated by two glowing, ruby lenses, stared blankly back at Diantos. There was a brief pause before he answered.
“The asset is secure, my lord. Wounded, but he will live. He has been taken to the medicae bay for treatment, along with two of my brothers.” Helios spoke in a thick, almost distorted drawl, his words amplified by a small vox-synthesiser harboured at the base of his gorget.
A heavy silence hung in the air, tension growing with each passing second. Diantos cut through it.
“You came all this way only to tell me this? Speak freely, Castor.” The Captain glanced at Selvaine to his left-hand side, then back at the Astartes warrior before him. “You are among trusted allies.”
Helios nodded, somewhat apprehensively, and took a deep breath. The mass of his war-plate would have made the action imperceivable – but the dry rasp in his throat betrayed him.
Captain Leistryg Diantos, who had stood gazing out from the massive windows across the prow of his great ship, turned to face his sergeant. His heavy Cataphractii pattern war-plate was backlit, blotting out the light from the system’s distant star and casting an immense shadow that plunged like a dagger towards the opposing end of the chamber. His pale face was bare, his helm mag-locked to his thigh-plate, inactive.
“I am to presume you have come to the flagship to report your success, sergeant.” The Captain’s stony voice reverberated through the chamber; his gauntleted hands folded across the vast bulk of his armoured frame.
The sergeant’s faceplate, an emotionless slate of black punctuated by two glowing, ruby lenses, stared blankly back at Diantos. There was a brief pause before he answered.
“The asset is secure, my lord. Wounded, but he will live. He has been taken to the medicae bay for treatment, along with two of my brothers.” Helios spoke in a thick, almost distorted drawl, his words amplified by a small vox-synthesiser harboured at the base of his gorget.
A heavy silence hung in the air, tension growing with each passing second. Diantos cut through it.
“You came all this way only to tell me this? Speak freely, Castor.” The Captain glanced at Selvaine to his left-hand side, then back at the Astartes warrior before him. “You are among trusted allies.”
Helios nodded, somewhat apprehensively, and took a deep breath. The mass of his war-plate would have made the action imperceivable – but the dry rasp in his throat betrayed him.
“We engaged and neutralised the Partisan militia, as anticipated. Having secured the asset, we fought our way back through the central plaza towards our extraction point under heavy fire, forcing us to divert through a derelict section of the compound to the South-East. We were within sight of the Thunderhawk when we were ambushed and forced to find cover.”
Selvaine eyed the sergeant’s armour as he spoke; beneath the slick viscera he could pick out razor thin discs embedded in the ceramite, glinting in the soft light of the chamber. Across his torso was a neat, shallow cut that bisected the ivory tear drop inlaid into the armour of the sergeant’s chest-plate.
Diantos interrupted, “Ambushed?
“The Partisans were all but dead. We were attacked by xenos, Captain. Belatyr.”
Diantos gestured to the hololithic table between them.
“Show me.”
Helios seemed to hesitate briefly before obeying. Gripping the skull of his helm with both hands he lifted and twisted until there was a metallic click, follow by the hiss of pressurised air escaping the atmospheric seal.
Selvaine watched as the sergeant lowered his helm onto the table, seeing his face for the first time. Sat beneath a shaved scalp and thick brow was pink, knotted flesh. A rope of angry red scar tissue laced his lips and chin, snaking down along his throat and disappearing into the rubber seal of his gorget. The Inquisitor was well aware of how he had received this grievous wound; he was also well aware of what Helios had done to the Silver Star who had inflicted it. His gaze was momentarily drawn to the monstrous chain-axe strapped to the Astartes’ armour.
Helios looked straight ahead at Diantos, refusing to acknowledge the Inquisitor’s presence. A servo-skull descended from the rafters, its gravitic suspensors gently humming. It stopped just a few inches above the table and hung suspended as a pair of maniple pincers set to work retrieving the relevant data wafer from inside the helm.
Collecting the wafer, the servo-skull fed it into a datadrive located between its fused jaws, a macabre mimicry of the act of consumption. A lens set into its right eye socket blinked to life and began projecting a grainy and distorted image across the hololithic table. A recording of the sergeant’s point of view of the extraction that had taken place just hours before within the asteroid belt prison colony orbiting Argin-Beta, on the outskirts of Partisan territory.
***
Prior to their landing, a lightning bombardment of the facility had been carried out by a Wing of Storm Eagle gunships, leaving large sections of buildings in ruin. Selvaine watched as the Omorî, the 7th Ostire’s veteran first squad, right-hand of Diantos, disembarked from their Thunderhawk and began their rapid assault. They shrugged off inaccurate small arms fire from the startled perimeter sentries and pressed onwards, battering and bludgeoning their way deeper into the grounds.
At first the mortal had run alongside them, ducking and rolling amongst the rubble, until the Astartes began breaking into full sprints, and he was slung like an infant under the arm of one of the black-clad battle brothers. Selvaine saw how the warriors of the Charnel Guard used their vicious chain-weapons to hack down any foolish enough to close the distance. Dull percussive thuds of bolter fire sounded as the extraction team tore through the prison facility.
***
An autocannon was barking, spitting heavy fire into the already pockmarked architecture of the prison compound from a vantage point some thirty metres or so away. One Astartes was struck square in his right pauldron as he attempted to cross open ground; he was spun around by the force of the shot, but managed to stay on his feet and duck into cover.
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| [//chron+0.12+] [//liam_m/@6pluspainting+] |
Selvaine heard Helios roar at one of his men, Durus, and within seconds the Astartes had pulled up to his sergeant’s side, a meltagun locked into the crook of his elbow. The feed blinked out momentarily as the beam of energy erupted from the weapon and the sensory dampeners in the sergeant’s helm activated. As Helios’ lenses readjusted, there was only a heap of molten slag and charred bones sat where the autocannon and its gunner and loader had been.
The Astartes crossed the plaza unharried, passing into the derelict sections of the compound, swinging south-west – back on course to their extraction point. It was here, as they began moving towards the Thunderhawk, which was descending on red hot thrusters some fifty metres away, that one of the Astartes was cut down by a spear of white light.
He collapsed in a heap, forward momentum dragging him through the gravel and dirt before finally coming to a halt, blood pumping from the stump of his right leg and a cavernous wound in his side.
“Varroq!”
Selvaine heard the gruff cry come from one of the Omorî as his battle brother began to drag himself along with one arm.
All of a sudden, the air was thick with glittering discs, whizzing and whining past the now-hunched Space Marines, who had formed a protective perimeter around the asset and began firing blindly at the unseen assailants. Glimpses of half-seen shapes danced through the rubble and collapsed masonry, pouring fire into the Charnel Guard marines, cutting deep grooves into their thick ceramite armour. Across the squad-vox network clipped grunts of pain could be heard, as the hail of razors began to strike at the weakest points of their plate, slicing deep into the Astartes’ flesh.
After what seemed an eternity, but must have been mere moments, Helios sighted the assailants and voxed their position to the Thunderhawk pilot. Near-instantly, the gunship’s underslung heavy bolter turrets began tearing into the ruins that lined the extraction site.
The hail of fire ceased for a moment as the aliens were pinned. The Astartes broke from cover, racing towards the Thunderhawk. The gunship’s embarkation ramp yawned open in anticipation, hovering a few feet from the ground ready for immediate lift off. The Astartes approached, and Selvaine saw how one of the transhuman warriors threw their mortal asset straight into the hold, before leaping in himself. He turned and began firing his bolter as more of his brothers joined him inside the gunship.
Helios and two other Marines of the Omorî remained on the ground, standing over the prone form of Varroq. Helios fired his plasma pistol, each bolt emitting a piercing screech that cut through the darkness, illuminating the ivory and violet armour of the xenos lurking in the distance before their cataclysmic impact.
“Varroq!”
Selvaine heard the gruff cry come from one of the Omorî as his battle brother began to drag himself along with one arm.
All of a sudden, the air was thick with glittering discs, whizzing and whining past the now-hunched Space Marines, who had formed a protective perimeter around the asset and began firing blindly at the unseen assailants. Glimpses of half-seen shapes danced through the rubble and collapsed masonry, pouring fire into the Charnel Guard marines, cutting deep grooves into their thick ceramite armour. Across the squad-vox network clipped grunts of pain could be heard, as the hail of razors began to strike at the weakest points of their plate, slicing deep into the Astartes’ flesh.
After what seemed an eternity, but must have been mere moments, Helios sighted the assailants and voxed their position to the Thunderhawk pilot. Near-instantly, the gunship’s underslung heavy bolter turrets began tearing into the ruins that lined the extraction site.
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| [//chron+0.16+] [//sian_fc+] |
The hail of fire ceased for a moment as the aliens were pinned. The Astartes broke from cover, racing towards the Thunderhawk. The gunship’s embarkation ramp yawned open in anticipation, hovering a few feet from the ground ready for immediate lift off. The Astartes approached, and Selvaine saw how one of the transhuman warriors threw their mortal asset straight into the hold, before leaping in himself. He turned and began firing his bolter as more of his brothers joined him inside the gunship.
Helios and two other Marines of the Omorî remained on the ground, standing over the prone form of Varroq. Helios fired his plasma pistol, each bolt emitting a piercing screech that cut through the darkness, illuminating the ivory and violet armour of the xenos lurking in the distance before their cataclysmic impact.
By the light of one of these bolts Helios saw a sleek weapons platform, no doubt responsible for the grievous wounding of the battle brother that now lay at his feet. It was wheeling around, ready to take aim at the Thunderhawk.
“Move! Move!” He roared over the din of battle. He gripped the gauntlet of the Astartes to his right and pushed him towards the gunship. His helm feed showed that Varroq’s vitals had flatlined, his body now unmoving on the ground. He turned himself and began running towards the ship, his battle brother alongside him. They reached the ramp and clambered in, covered by the bolter fire of those Astartes already inside.
A voice beside the sergeant cried out, “Sir! Ranict!”
“Move! Move!” He roared over the din of battle. He gripped the gauntlet of the Astartes to his right and pushed him towards the gunship. His helm feed showed that Varroq’s vitals had flatlined, his body now unmoving on the ground. He turned himself and began running towards the ship, his battle brother alongside him. They reached the ramp and clambered in, covered by the bolter fire of those Astartes already inside.
A voice beside the sergeant cried out, “Sir! Ranict!”
A black-armoured finger pointed back to the maelstrom of chaos just a few metres below.
There, stood over the lifeless body of Varroq, was Ranict, who had taken up his fallen brother’s rifle, firing it alongside his own into the pressing advance of the aliens.
A bright beam of light tore through the ash and smoke and lanced a neat hole in the dorsal fin of the Thunderhawk. The gunship’s pilot cry cut across the vox-net as he activated the main thrusters. Helios felt his stomach churn as the Thunderhawk lurched upwards.
“No! Set her down, we cannot leave!”
The pilot ignored the sergeant and the gunship continued to ascend.
“We will all die if we stay here, sergeant,” he called from the cockpit.
“Go! Damn you all! Go!” the mortal man was screaming frantically from inside the hold. The Astartes closest shoved him with the back of his gauntlet, sending him flying backwards into a crumpled, moaning heap on the floor grating.
Another lance from the weapons platform grazed the gunship’s hull; alarms inside the cockpit and hold began ringing incessantly, red lights flickering.
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| [//chron+0.17+] [//sian_fc+] |
A bright beam of light tore through the ash and smoke and lanced a neat hole in the dorsal fin of the Thunderhawk. The gunship’s pilot cry cut across the vox-net as he activated the main thrusters. Helios felt his stomach churn as the Thunderhawk lurched upwards.
“No! Set her down, we cannot leave!”
The pilot ignored the sergeant and the gunship continued to ascend.
“We will all die if we stay here, sergeant,” he called from the cockpit.
“Go! Damn you all! Go!” the mortal man was screaming frantically from inside the hold. The Astartes closest shoved him with the back of his gauntlet, sending him flying backwards into a crumpled, moaning heap on the floor grating.
Another lance from the weapons platform grazed the gunship’s hull; alarms inside the cockpit and hold began ringing incessantly, red lights flickering.
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Ranict concentrated his fire at the platform, cutting through one of its gunners and tearing into the anti-grav mechanism at its base. The platform juddered and turned wildly, before dropping like a slab of reinforced rockcrete to the ground, kicking up a plume of dust from the scattered debris.
The victory was short lived, as fire from the Xenos intensified, a razor disc cutting through Ranict’s leg armour, hamstringing him with a spray of blood. He dropped to one knee, gasping in pain.
As he struggled to his feet, his armour locking his ruined joint, projectiles continued to gouge into his heavy armour. Ranict saw striding from the ruins an enormous construct, a towering figure of ivory and violet. A featureless face, with two enormous blades clasped in each hand. Ranict began laughing, his mirthless cackle carried over the vox as he dropped his bolters and drew the chainsword holstered at his hip.
He turned to look up at the receding gunship, its jet thrusters blowing vast spirals of dust and smoke around him.
“It was an honour, Helios. Now go, make sure you live to kill that bastard Primarch.”
Ranict turned, gunning his chainsword and uttering a guttural cry of pure rage and hatred. He charged towards the Wraith, firing his bolt pistol as he pushed forwards. Helios watched the view of his brother disappear as the Thunderhawk’s embarkation ramp clamped shut.
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| [//chron+0.25+] [//liam_m/@6pluspainting et sian_fc+] |
***
Diantos waved a hand across the table and the pict-feed ceased.
“Dain-Mir, as suspected” stated Selvaine.
“You knew?”
Helios turned to face the Inquisitor for the first time, his pale white eyes boring into Selvaine. Without the vox-synthesiser his voice was a dry and painful rasp, but he was still an Astartes. Despite his damaged vocal cords, those mortal serfs lurking in the corners of the chambers shrunk back into the dark of the shadows at the sound of his wrath.
The corner of Selvaine’s mouth curled slightly, hinting at a wry smile. He took a breath through his nostrils and replied to the Astartes.
“We had suspicions that the xenos had been active in-system. But of course, without any physical evidence we could draw no definite conclusions. My Interrogator, your ‘asset’, was attempting to collect this evidence before he was discovered and detained by the enemy. We have strong reason to believe that the Partisans in this sector are actively collaborating with the xenos.”
Helios swallowed down his smouldering fury, gritting his teeth.
“Two of my brothers lie dead in the dirt. They died because we were used as bait. Their oaths were sworn with the intention of prosecuting this war against the False Primarch and his traitorous kin, not to die on a nameless rock in the void by the hands of piratical xenos. They were Astartes, not Naluca.”
He spat his disgust at this final word with pure vitriol.
Diantos’ voice boomed through the chamber, his already imposing figure seemed to grow in height.
“We are indeed Astartes, Helios. We do not choose where we fight, nor where we die. We are honoured to die in the service of the Emperor and his Imperium, no matter the circumstance. Do not forget this.”
As though becoming aware once more of his surroundings, Helios stopped abruptly, dragged from his fervour by the words of his Captain. His hand was on his belt, a fingers-width from gripping the haft of his chain-axe.
If Selvaine was in any way alarmed, then he did not show it. After a moment, he continued, calmly.
“If you had been aware of their presence, sergeant, then your behaviour, your plans, would have been altered. The Dain-miri are no fools. They attacked you precisely because you did not know they were there." He paused for a moment. "You have done fine work, Helios, and I commend you for it. You have aided the war effort in more ways than one. Evidence of the Abomination collaborating with xenos? That fact alone will sway many a valuable system to the righteous cause of the Emperor. I do not regret the loss of your brothers for such a valuable prize.”
Helios grappled with his rage and forced it down into the pit of his stomach. Drawing his grip away from the axe, he forced himself to regain his composure. He tore his gaze from Selvaine and glared back at Diantos.
“With your permission Captain, the Omorî will return immediately to retrieve our fallen. We will kill them all. Of this you have my word.”
“Permission denied,” Diantos replied coldly. “We will waste no more time dealing with the Belatyr. It is regrettable that our brothers remain unrecovered, but I will have no more of my men lost on a fool’s errand. The xenos will be left to the Navy or the Guard to deal with, and the propagandists can spin this however they desire. There is no glory to be had playing a futile game of cat and mouse when there are more pressing concerns that require our attention.”
With another swipe of his hand across the hololithic table, a projection of three planets appeared.
“I advise you and your men report to the apothecarium, before disarming and returning to stasis. Our fleet will translate to the Furens System within the next seventy-two solar hours. I need you and the Omorî ready, sergeant, for whatever awaits us there.”
With great effort the sergeant replied.
“By your will, my lord.”
Helios retrieved his helm from the hololithic table and, with a curt salute, turned and made his way back through the chamber and into the winding corridors of the Exaltoris. Some metres away from the entrance to his Captain’s chamber, the sergeant activated his squad-wide vox as he took a sharp left, away from the apothecarium, back towards the hangar bay.
“Omorî.” His helm display showed that the remaining seven battle brothers of his squad were listening.
“Rearm and assemble in the hangar bay immediately.”
He switched vox paths, this time opening a channel to his Thunderhawk’s pilot.
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| [//liam_m/@6pluspainting+] |
“Karos, prepare for embarkation and immediate launch.”
There was a splutter of static before his reply.
“Sergeant? By whose authority is this action sanctioned?”
“By order of the Holy Inquisition and the will of Captain Diantos himself. We are returning to Argin-Beta.”
***