city.
It's started,' said Loken.
Lachost looked up from the field vox. Fire was streaking through the sky towards the Choral City. Loken tried to judge the angle and speed of the falling darts of fire – some of them would come down between the spires of the Sirenhold, just like the Sons of Horus's own drop-pods had done hours earlier, and they would hit in a matter of minutes.
'Did Lucius say anything else?'
'No,’ said Lachost. 'Some bio-weapon. That was all. It sounded like he ran into a fire fight.'
Tarik,’ shouted Loken. 'We need to get into cover, now. Beneath the Sirenhold,’
'Will that be enough?'
'If they dug their catacombs deep enough, then maybe,’
'And if not?'
'From what Lucius said, we'll die,’
'Then we'd better get a move on,’
Loken turned to the Sons of Horns advancing around him. 'Incoming! Get to the Sirenhold and head down! Now!'
The closest spire of the Sirenhold was a towering monstrosity of grotesque writhing figures and leerВing gargoyle faces, a vision taken from some ancient hell of Isstvan's myths. The Sons of Horas broke their advance formation and ran towards it.
Loken heard the distinctive boom of an airborne detonation high above the city and pushed himself harder as he entered the darkness of the tomb-spire. Inside, it was dark and ugly, the floor paved with tortured, half-human figures who reached up with stone hands, as if through the bars of a cage.
There's a way down,’ said Torgaddon. Loken folВlowed as Astartes ran towards the catacomb entrance, a huge monstrous stone head with a pasВsageway leading down its throat.
As the darkness closed around him, Loken heard a familiar sound drifting from beyond the walls of the Sirenhold.
It was screaming.
It was the song of the Choral City's death.
The first virus bombs detonated high above the Choral City, the huge explosions spreading the deadly payloads far and wide into the atmosphere. Designed to kill every living thing on the surface of a planet, the viral strains released on Isstvan Р© were the most efficient killers in the Warmaster's arsenal. The bombs had a high enough yield to murder the planet a hundred times over and were set to burst at numerous differing altitudes and locations across the surface of the planet.
The virus leapt through forests and plains, sweepВing along algal blooms and riding air currents across the globe. It crossed mountains, forded rivers, burrowed through glaciers. The Imperium's deadliest weapons, the Emperor himself had been loath to use them.
The bombs fell all across Isstvan III, but most of all, they fell on the Choral City.
The World Eaters were the furthest from cover and suffered the worst of the initial bombardВment. Some had reached the safety of the bunkers, but many more had not. Warriors fell to their knees as the virus penetrated their armoured bodВies, deadly corrosive agents laced into the viral structure of the weapons dissolving exposed pipes and armour joints, or finding their way inside through battle damage.
Astartes screamed. The sound was all the more shocking for its very existence rather than for the horror of its tone. The virus broke down cellular bonds at the molecular level and its victims literally dissolved into a soup of rancid meat within minВutes of exposure, leaving little but sloshing suits of rotted armour. Even many of those who reached the safety of the sealed bunkers died in agony as they shut the doors only to find they had brought the lethal virus inside with them.
The virus spread through the civilian populace of Isstvan III at the speed of thought, leaping from vicВtim to victim in the time it took to breathe in its foul contagion. People dropped where they stood, the flesh sloughing from their skeletons as their nervous systems collapsed and their bones turned to the consistency of jelly.
Bright explosions fed the viral feast, perpetuating the fatal reactions of corruption. The very lethality of the virus was its own worst enemy, for without a host organism to carry it from victim to victim, the virus quickly consumed itself.
However, the bombardment from orbit was unreВlenting, smothering the entire planet in a precisely targeted array of overlapping fire plans that ensured that nothing would escape the virus.
Entire kingdoms and vassal states across the surВface were obliterated in minutes. Ancient cultures that had survived Old Night and endured the horВror of invasion a dozen times over fell without even knowing why, millions dying in screaming agony as
their bodies betrayed them and fell apart, reducing them to rotted, decaying matter.
Sindermann watched the bloom of darkness spread across the slice of the planet visible on the giant pict screens. It spread in a wide black ring, eating its way across the surface of the planet with astonishing speed, leaving grey desolation behind it. Another wave of corruption crept in from another part of the surface, the two dark masses meeting and continuing to spread like the symptom of a horrible disease. 'What… what is it?' whispered Mersadie. 'You have already seen it,’ said Euphrati. 'The Emperor showed you, through me. It is death.'
Sindermann's stomach lurched as he rememВbered the hideous vision of decay, his flesh disintegrating before him and black corruption consuming everything around him. That was what was happening on Isstvan HI. This was the betrayal.
Sindermann felt as though the blood had drained from him. An entire world was bathed in the immensity of death. He felt an echo of the fear it brought to the people of Isstvan III, and that fear, multiplied across all those billions of people was beyond his comprehension.
'You are remembrancers,' said Keeler, a quiet sadВness in her voice. 'Both of you. Remember this and pass it on. Someone must know,’
He nodded dumbly, too numbed by what he was seeing to say anything.
'Come on,’ said Euphrati. 'We have to go,’ 'Go?' sobbed Mersadie, her eyes still fixed on the death of a world. 'Go where?'
'Away,’ smiled Euphrati, taking their hands and leadВing them through the immobile, horrified throng of remembrancers towards the edge of the chamber.
At first, Sindermann let her lead him, his limbs unable to do more than simply place one foot in front of another, but as he saw she was taking them towards the Astartes at the edge of the chamber, he began to pull back in alarm.
'Euphrati!' he hissed. 'What are you doing? If those Astartes recognise us-' Trust me, Kyril,’ she said. 'I'm counting on that,’ Euphrati led them towards a hulking warrior who stood apart from the others, and Sindermann knew enough of body language to know that this man was as horrified as they were at what was happening.
The Astartes turned to face them, his face craggy and ancient, worn like old leather.
Euphrati stopped in front of him and said, 'lac-ton. I need your help,’
Iacton Qruze. Sindermann had heard Loken speak of him. The 'half-heard'.
He was a warrior of the old days, whose voice carВried no weight amongst the higher echelons of command. A warrior of the old days…
You need my help?' asked Qruze. Who are you?'
'My name is Euphrati Keeler and this is Mersadie
Oliton,’ said Euphrati, as if her introductions in the
midst of such carnage were the most normal thing in the world, 'and this is Kyril Sindermann,’
Sindermann could see the recognition in Qruze's face and he closed his eyes as he awaited the inevitable shout that would see them revealed.
'Loken asked me to look out for you,’ said Qruze.
Token?' asked Mersadie. 'Have you heard from
him?'