The Soul Drinkers looked down on the scene from a thin ledge of crumbling metal that clung to the wall just beyond the exit of the corridor leading to the floor above. The sounds of battle coming from the lab floor made it clear that they couldn't stay there - they could be trapped and butchered by the mutated beasts charging down the corridor from above.
Salk glanced across at Graevus, The veteran's power axe, clutched in his huge mutated hand, still fizzed and crackled as its power field burned off the blood crusted on its blade.
'One way.’ said Graevus simply.
'Agreed.’ said Salk. 'Lygris?'
Lygris nodded. 'You need me down there.’
'Pallas.’ said Graevus, 'you stay here. Someone has to get to the surface if we don't make it. Get Sarpedon to evacuate the force as best he can if we can't find anything or get back up. Whatever happens, we'll need you to fix us afterwards.’
'Just make sure there's enough left of you to patch up.’ replied Pallas.
Graevus smiled, hefted his power axe in both hands, and jumped.
SARPEDON SAW THE dark star as it fell, a weeping open eye that bled malice as it plummeted down from the sky. It warped everything around it - with sight alone Sarpedon could tell it was something of terrible power.
But his mind confirmed it. Sarpedon was a telepath who could transmit but normally not receive - but even so he was receptive enough for the new arrival's sheer malevolence to burn itself into his mind. He felt filthy, as if some physical corruption were washing over him, and his mutated genes seemed to squirm inside him as if trying to escape. He heard screams as the traitor horde surrounding the facility keened in worship or despair, or perhaps both. The sky was turning dark and for a moment everything seemed to tilt as reality itself buckled under the strain of containing such a power.
The falling object landed a few hundred metres away in an explosion of shattered metal and earth. The Soul Drinkers firebases were holding well against the advancing masses of enemies, except where Tellos to the front and Iktinos to the back were embroiled in brutal swirling hand-to-hand combat. This would turn the tide, Sarpedon had no doubt - the leader of the horde had decided to take a personal hand in the battle. Sarpedon hurried through the closest cover, where several Marines had taken up firing positions. He didn't know which squad they were from - organisation was breaking down and officers were in charge of whichever Marines were in earshot.
We need to put together an assault force,' he called to the nearest Marine. 'Round up as many brothers as you can and...'
The Marine turned to speak just as his head snapped to the side and a ragged hole appeared in his temple. A report sounded over the din, the sharp crack of an autopistol. Sarpedon ducked into cover as more pinpoint shots rang out, one punching through the chitinous armour of his leg, another zipping past his head far too close. He saw the attackers closing in from behind. There were two of them, one a hooded, hunched figure prowling forward like an animal, the other an unaugmented man in a long blastcoat with a heavily modified autopistol in one hand.
Sarpedon brought out the Soulspear and it responded to his grip, his genetic signature unlocking its pre-Imperial technology and sending twin blade-shaped vortex fields out from either end. The Soulspear had served him well so far in this battle, but these new enemies were no traitors or mutants.
With sudden, shocking speed the cowled figure leapt forward, great strength propelling it as it pounced. Sarpedon slashed with the Soulspear but the cowled monster was too quick, ducking beneath the vortex blade and batting aside the front legs that Sarpedon jabbed up to fend it off.
Sarpedon was thrown back onto a mass of wreckage, the foul-smelling creature pinning him down with strength that Sarpedon had only witnessed in a fellow Space Marine. The arm that held the Soulspear was pinned - he reached round with his free left hand and tried to grab the attacker by the throat but it lunged back and drove an elbow into Sarpe-don's face. His mouth filled with blood and he spat out a tooth bitterly, reaching out with two legs to get some purchase on the wreckage. He dug his talons into the torn metal and hauled himself over, rolling to the side and using the momentum to push the attacker off him. He grabbed a handful of the rags that covered it, and pulled.
The cowl tore away, and Sarpedon saw his attacker's face. Its skin was dead and pale blue-grey, red-raw where thick cables snaked into interfaces in the scalp. Its eyes were pure black. Its nose, mouth and throat were gone, replaced with brass-cased augmetics, metallic gills that fanned open and closed as it breathed and thick cylindrical filtration units where its throat should have been.
Sarpedon recognised that hate-filled expression, eyes burst black from the sudden pressure drop, twisted with loathing for the betrayal it felt. 'Greetings, Michairas.’ said Sarpedon, and cracked a vicious head butt into his enemy's face.
Sarpedon had killed Brother Michairas once before during the Chapter war. When many of the Soul Drinkers had rebelled against Sarpedon's ascension to the post of Chapter Master, Michairas had been one of their leaders. He had been a young but excellent warrior, novice to Commander Caeon, and had even participated in the rites that followed victory on the Lakonia space fort. When Sarpedon had tracked Michairas down on the strike cruiser, he had torn out his rebreather implants, throttled the life out of him and hurled him out of an airlock. Those hate-filled eyes had stared at him from through the porthole even as they filled up with blood and turned black.
Sarpedon had a moment to admire Michairas's toughness and resourcefulness. He had no idea how the Marine had survived - perhaps the damage done to his rebreathers hadn't been enough and he had somehow managed to get his helmet on and drift until picked up. Probably he had clawed his way back on board the strike cruiser and stolen a saviour pod. It didn't really matter - it must have taken massive strength of will to not only survive, but set out on a path of revenge that had brought him to Stratix Luminae.
The blade of the Soulspear hummed through the air and Michairas ducked it as Sarpedon knew he would - he stabbed deep into Michairas's shoulder with his front leg and felt the talon slide through muscle, bone and augmetics.
But Michairas didn't feel the pain. He probably couldn't feel anything any more, with so many of his organs replaced with augmentics and bionics. Instead he grabbed hold of the leg embedded in his shoulder and used its leverage to throw Sarpedon clear over his shoulder, slamming him into the rock-hard earth.
Michairas leapt onto Sarpedon like a predator, fingers reaching out to gouge at Sarpedon's eyes. It was only when his limbs suddenly refused to obey him that he realised the blade of the Soulspear was stabbing through his stomach, shearing through his spine. Sarpedon kicked him off to roll onto the ground beside him, withdrawing the vortex blade of the Soulspear.
'The Soul Drinkers you knew are gone.’ Sarpedon said grimly. 'That Chapter dies with you.'
The black eyes were still staring at him when the Soulspear sliced Michairas's head off. Augmetics shorted as the headless body fell back, bionics sparking and cables spewing black conductor fluid.
Sarpedon turned to the second attacker, the normal man who had hung back while Michairas attacked. Wordlessly, the man took aim and fired. The bullet hummed like an insect as it whipped through the air - Sarpedon ducked it but he could hear it as it zipped back towards him. A guided round, rare and lethal.
Sarpedon's wrist flicked and the Soulspear cut the bullet in half in mid-flight.
The man lowered his weapon.
'Inquisition?' asked Sarpedon, the Soulspear still alive and thrumming in his hand.
Yes. Ordo Hereticus, sent to kill you.'