In the very centre of the Temple of Dannan, the dark corridors gave way to a majestic courtyard. It was bounded on each side by the arches of stone cloisters, decorated in the High Gothic style of the finest Imperial architecture. Intricate engravings scrolled across the arches, depicting scenes of glory and honour from the history of Tartarus and displaying the ritual iconography of the Imperial cult itself. Above the largest arch in the north wall was a magnificent icon, carved deeply into the pristine stone. It showed the image of the Golden Throne, ringed by the ineffable presence of the Astronomican, singing the Emperor’s grace for all the galaxy to hear-sending out a beacon for the souls of the faithful, no matter where they might be.
But the icons were defaced and vandalised, sprayed with blood and chipped away by the clumsy strikes of clubs, sticks and fists. Here and there, the stone was riddled with pits and holes, as though it had been struck by a barrage of gun shots from close range. And, in the centre of the courtyard, the once verdant and beautiful plants had been burnt to ashes. In their place stood a ring of human cultists, stripped to their waists, trembling with fear and excitement. A series of grooves had been etched into the flagstones, leading from their feet to a small, circular hole in the middle, like the radials of a wheel. The hole dropped away from the temple, plunging down into the great subterranean reservoir of blood, hidden in the vaulted chamber under the city, like an underground cathedral in its own right.
When Sindri had realised that the temple had been built directly above the blood-chamber, he had laughed-there are no coincidences on Tartarus. It was as though the whole planet had been designed with this ceremony as its goal.
The sorcerer paced around the ring of cultists, dragging the eldar’s curved blade over their backs as they winced and moaned, concentrating in towards the hole in the centre of the circle. Thin trickles of blood seeped out of the cuts in their backs, running down their bodies and dripping into the blood grooves in the stone floor. Gradually, the grooves began to fill with red, and the lines pushed slowly towards the hole, one droplet at a time.
As they bled, the cultists chanted and swayed to an erratic, ugly rhythm, and Sindri stepped spasmodically, in time with the broken beat. The spell seemed to inflate throughout the courtyard, spilling out of the mouths of the cultists and pushing against the cloisters that surrounded them. A field of scintillating energy was building gradually, as the chanting grew louder and the blood flowed thicker. The cultists were being bled in body and soul together.
Suddenly, Sindri stopped circling the group, halting behind one of the cultists. In an abrupt movement, the sorcerer lunged forward and grasped the woman’s hair, pulling it violently back to expose her neck. Spinning the dagger in his other hand, he brought it smoothly across the cultist’s throat, dropping her onto the ground as her life-blood gushed from the mortal wound. She fell forward, along the blood groove, spilling her blood into a river that flooded the channel and rushed towards the hole in the ground.
The other cultists continued to chant and sway, their eyes wild with fear and ecstasy as Sindri started to circle them once again. Guardsman Katrn watched the movements of Sindri with hungry eyes, imploring the sorcerer to give him the honour of being next, impatient to blend his blood with the thousands of other devotees whose essence had drained into the great reservoir over the decades and centuries. He chanted the spell with extra energy each time Sindri passed behind him, as he felt the cold slice of the curved blade cut into his back.
Katrn had already shed the blood of many Tartarans, fighting his way from Magna Bonum, but now it was time to give his own blood to the cause. His mind reeled with disbelief at the thought that so many of his brethren could still not see the truth of their origins; they were still blind to their place in the plans of the daemon prince; they still thought that war had to have a purpose-that shedding blood for the Blood God was not enough in itself. The fools.
Sindri stopped again, yanking back the head of another cultist and slitting his throat without ceremony, dumping the body forward into the circle with a casual push. The sorcerer was moving faster now, driven into a trance by the chanting, the motion, and the pungent scent of the fresh blood. The incandescent field around the courtyard was pulsing with energy, pressing against the stonework and splintering cracks into the Imperial icons.
Finally, the sorcerer stopped behind him, and Katrn’s soul rejoiced as his head was pulled back, exposing his neck to Sindri’s blade.
“Sindri!” bellowed a voice, shattering the discordant chant and making the energy field flicker.
Please, oh please cut me, begged Katrn in his mind. Please.
Sindri stayed his hand and snapped his head round to see who dared to intrude on the ceremony. “What!” he hissed. “What, my lord,” he added, struggling with the words.
“The Space Marines have breached the Dannan sector-they are on their way. Your cultists bought us almost no time at all,” said Bale, his voice full of disgust. He was growing sick of the sorcerer’s plans collapsing into ruin just on the verge of their success.
Katrn felt the sorcerer release his head and withdraw the knife from his neck, snatching him back from the verge of glory. He cried out in frustration as Sindri walked round the circle towards the Chaos Lord, instructing the cultists to carry on chanting while he was away.
“The circumstances that you mention demonstrate divine providence, Lord Bale,” said Sindri, raising his arm and guiding Bale out of the courtyard. “Everything is proceeding according to plan. Once I have completed the ceremony, you will have that which we have plotted and schemed to achieve.”
Bale looked at Sindri for a moment, suspicious of his choice of words. “I do not trust you, sorcerer,” he said frankly. “What will happen if the Blood Ravens should arrive before this ‘providence’ graces us?”
“Providence has already graced us, my lord-if only you had the eyes to see it. When the Space Marines arrive, then we shall play the good hosts and indulge them in a bloody feast,” answered Sindri, risking a subtle slight. “But at all costs, Lord Bale, you must keep them from interfering with the ceremony. This is a delicate process, and I cannot afford for it to be interrupted… again.”
Uncertain, Bale nodded and turned to walk away, leaving the sorcerer to do what needed to be done.
“And Bale,” called Sindri after him, using his unadorned name once again, “might I advise that you throw everything at the cursed Blood Ravens. Everything. Their contribution to our project might prove most useful in the end, especially at this critical juncture.”
“Do not tell me how to fight Space Marines, sorcerer!” retorted Bale, stamping to a halt and looking back over his shoulder.
“My apologies,” said Sindri smoothly. “I just thought that you would be pleased to finally get your chance to engage the Blood Ravens.”
Bale did not answer, but stormed back into the dark interior of the temple, leaving Sindri to turn back to the cultists in the courtyard. If the truth were known, he was pleased at the prospect of a proper fight at last.
Now, where was I, thought Sindri, as the rhythm of the chanting started to penetrate his soul once again. Ah yes… power demands sacrifice.
Katrn gasped with ecstasy as the sorcerer tugged back his head once again and drew the icy touch of the eldar blade across his throat. As the Guardsman slumped down into the blood groove at his feet, he could feel his life gushing out of him, pouring his soul into the fecund embrace of the Blood God himself.
Another Thunderhawk roared overhead as Inquisitor Toth’s own vessel blasted into the air to return to the spaceport at Magna Bonum. All of the transports were required to help with the evacuation, but Colonel Brom had released a detachment of his Tartaran Guardsmen to assist the Blood Ravens, and a Thunderhawk was temporarily requisitioned to take them to Lloovre Marr.
The gunship did not even land, it just dropped down above the road and opened its hatch, tipping a couple of squads of Imperial Guardsmen out onto the flagstones. Then, with a roar of power, it eased back into the sky and flashed off into the night, heading back towards the evacuation point.
One of the Guardsmen rushed forward to greet Gabriel, stooping into a bow as he approached.
“Captain Angelos, I am Sergeant Ckrius of the Tartarus Planetary Defence Force,” said the young soldier proudly. His uniform was ripped and dirty, and his face was blackened by the smoky report of his weapon. But his sergeant’s pips were sparkling and clean, as though he had just finished polishing them. He looked up into the face of Gabriel with fierce determination burning in his eyes. “I bring two squadrons of storm troopers and the regards of Colonel Brom. He regrets that he cannot spare more.”
“Thank you sergeant, you are most welcome here,” replied Gabriel, nodding to the young Guardsman and wondering how bad things must be at the spaceport for such a youthful soldier to be put in charge of two entire squads. He studied the lad’s face and saw how it must have aged over the last couple of days; he was not much more than a boy, but he had survived more than many men, and his sparkling eyes spoke of an undiminished resolve to save his homeworld.
For a moment, Gabriel saw himself in those eyes-he had once been a young Guardsman on Cyrene, before the Blood Trials, before the Blood Ravens had changed his life forever.
“Tell me sergeant, how fares the spaceport?” asked Gabriel.
“The orks have regrouped and are attacking in force, captain. Many civilians have been killed in the crossfire as they struggled to get into the spaceport, but we are holding out as best we can…” Ckrius trailed off, apparently unwilling to go on.
“Is there something else, sergeant?” asked Mordecai, overhearing the conversation and joining the group.
“Yes, there is something,” said Ckrius, puffing out his chest and steadying his voice. “It seems that some of the Tartarans themselves have turned against the Emperor-a number of squadrons have deserted their positions, including an elite Armoured Fist squad.”
“They are cowards, then,” replied Gabriel, remembering the scene that greeted him when he first set foot on Tartarus.
“It is worse than that, captain,” confessed Ckrius, flinching at the insult on the honour of his regiment, but unable to deny it. “The squads have not fled, they have turned their guns against us, and some even fight alongside the orks.”
“It is as we feared, Gabriel,” said Mordecai, turning to face the Blood Raven. “The Maledictum is working its dark magic on the people of Tartarus, twisting their wills against themselves. Their bodies were prepared by the taint in the soil itself, and now their souls are lost.”
“More and more turn every hour, captain. Before long, the spaceport will fall-the evacuation must be completed within the next few hours,” added Ckrius.
“It must be completed today in any case, sergeant,” responded Mordecai. “The warp storm will be here before the day is out, and when it arrives, it is all over for anyone left on the surface.”
“Thank you, sergeant, for bringing us this news and for joining us at this troubled time,” said Gabriel, impressed by the resolve and strength of the young trooper. He bowed slightly to the sergeant in a rare sign of respect for a junior officer. “Now, we have work to do.
“Sergeant, we are going to launch a two-pronged assault against the Alpha Legionaries in the Temple of Dannan. You and your storm troopers will assist Sergeant Tanthius and the Blood Ravens Terminators-you will storm the temple doors from the front. You will be supported by a team of Devastator Marines-but most of the heavy weapons batteries are still on the other side of this chasm. The Whirlwinds may be able to provide some covering fire from there, but the other tanks will be of no use. There is a ceremony being performed in the temple, and it is imperative that we do not allow it to reach completion-do you understand?” explained Gabriel quickly.
“Yes, captain. You may count on us to do our part,” replied Ckrius, saluting crisply, despite his fatigue and the grime that covered him.
“The rest of you,” continued Gabriel, turning to face Mordecai, Matiel and the remains of the assault squad. “The rest of you are with me.” He hesitated for a moment, looking for Isador. The Librarian was standing a little way off, talking to a small group of Marines. He nodded briskly to Gabriel as their eyes met, as though indicating some sort of understanding, and then he stalked off towards the temple with the Marines in tow.
A rocket zinged overhead, crashing into the steps of the temple and exploding into rains of shrapnel. Another fell short, drilling down into the flagstones in the square and excavating a large crater. The cultists who were collected outside the Temple of Dannan did not scatter-they stood their ground and were slaughtered in their dozens with each blast from the distant Whirlwind rocket launchers. In only a few moments, the rockcrete surface of the temple precinct was slick with blood and gore.
As the bombardment ceased, Tanthius stepped forward into the square, flanked on both sides by a short line of Marines with full Terminator honours. The Blood Ravens opened fire, punching a volley of shells through the square, shredding the cultists with splinters of flame and shrapnel.
This is too easy, thought Tanthius as his storm bolter spluttered in his hand. Where are the Alpha Legionaries?
The sound of breaking glass made him look up. Great sheets of stained glass were tumbling out of their frames in the upper levels of the temple. Huge monuments to the glory of the Emperor were being desecrated and shattered from within, as sleets of bolter fire flashed down through the early morning darkness. Tanthius could vaguely see the horned helmets of Alpha Legionaries moving in the shadows beyond the window frames.
Angling his bolter fire up towards the wrecked stained glass windows, Tanthius drew his power sword and lashed out with it into the throng of cultists, cutting through a swathe with ease. His brother Terminators echoed his movements, dragging their line of fire up the front of the temple and peppering the window cavities in the upper levels. Their secondary weapons continued to slice into the seething crowd of cultists-a plume of fire jetted out of a flamer on the arm of one, and the hum of power fists sizzled in the air as they pummelled anything that strayed too close.
Meanwhile, Sergeant Ckrius waved some quick signals to the storm troopers, who peeled into two squads. One knelt into a firing line and unleashed their hellguns, spraying a tirade into the throng of cultists at the side of the knot of Terminators. The relentless fire cut a sudden corridor into the crowd, and Ckrius stormed into it, his hellgun bucking with automatic fire as he sprinted towards the temple steps. Behind him came one of the storm trooper squads, pounding over the carpet of corpses, desperate to reach the other side of the square before the corridor closed in on them again.
Ckrius burst out of the crowd on the far side, diving up the steps of the temple and crashing his weight into the heavy doors. He rolled instantly, bringing his hellgun round to bear on the cultists once again. An instant later, and seven more storm troopers flew out of the crowd, launching themselves out of the reach of the grasping hands and turning to riddle them with lasfire.
The eighth member of the squad nearly made it, but the corridor collapsed just before he broke through, and the cultists pressed in on him from both sides, swamping him under the sheer weight of numbers. For a moment, his head rose above the throng, thrown back in agony as the cultists bit and clawed into his flesh, trying to bleed him dry.
Without breaking his firing rhythm, Ckrius snapped his pistol from its holster and clicked off a single round, striking the storm trooper directly between the eyes and killing him instantly. The pistol was reholstered immediately, as Ckrius grasped his hellgun back into both hands for better control-he hoped that his men would do the same for him, when his time came.
With a command from Ckrius, the line of storm troopers on the temple steps focussed their fire into a single strip of the square, cutting another corridor in the crowd, leading right up to the feet of the storm troopers on the other side. As soon as the corridor opened, the troopers broke into a run, sprinting across the square with their hellguns blazing before them. Ckrius rose to his feet and braced his gun against his shoulder, picking off cultists one at a time as they threatened to obstruct the storming troopers-he was determined not to lose any more men so early in the day.
As the two squadrons were reunited on the temple steps, the cultists found themselves caught in the crossfire between the storm troopers and the Blood Ravens Terminators. The whole precinct was instantly transformed into a giant killing zone, with lasfire, bolter shells and flames flashing maniacally through the space from both sides. Every shot hit something, and in a matter of seconds the crowd had been reduced into a pummelled, broken and bloody pile of corpses.
Tanthius strode forward into the square, scanning the upper windows of the temple for signs of Chaos Marines, but he could see no movement. His feet squelched horribly as they trod through the gory mess on the ground, but he nodded an acknowledgment to Ckrius on the temple steps.
The clink of grenades hitting the flagstones sounded an ominous note in the morning air. Suddenly, explosions rocked the temple precinct and, with a crack the temple doors burst open-a volley of bolter fire punched out into the square, scattering the storm troopers and peppering the armour of the Terminators.
A phalanx of Alpha Legionaries stormed out of the temple, their guns blazing in all directions at once. Simultaneously, more stained-glass windows shattered and fire hailed down into the square from above.
The sound of combat outside echoed through the narrow passageway, shaking the stone blocks in the foundations of the temple. Gabriel crouched and rushed the last few steps, emerging into one of the antechambers in the interior of the temple. He snatched his bolter from one side to the other, but the room was empty. He whistled a signal, and the rest of his team stalked out of the service tunnel, immediately spreading out into a firing formation with their weapons primed.
Gabriel held a finger to his lips to silence the others as he strode towards the only doorway, his heavy boots clanking against the stone floors in blatant disregard for his own order. Outside the small stone chamber was one of the low, subsidiary aisles of the majestic nave, cast into deep shadow at this time of the morning. Beyond it, through a series of wide arches that ran the length of the temple, the grand, vaulted nave stretched off in both directions, leading to the main entrance on the left and the altar on the right.
The huge front doors were a frenzy of activity as Alpha Legionaries arrayed themselves around it in a tight firing arc. Others had already rushed outside, and Gabriel could see the report of their bolters in the darkness of the precinct. In the other direction, behind the altar and beyond the apse, a coruscating purple glow spilled into the temple from the cloistered courtyard in the heart of the temple. And high above, in the rafters and ramparts, Gabriel could see other Chaos Marines running to the front of the temple to find vantage points for the battle.
“Sergeant,” whispered Gabriel to Matiel, as he ducked back into the antechamber. “Take the assault squad into the shadows of the aisles and wait for my signal. You can provide support for Tanthius and Sergeant Ckrius from there, catching the cursed Chaos Marines in your crossfire.”
Matiel did not answer, but he nodded briskly, flicking some silent hand signals to his squad. The Space Marines dropped into crouching positions and darted out of the door, filing along the arched side-aisles, virtually invisible in the deep shadows. Finally, Matiel nodded again to Gabriel. “May the Emperor guide your blade, Gabriel,” he said as he ducked out to join his squad.
“What about us, captain?” asked Mordecai, swinging his warhammer between his hands.
“We have a ceremony to interrupt,” hissed Gabriel, peering round the doorway and then dashing out into the nave towards the altar.
“Sindri!” called the Chaos Lord as he burst into the courtyard, his eyes quickly scanning the scene of carnage. The sorcerer had gone, leaving a ring of dead cultists in the centre of the courtyard, lying in the blood grooves like spokes on a wheel.
“Sindri, you coward!” he bellowed, spinning to search the shadows in the cloisters around the edge of the courtyard. That vile sorcerer, thought Bale, his anger rising. His plans have failed and he has deserted me.
The Chaos Lord kicked his boot against the ribs of one of the sacrificial cultists. It made no noise, except for a moist squelch as a bubble of blood burst out of its slit throat under the sudden pressure.
“SINDRI!” roared Bale, thrusting his scythe into the air and spinning it in a vicious arc, smashing it down into the body of the cultist at his feet. The blade clanged and sparked against the flagstones as it hacked straight through the dehydrated human form. “You will suffer for this,” he muttered under his breath.
“You will suffer first,” came a voice from behind him.
The Chaos Lord looked back over his shoulder, his scythe still buried in the distended flesh of Katrn. Stepping through the purple energy field that still enveloped the courtyard strode a Blood Ravens captain, his chainsword drawn. Behind him came the figure of an inquisitor, wielding an ancient-looking warhammer with controlled malice.
Bale laughed, dragging his blade free of the corpse and spinning it round his head, sending a spray of blood splattering across the courtyard as he turned to face the intruders. He dropped into a low fighting stance, the blade of his manreaper scythe held above his shoulder as he shifted his weight onto his back foot. At last, he thought, an opponent worthy of a Chaos Lord of the Alpha Legion.
“Don’t worry, we will deal with your sorcerer later,” added Gabriel, holding his chainsword vertically at his side in both hands, and pushing his left leg forward into a long combat stance.
“This one is mine,” he hissed to Mordecai, as he darted forward, lifting his chainsword above his head and driving it down towards the Chaos Lord. Mordecai hesitated, eager to assist but aware of the age-old rivalry between the Blood Ravens and the Alpha Legion-this was an honour duel, and he had no place in it. He switched his warhammer into one hand and retreated into the shadows of the cloisters. As he did so, something caught his eye on the other side of the courtyard-a figure in blue power armour had emerged from one of the transepts. He only saw it for a moment, before it sank back into the shadows. It looked like Isador.
The Chaos Lord was as quick as Gabriel, dropping his scythe into a vertical sweep and smashing his blow aside, lifting his front foot simultaneously and kicking it into the Blood Raven’s chest. Gabriel staggered back under the blow, regaining his balance and repositioning his chainsword in a horizontal pose above his head, pointing at the Chaos Lord.
Letting his momentum turn his body, Bale spun his other leg in a low sweep towards Gabriel’s front foot, bringing his scythe around at the same time. Gabriel lifted his foot just in time, stamping it down again on Bale’s ankle, feeling the joint collapse under the force. Simultaneously, he dipped the point of his chainsword and swept it round to parry the scythe blade as it streaked towards his head.
The Chaos Lord let out a scream, part pain and part fury, as he tugged his broken leg back out of Gabriel’s reach. “Sindri!” he yelled. “You will pay for this!”
No, I don’t think so, Lord Bale, came the smooth tones of the sorcerer, slipping directly into Bale’s mind. I’m afraid that the ceremony failed to break the protective seal guarding the stone-I confess that I had expected that it would not work… yet. We need a larger sacrifice, my lord. We need more blood to fully consecrate the ground.
All of a sudden, a series of explosions sounded from within the nave of the temple, and then the rattle of bolter fire erupted in their wake. Matiel and the Marines had joined battle against the Alpha Legionaries.
“You have failed, sorcerer!” bellowed the Chaos Lord, bringing his scythe down for another attack. Unbalanced by his broken leg, the strike was more clumsy than the last, and Gabriel stepped comfortably inside it, pushing his chainsword into Bale’s midsection.
No, my lord. Power demands sacrifice-and I thank you for yours.
The manreaper fell from Bale’s grasp, clattering to the ground as he staggered back, gasping for breath. The morning sun had just crested above the cloisters, sending the first red rays of the day lancing into the courtyard, accompanied by the cacophony of battle in the nave and in the precinct outside.
“This is not the end, Blood Raven,” spat Bale as he slumped to the ground, sliding his weight along the grinding teeth of the chainsword and splashing blood into Gabriel’s face. “No, this dawn is the dawn of a new war…” His voice trailed off as the dark light faded from his eyes and his mouth fell open in a last gasp of horror.
Gabriel pulled his chainsword clear of the dead Chaos Lord, its spluttering teeth spitting droplets of blood and gore across the courtyard. The huge stomach wound was pouring with blood, rapidly forming a wide pool around the fallen Marine. But Gabriel noticed the danger too late, and the blood seeped its way into the blood grooves cut into the flagstones and started to race along towards the hole in the centre of the courtyard.
Intuitively, Gabriel sprinted for the cloisters, launching himself off his feet just as the stream of Bale’s blood poured into the hole and cascaded down into the reservoir below like a waterfall. The purple energy field around the courtyard exploded in a brilliant flash of light, and the flagstones on the floor vaporised immediately, sending jets of steam fizzing into the sky. The corpses of the cultists slipped into freefall, tumbling down into the lake of blood below.
As the commotion died down, a pillar started to rise out of the subterranean lake, grinding up towards the gap where the courtyard had once been. It rumbled into place, like a peg filling a round hole, sealing the courtyard once again. The stone of the new floor was stained a deep red, from centuries of submersion beneath a sea of blood. In its centre was a small altar, pristine and white, as though untouched by the hideous taint of its surroundings. And on this altar rested a small gemstone, glowing red with unearthly powers, as though lit by the fires of hell itself.
Drawn by the ungodly noise, Matiel came storming into the cloisters from the nave, accompanied by two Space Marines. They ran over to Gabriel and Mordecai, pushing the piles of debris and masonry off them and helping them to their feet.
“What happened, captain?” asked Matiel. But Gabriel was staring over the sergeant’s shoulder into the courtyard beyond. There, on the other side, just emerged from the shadows of the cloisters, stood Isador. The Librarian appeared to be muttering to himself, staring at the ground, whispering and twitching his head, as though fighting with his own private daemons.
“Old friend,” called Gabriel, pushing Matiel gently aside and stepping out into the courtyard once again.
The Librarian stopped mumbling and raised his eyes, meeting those of Gabriel for a moment. Then, in a sudden movement, Isador raised his arm into the air, and the Maledictum stone flashed across the courtyard into his hand. Gabriel saw his friend’s eyes switch from icy blue into a blaze of reds and golds, burning with hellfire. A crackling purple energy field erupted around Isador’s armour, as the Librarian slowly lowered his arm, pointing it towards his oldest friend.
Gabriel dived to one side, drawing his bolt pistol as he rolled. Flipping back onto his feet, the captain snatched off three shots. At the same time, shots echoed out from Matiel and Mordecai. The shells punched into Isador, staggering him and making him stumble backwards. But then the force field around him flared with even greater energy, and he pulled himself upright again.
By this time, Gabriel had broken into a run, charging towards his onetime friend, firing a stream of bullets. The shells pummelled into the field around Isador, but then a great explosion erupted under the impacts, throwing Gabriel off his feet and back towards the Blood Ravens in the cloisters.
When he stood up and looked back across the courtyard, Librarian Isador Akios had vanished.
C.S. Goto (ebook by Undead)
01 – Dawn of War