He bent forwards into a full sprint as the blind grenade erupted into life at the far end of the bridge, forming a whirling cloud of silvery particles and swirling forks of electromagnetic energy.
Again the system controlling the defences had evolved. The turrets were blinded, but whereas before they had ceased their fusillades, now they opened fire with a storm of bolts, flashing randomly around the chamber with a criss-cross of ruby beams. As a beam seared past his right shoulder, Alpharius almost cursed in his native tongue, the words stopped by his gritted teeth as he plunged into the storm of the blind field.
Clanking gears and hissing pistons sprang into life. The bridge lurched under Alpharius’s feet, almost sending him toppling over the low rail. The blind cloud raged around him, blotting out all of the data being fed through his armour’s auto-senses. In silence and blackness, Alpharius leapt, powering himself into the air.
It seemed to take an age for the legionary to land, swallowed up by the blind field, oblivious to the crackling las-bolts that were undoubtedly flaring all around him.
He landed with a heavy thud and almost lost his footing, coming down hard on one knee, the impact sending alarm signals through his suit. He surged to both feet and pressed on, trusting that the others were following him, trusting also that Corax was correct and there was an archway or open door ahead to provide sanctuary. The blind cloud was already collapsing, the chaff and distortive energies fluttering into the darkness.
Freed from the effects of the blind grenade, Alpharius’s comms and auto-senses sprang into life again. Las-fire blazed around him, sending up wisps of molten rock from the floor. There was no point trying to dodge the haphazard fusillade and he pressed on up the slightly sloping floor while his auto-senses shuddered. Patches of light swam across his eyes and a dull ringing sounded in his ears as the suit’s systems recovered from the blind field.
‘–igh and left,’ Dor was shouting as he emerged from the spreading miasma of disruptive energy. ‘High and left!’
Alpharius swung his bolter up to a firing position and saw through the infrared haze a flicker of the turret’s artificial eye blinking in the darkness. He fired three rounds, puncturing the casing of the gun position, sending shards of metal through the air.
‘Keep moving,’ Lukar said, slapping a hand to Alpharius’s shoulder as he ran past. Alpharius looked ahead and saw a blast door descending over a yellow-lit opening.
The legionaries ducked under the closing portal in quick succession, armour clattering. Marko was the last in line, slightly slower due to the weight of his heavy weapon. A red beam of laser energy spat down from the ceiling and shattered the armour of his right leg. Twisting, Marko tried to fall under the closing door but fell short.
‘Leave him,’ Dor snapped.
Alpharius ignored the command and acted out of instinct, dropping his bolter to grab Marko’s backpack with both hands. He hauled with all of his strength, dragging the stricken legionary under the door moments before it slammed closed with a resounding crunch.
They were in a corridor much like those they had first encountered in the maze, with drab grey walls without markings. It curved away sharply to the right, the route ahead hidden after ten metres.
‘Sergeant Dor, report status.’ Corax’s voice was assured, confident that his warriors had succeeded.
Dor looked at the squad, the lenses of his helm glinting in the bright light that came from a single strip in the roof.
‘We’re through, Lord Corax,’ he reported. ‘Marko is hurt, though.’
‘Can he move?’ The question hung in the air while Marko pulled himself to his feet with Lukar’s aid. He hefted his multi-melta, checking the power cabling that linked it to his backpack.
‘I’m not staying here,’ Marko said, voice strained. ‘But don’t expect me to do any more running.’
‘He can move,’ Dor passed on the legionary’s assessment. ‘What are our orders?’
‘Continue along the passageway for thirty metres.’
‘Understood. We are advancing,’ Dor replied.
At that moment, something came around the bend in the passage, clanking and hissing. It was a strange mix of bipedal machine and small tank, with tracked feet of metal links, its main body shaped like a turret with two multi-barrelled cannons protruding menacingly from the front. Sensor discs and artificial eye lenses dotted a small module atop the machine.
Alpharius watched as the barrels spun up to speed, momentarily taken aback by the machine’s sudden appearance; Corax had warned of such a thing but until now they had only encountered the fixed defences. Even as he lifted his bolter to fire, he realised he had reacted too slowly.
A weight smashed into the side of Alpharius, sending him reeling to his left just as the guard-machine opened fire. Lukar was firing his bolter as he took the brunt of the cannonade, fist-sized shells hammering into his armour in a welter of ceramite shrapnel and ripped metal.
Lukar was hurled backwards by the impact, his shattered armour slamming to the floor, cratered and cracked. Alpharius fired his bolter, targeting the sensor array, smashing lenses and aerials.
The side of the machine exploded into a shower of molten drops from the blast of Marko’s multi-melta, exposing steaming circuitry and wires. Dor’s bolts slammed into the rent a second later as the turret spun towards Marko. Velps leapt forwards with a melta-charge in his fist. He ducked beneath the blaze of bullets as the guardian opened fire again, smashing Dor from his feet. With a snarled oath, Velps slapped the charge on the casing beneath the guns and dived away.
The machine detonated, its destruction filling the tunnel with incandescent fury that caused heat warnings to flare across Alpharius’s helm display, an explosion far greater than that caused by the melta-bomb alone. Shrapnel carved into Alpharius’s chest and shoulder, but his armour held. The ceramite walls were similarly crackled and pitted with debris.
‘Self-destruct,’ said Velps, the paint of his armour blistered away by the fiery blast. He fired several rounds into the smoking, twitching mechanical remains, snarling curses.
Alpharius turned to where Lukar lay awkwardly on the grey floor. The face of his helm was a mess, the Raven Guard symbol embossed on his breastplate mangled beyond recognition, blood seeping from a dozen gouges in his armour.
‘The sergeant looks alive,’ reported Marko, kneeling beside Dor’s supine form. The sergeant weakly held up his hand to confirm the fact.
‘Lukar’s dead,’ Alpharius said quietly. The Raven Guard had taken the full brunt of the attack, saving Alpharius’s life. As he looked down at the blood-spattered, broken armour of Lukar, Alpharius shook his head with disbelief. ‘Why did he push me out of the way?’
‘Why did you drag me to safety?’ Marko replied, pulling Dor to his feet.
Alpharius had no answer. These warriors were Raven Guard, his enemies. His sole purpose was to ensure their destruction, but the mission required that they succeed in retrieving whatever it was that Corax sought in the vaults. That meant they had to stay alive to breach the inner sanctum of the mountain.
Yet there was more to it than that. Their eventual deaths would be a necessity, but as individuals Alpharius had respect, perhaps even friendship, for his fellow squad members. Whether this was some remnant of memory from the warrior-material in his omophagea, or something altogether more vexing and problematic, he did not like to guess.
‘We are brothers-in-battle,’ Dor said quietly, crouching to place a hand on the shattered remnants of Lukar’s chest.
‘Aye,’ said Velps, pressing his fist to his chest in salute. ‘Battle-brothers.’
‘Battle-brothers,’ Alpharius whispered, pulling his gaze from the dead legionary, unable to deal with his confused thoughts.