Gunnar and Silvertongue slipped up quietiy behind Sven and took in the awful scene. 'Looks like a bomb went off,' the Long Fang said softly.
'Just claws and teeth, like the soldier at the entrance,' the Grey Hunter said. 'Those two would have been the sentries posted outside the war room,' Sven said, indicating the savaged remains of two men splayed against the wall opposite the doorway. 'The rest are logistics troops, I think.'
Silvertongue nodded thoughtfully. 'If there were still sentries here, then Athelstane hadn't left the bunker yet.'
The Grey Hunter nodded. 'See the body across the threshold? He's face-down, legs pointing into the room. 'He was trying to escape the war room when he died. Whatever happened,' he said, nodding at the doorway, 'started in there.'
'I agree,' the skald replied, drawing a deep breath. 'We have to check it out,' he said. 'If there's even a chance the lady commander is still alive, we need to find her.'
'I was afraid you were going to say that,' Sven replied. Stepping carefully and keeping low, he picked his way through the charnel scene and cautiously entered the room.
As bad as it was in the passageway, the war room was worse.
Blood and bits of torn flesh were everywhere, splashed on the floors and sprayed across the walls. Heavy tables had been splintered or hurled across the room, and pieces of wrecked logic engines gleamed like polished coins amid the gore. More scorch marks could be found almost everywhere Sven looked, suggesting a wild, desperate fight. Whatever it was the Guardsmen tried to stop, it was clear that they hadn't stood a chance.
Sven worked his way further into the room, peering closely at the bodies he came across. There were at least a dozen, as near as he could reckon. Gunnar and Silvertongue entered the room in the Grey Hunter's wake. Though they were veterans of scores of brutal campaigns, the sight of the vicious slaughter left them stunned. The Long Fang paused, just inside the door, while the skald picked his way carefully through the piled wreckage.
The Grey Hunter reached the far end of the chamber. 'Large group of bodies here,' he said, kneeling among the savaged corpses. He lifted a scrap of dripping cloth and studied the blood-smeared medals pinned upon it. 'Looks like senior regimental officers,' he mused. 'I guess now we know why no one got the withdrawal order.' Sven tossed the cloth aside and studied the bodies carefully. Frowning he reached down and shifted one of the victims aside to reveal another body underneath.
'Morkai's teeth,' Sven hissed. 'Here she is. What's left of her, at least.'
Silvertongue made no reply Worried, the Grey Hunter looked back and saw that the skald was kneeling beside a toppled table. Sven frowned. 'What is it?' he asked.
The skald reached down, pushed the table aside, and picked up a long, blood-stained power sword. 'It's Redclaw,' Silvertongue said grimly, holding the ancient blade up to the light. 'Blessed Russ,' the skald said in a bleak voice. 'Sternmark, what have you done?'
Sven felt a chill run down his spine. It was the same sensation he'd felt as a child, walking through the pine forests close to home and knowing that there was something watching him from deep within the wood. He felt his mouth go dry as he caught the same, feral scent he'd smelled at the bunker entrance. Then he saw the hulking figure just outside the war room door.
Gunnar caught the look in Sven's eye and whirled, bringing up his bolter, but the move came half a second too late. With a deep, liquid growl, the beast that had once been Mikal Sternmark lunged through the doorway and smashed the weapon from Gunnar's hand. Then it struck the Long Fang across the face with bone-crushing force. Sven heard the crunch of Gunnar's skull from clear across the room, and the old Wolf flew backwards onto a pile of broken furniture.
'Mikal Sternmark!' Silvertongue shouted. 'Stay your hand, lest you be labelled kinslayer, and forever damned.' The skald took a step forward, Redclaw held at the ready. 'Submit yourself into the keeping of your brothers, and save your tormented soul.'
The terrible beast grew still, its dripping claws poised over Gunnar's unconscious form. Sternmark had been transformed into a creature born of nightmare. His once glorious armour was drenched in dark blood and scraps of torn flesh, and his clawed hands were matted with gore. Slowly, the wolf-like head turned to regard the angry skald. Yellow-gold eyes regarded Silvertongue coldly, and then drifted to the sword in the warrior's hand. Thin lips drew back, revealing bloodstained fangs, and the Wulfen let out a predatory snarl.
Silvertongue drew a deep breath. 'I'll hold him off,' he said calmly. 'When he attacks me, you slip past and make for the signals room. Do you understand?'
Sven looked from the skald to Sternmark and back again. 'There's got to be another way,' the Grey Hunter said, feeling a cold fist of dread settle in his stomach. 'Together we could subdue him, or perhaps—'
'Do as I say!' Silvertongue snapped, taking his eyes off Sternmark just for a moment to give Sven a commanding glare.
That was all the time Sternmark needed.
The Wulfen was a blur as he charged at the skald with a bloodthirsty roar. Silvertongue's head snapped around and on pure instinct he dodged left, slicing low at the beast's right leg. The ancient power sword glanced from Sternmark's Terminator armour, but the skald's swift movement carried him beyond the reach of the Wulfen's fearsome claws.
Silvertongue fell back before the Wulfen's fierce attack, drawing the creature deeper into the room. Sven saw the skald's plan and started to move, skirting wide of the desperate battle and heading for the door. Shame stung him. Despite the skald's command, the young Grey Hunter knew he was abandoning both of his battle-brothers to a terrible fate. Though the skald fought skilfully and with great courage, he was no match for Sternmark's prowess. Silvertongue was going to die.
Sven was well past the fight, and his path from the room was clear. Still, he hesitated, his hand tightening on the grip of his bolter. Six rounds left, he thought.
The skald feinted at the Wulfen's face, and then swung low, aiming at the beast's right knee. It was a swift, crippling blow, but the Wulfen was swifter still. The creature caught the skald's wrist and pulled Silvertongue off his feet, drawing him within reach of the beast's gaping jaws. Snarling, the Wulfen sank his teeth into the skald's throat, and then felt the cold edge of a boltgun barrel press against the side of his head.
'Let him go, brother,' Sven said quietly. 'At this range, I can't possibly miss.'
The Wulfen let the skald's unconscious form slide heavily to the floor. A fearsome growl rumbled deep in the creature's chest.
Sven let out a slow breath. 'All right, that's good,' he said. 'Now, my lord, I want you to—'
He never saw the blow. The beast's arm crashed into Sven, knocking the bolter from his hand, and then clawed fingers closed around the Grey Hunter's throat. Sven drew back his power fist, in desperation, but he knew that the blow would not land in time.
'Stay your hand, Mikal Sternmark,' a voice spoke quietly from the doorway. 'Remember yourself, and the oaths you swore to me.'
The Wulfen's fierce gaze swung from the Grey Hunter to the tall figure framed in the doorway. Sven saw the beast's eyes widen, and the hand slipped from his throat. An anguished whine escaped the creature's lips, and the beast fell to its knees amid the carnage it had caused.
Berek Thunderfist looked haggard and pale in the wan light. Decked in his resplendent armour, Sven thought at first that he was looking upon the Wolf Lord's ghost. 'My lord,' he gasped in wonder. 'When I saw you last, you stood at death's door!'
'So I did,' Berek said gravely. 'Madox wounded me sorely, and his magic trapped my soul in a realm of shadows from which I could not escape, until a lady came to me and showed me the way back to the land of the living.' A faint smile pulled at the corners of Berek's mouth. 'Our debt to House Bellisarius is deeper than ever. I only hope we live long enough to repay it.'
Sven frowned in consternation. 'Forgive me, lord, but I don't understand.'
'Nor do I Sven, not entirely,' Berek said, 'and there is no time to explain. Even now the Holmgang is in the sky above us, preparing to bombard the planet. We have to reach them and call off the attack.'
'The Holmgang? Here?' Sven exclaimed. At once, the Grey Hunter bolted for the door, his scalp prickling at the thought of the doom looming high above the agri-world, but then he saw Gunnar's unconscious form and stopped in his tracks. He turned back to the slumped form of the Wulfen. 'What shall we do about him, my lord?'
Berek gazed upon the tormented face of his champion. 'He will stay here and watch over his fallen brothers,' the Wolf Lord said, in a voice like iron. 'Mikal Sternmark has been bewitched, like many of our brothers, by the sorceries of Madox and the Thousand Sons. But he is no monster,' the Wolf Lord declared. 'He has ever been true to his oaths, and he will heed me now.'
Wulfen and Wolf Lord locked eyes across the blood spattered room, and a look of comprehension shone in the creature's yellow eyes. The beast bowed low, touching its snout to the floor, and Berek turned away.
Sven followed the Wolf Lord into the hall, heading for the signals room. 'This curse, how are we going to stop it?' he asked.
'It's already begun,' Berek replied gravely. 'Once we've halted the bombardment, I'm going to turn the fleet's guns on the rebel positions while you and I rally our surviving brothers. Then we're going back into the city to finish what we started.'
Gabriella seemed to fall in slow motion, sliding off the sorcerer's hellblade and sinking with dreadful grace to the floor. Her hands still gripped the Spear of Russ tightly, even as her life's blood poured out onto the dark stones. The Chaos sorcerer loomed above her, gripping the relic and trying to pull it free, but the Navigator held the spear's haft in a death grip. The warrior spat a hateful curse and drew back his blade, aiming a blow at Gabriella's head.
Ragnar crashed into the sorcerer at a full run, driving his shoulder into the warrior's chest. The Chaos Space Marine flew backwards with a snarl, slashing wildly with his blade and slicing open the young Space Wolfs cheek. Ragnar's hand closed around the haft of the spear, and he looked down at the stricken Navigator. Their eyes met for a single instant, and he could see the pain etched there. With a faint sigh, her hands slipped from the spear haft and she settled onto her back in a spreading pool of crimson.
He could hear her heartbeat slowing. The breath in her lungs was shallow, like a fading breeze. Horror assailed him as he looked down at the lady he had once sworn to protect.
The Wulfen called to him, beyond the red tide. It promised a simpler existence: a life without oaths or duty, living only for the moment and the red joy of the hunt. For an instant, he longed for that forgetfulness, and the feeling of power it promised.
He dimly heard the sorcerer clamber to his feet. Then came the voice of Bulveye, echoing in his head. War within, war without.
The Wulfen called, and Ragnar answered. Come to me.
With a furious hiss, the sorcerer rushed at the young Space Wolf, but Ragnar let the fury of the Wulfen drive him. He was a blur of motion, whipping the spear around and knocking the Chaos Space Marine's thrust aside. Then he brought the spear head back into line with a tight, circling motion and thrust it into the sorcerer's neck. The point of the ancient weapon punched through the ceramite plate as though it were paper, bursting from the back of the foe's neck in a gout of vile fluids. Ragnar jerked the weapon free and let the warrior's lifeless form fall to the ground.
Suddenly, Ragnar was bathed in lurid, red light, and he felt unseen hands grapple for the spear. Tendrils of energy wrapped around the haft of the relic, trailing from the foul eye floating above the ritual space. The young Space Wolf spun, glaring up at the semblance of Magnus, the foul primarch of the Thousand Sons.
He could feel the dreaded primarch channelling his energies into the spear, fighting to maintain the ritual that was corrupting the Space Wolves. Every moment the spell continued, the taint sank deeper into their souls.