Night Lord in dozens of places. He fell and the Blood Claws continued to reduce him to nearly unrecognisable gore.
Then, a blast shook the building. The Night Lords were willing to fire on their own men in order to kill their enemies. Ragnar looked down at the tall Night Lord he had dismembered and killed. In the remaining hand, the warrior clutched a comm. The attempt to reach the grenade had been a distraction. He might have signalled the enemy to strike the building with their ordinance.
'We need to get out, now!' shouted Ragnar. He hoped that Tor would be successful and soon.
Tor raced up a flight of stairs in the darkened stone Cathedral of Saint Harman, hoping that he had chosen wisely and found a way to the ritual site. Nine Grey Hunters followed their Wolf Guard, ready to complete their mission. The sight before them made all of them take pause.
The entire inner sanctuary of the cathedral had been gutted. Pews were thrown asunder, blood had been poured on the sacred stones of the floor, statues had been toppled and praises to the Gods of Chaos had been written on the walls, proclaiming their power. A billowing emerald bonfire roared between collapsed pews, and robed heretics stood with their arms spread at the edges of the flames, chanting in a strange undulating tongue.
A figure in a horned helm and long blood-red robes led them. Pale veined long-fingered hands extended from his sleeves, and as he gestured, the chanters changed their words and pitch, as if he was some sinister maestro conducting a choir of blasphemy. The flames also reacted to his every gesture, and Tor knew that this man was the sorcerer.
Then, there were the Chaos Space Marines.
Eight Night Lords held positions around the room, standing in four pairs with rubble nearby providing easy cover. Each one of the ancient Chaos Marines had his own distinctive armour, but all of them shared the same look. Spikes and blades designed to inspire fear doubled as practical weapons, while belts of ammunition were strung over their chests. The Night Lords were hard fighters and each individual was prepared to hold out against terrible odds. They showed no hesitation when the Space Wolves arrived, although Tor was certain that they must have surprised their enemy. They raised their bolters at the Space Wolves in well-drilled unison.
Tor knew what he needed to do. The Night Lords would be content to engage the Space Wolves in a fire-fight until the ritual brought something unholy from the warp to finish them off. Tor wasn't about to wait for that to happen. It was time to charge.
Bolter rounds crashed into the Grey Hunters as they charged. The Night Lords mercilessly fired shots as fast as their bolters allowed. Tor felt the rounds battering his power armour, but he clenched his teeth and focused on the sorcerer – his objective.
A Night Lord leapt over a crumbling statue and launched himself at Tor, realising that the Wolf Guard intended to kill the sorcerer. Circular chainblades spun on the Chaos Marine's armour, and he leapt at
Tor, thrusting the blades forwards to slash through the Space Wolfs armour and then his flesh and bone. He moved with a speed that rivalled Tor's own.
Tor paused to bring up his power sword to defend himself, but even as he began, he knew that he would be too slow. Fortunately for him, Space Wolves ran in packs. Although Jarl was a step behind Tor, the Grey Hunter had been watching for an attack. He threw his body up as a shield and the Night Lord crashed into Jarl instead of Tor. Sparks flew as the Night Lord's chainblades ripped into Jarl's power armour. The decorated veteran with his ork trophies roared rather than screamed from the pain as he wrestled with the foe.
Tor turned back to the sorcerer. He would not let Jarl's effort go for naught. The mage gestured at Tor, breaking the ritual as he did so. Immediately, the emerald flame flickered and died. The monks screamed as one, while bolts of power flashed from the sorcerer's fingertips at Tor.
Ozone and brimstone mixed in the air as the bolts crashed into Tor. He felt all of his hearts seize up at once, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He kept moving as if he were an automaton. The sorcerer clenched his fists and as he did, Tor's chest tightened. The Space Wolfs eyesight dimmed and his ears rang. He thought to himself that no matter what, even if it meant death, he would reach the sorcerer and complete his mission. He would justify Ragnar's faith in him. He had been given a chance to redeem himself and nothing, not even the dark magics of Chaos would prevent him from succeeding.
The Chaos sorcerer gazed at the Wolf Guard, and although his eyesight blurred, the Space Wolf glared back. The Space Marine's reaction surprised the sorcerer, and Tor watched the malicious confidence leave the robed figure. As it did, Tor almost felt his strength return. He closed the gap between them.
One of the monks tried to intervene, much as Jarl had gone to Tor's aid, but even half-blind and in agony, Tor still possessed enough strength to lash out with his power sword and cut down his blocker.
The energy flickered on the Chaos sorcerer's fingers. Tor couldn't tell if his foe said anything – the rushing in his ears was too great – but there was no longer any distance to cross. The sorcerer broke the spell and attempted to draw a blade to defend himself.
Breath flowed back into Tor's lungs and his hearts pounded. His sight instantly improved and the rushing in his ears faded. Instead of pausing to cherish the return of his senses and breathe, Tor brought his power sword up into the body of the sorcerer. Mystic robes, flesh and bone couldn't stop the stroke as Tor cut the sorcerer in half. The monks screamed again as one and then fell, like marionettes suddenly without strings.
The Night Lords redoubled their attacks against the Space Wolves. They had failed to protect the sorcerer and the Chaos Marines knew that only death would satisfy their Dark Gods. Tor felt power fill his body. He had completed the mission for the Wolf Lord. He activated his comm quickly. 'Wolf Lord, the deed is done.’ he said and without waiting for a
response, leapt to the aid of his fellow Space Wolves.
Ragnar and the Blood Claws had escaped the building where the ambushers had lain in wait for them, but only moments before artillery fire rained down upon it. The bolter fire had stopped on the street and, cautiously, the Wolf Lord led his men forwards.
The Wolf Lord's comm crackled to life, 'Wolf Lord, the deed is done,' said Tor, triumph filling his voice.
'Well done,' said Ragnar, although he heard the sounds of battle on the other end of the comm. Still, he knew the battle would be over soon. Without the sorcerer, the Night Lords wouldn't have access to their daemonic allies and their material resources were too little for them to continue to hold out. Ragnar knew the enemy would have to retreat with whatever forces they had left.
Ranulf came running through a cross street with a pack of men. 'Hail, Wolf Lord! The foe appears to be in full retreat.'
'Good, that's how it was supposed to happen. Well done. Give me a moment, Ranulf.’
Ragnar opened a comm channel to Hoskuld, the old Space Wolf scout. 'Tor succeeded. Go ahead and help him.'
'Aye, Wolf Lord, we're there to back him up.’ said Hoskuld.
Ranulf looked over at his Wolf Lord. Quietly, he asked, 'Why didn't you just have the scouts try to kill the sorcerer?'
Ragnar placed his hand on Ranulf s wide shoulder, 'Because, I'll need Tor's spirit on the next planet. He deserved a chance to take responsibility. It'll make him a better warrior.'
After a moment, Ragnar added, 'It worked for me.'