Terminators spilled down after him, their horned helmets carved in the masks of snarling beasts of prey. The image was not
inappropriate, thought Forrix. Narrow doors led from the tower, too small to allow a Terminator through, but Forrix slammed his
power fist into the stonework, shattering the lintel and punching his way through. The Terminators followed him outside into the
citadel's interior.
Forrix grinned as he watched the Warsmith swooping high above the battlefield. The wings at his back were becoming more
substantial and his form rippled and blurred, as though in a constant state of flux. Across the ruined gateway, he could see Honsou
leading his warriors from the opposite tower, hacking down a mob of fleeing Guardsmen.
Ahead, across a wide cobbled esplanade, he could make out a cluster of ruined buildings, their windows gaping like blackened,
empty eyesockets. Human soldiers, Vindicators, Dreadnoughts and Defilers poured through the blazing remains of the gate,
gunning their engines as they spread out to avoid the return fire coming from the ruins.
Amidst the flames, sporadic volleys of las-fire pierced the night, but it was disorganised and undirected. Smoke billowed in thick,
black plumes from the ruins and Forrix heard the crash of massive power claws tearing at the curtain wall behind him as the two
Titans of the Legio Mortis ripped it down, eager to be part of the slaughter.
The smoke parted and the high-pitched blasts of Vulcan bolter fire ripped up the esplanade in a line towards the gate. Three
Vindicators exploded and a Dreadnought toppled, thrashing its arms in frenzy as it tried to right itself.
Forrix charged across the courtyard as he caught sight of the Warhound he had marked for himself earlier. The beast darted
through the smoke, pausing only long enough to draw a bead on the charging Iron Warriors. But in the open, its gunfire was
nowhere near as effective as it had been in the breach.
'Spread out!' yelled Forrix as he gathered his Terminators to him and set off towards the Warhounds.
'You escaped me once, beast, but this time I have you,' he promised his prey.
'MARK YOUR TARGETS!' yelled Leonid as volleys of las-fire lashed the Iron Warriors charging from burning building to burning
building. Smoke filled every street. None of their attackers were falling, and Leonid knew they must make every shot count. The
Warhound Defensor Fidei walked backwards behind his men as they fell back from this assault, firing into the mass of the enemy
as they pursued the Jourans.
Through gaps in the smoke pouring from shelled buildings, he could see massive chunks of rockcrete being torn from the wall by
the Titan siege towers, and knew they had only minutes until these gargantuan war machines joined the battle. Tanks and
grotesque, multi-limbed constructs, with turrets adorned with hateful runes, poured through the smashed gate, and fear was visible
in every bloodied face.
Brother-Captain Eshara had regrouped the survivors of his company, thirty Space Marines, and fought alongside him, firing his
bolter with every grudging step backwards.
Suddenly, a dozen of the Iron Warriors' damnable red clad soldiery charged through the smoke to their side. Shots from crude
rifles felled five of his men before they could react. Leonid knelt, jamming his rifle to his shoulder and opening up on full auto,
spraying the smoke-filled street with bright lasbolts. Three enemy soldiers dropped and Eshara killed another four with deadly
accurate bolter fire. The remainder drew a bead on Leonid, but before they could shoot, the ground rocked and a massive
adamantium foot slammed down, crushing them to death.
The Jure Divinu sprayed the building across from Leonid with turbo laser fire and he saw six enemy soldiers tumble from it,
burning debris crashing down as its already unstable structure finally gave way.
From the smoke, Leonid saw a warrior in Terminator armour charging straight for the Jure Divinu, bright hunger etched on his
face. His dead features spoke of ancient malice and bitter hatred.
Leonid had no time to think. Eshara grabbed his arm and hustled him back through the burning ruins towards the northern wall of
the citadel. Space Marines ran alongside them, the men of the Guard having already passed through the Valedictor Gate and
descended into the caverns.
Built flush against the flank of the mountain with two armoured blockhouses to either side of it, the Valedictor Gate was intended
to bar the route into the underground caverns, but with Naicin's betrayal in the Machine Temple, it remained treacherously open.
Explosions ripped through the buildings behind Leonid and smashed him to the ground.
Eshara dragged him to his feet as the thirty Imperial Fists formed a semi-circle around the Valedictor Gate, facing outwards.
The Space Marine captain lowered his dented and blackened helm level with Leonid's and said, 'Castellan, you must get below
and destroy the gene-seed.'
'How?' gasped Leonid breathlessly. 'The Machine Temple's gone, there's no way to do it.'
Eshara gripped his arm tighter. 'Do what you must, find flamer units, plasma gunners, anything, but do not let even a scrap of
gene-seed fall into the enemy's hands. It is better that it all be destroyed than have the foe claim it. Do you understand?'
'We will need time to destroy it all, my friend. Can you hold them here for long enough?' asked Leonid, fully aware of the price
that time would be bought with.
The two warriors locked eyes then shook hands in the warrior's grip, wrist to wrist.
'We will hold them for long enough,' nodded Eshara as he dropped his empty bolter and drew both his power swords.
Leonid said, 'Good luck, Brother-Captain Eshara.'
'And to you, Castellan Leonid.'
Without another word, Leonid turned and sprinted through the Valedictor Gate.
FORRIX WATCHED THE beast stagger as a shell from a Vindicator burst against its leg. The Warhound lurched, its weapon mount
shearing off as it slammed into a ruined building. They had it now, backed into a corner and stripped of its protection.
There was another Warhound nearby, but the billowing smoke and thump of explosions obscured its whereabouts.
'It is time for a reckoning, beast!' he yelled as he crashed forward. More gunfire hammered the armoured carapace of the
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
Warhound, its legs buckling under the weight of fire. The pilot's compartment swung low to the ground, the green of its eyes
locking with Forrix and he laughed, knowing that the beast's life was forfeit. He had it now.
He and his Terminators closed on the struggling machine, power fists raised to deliver the killing blow. Forrix clambered onto its
massive foot and hammered his power fist into the ankle joint of the Warhound's leg again and again.
The war machine lifted its leg, realising the danger and stepped backwards, swaying drunkenly and smashing into the building
across the street, causing it to collapse.
Forrix held on for dear life as the Warhound sought to dislodge him, hammering his fist against its ankle. The Titan's leg swept
round, slamming down on a jagged section of rubble. Forrix was thrown clear as the full weight of the Warhound came down
awkwardly on its pulverised ankle.
The joint sheared off in an explosion of flame and the Warhound toppled, smashing backwards through the burning building and
slamming into the ground in a cascade of rockcrete blocks. The pilot's compartment cracked open under the impact and Forrix
scrambled across the flaming wreckage to finish the beast.
Shadowed forms struggled weakly within as Forrix emptied his combi-bolter into the Warhound's bridge, slaughtering its crew in
a storm of bolts.
Forrix laughed as he slew the crew of the Jure Divinu, racking the arming slide of his underslung melta gun.
The wall behind the slain beast collapsed, showering him with rock and smoke, momentarily obscuring his vision.
As it cleared he felt his pleasure at the kill drain from him as he found himself staring into the baleful eyes of the second
Warhound.
'No!' hissed Forrix.
Its weapons whined, building power to fire.
Forrix raised his weapon and pulled the trigger as both the turbo lasers and Vulcan bolters fired.
Forrix had the briefest sensation of pain and frustration before the Defensor Fidei's guns utterly destroyed him.
HONSOU JOGGED THROUGH the fallen citadel, elated beyond words at the slaughter around him. The warriors of both his and
Forrix's company followed him through the streets of their enemy's fastness, cheering his name to the dark gods.
Loud gunfire roared from somewhere to his left and he angled his advance towards it, rounding a corner in time to see a wrecked
Warhound topple to the ground and Forrix charging towards the war machine's head.
Honsou saw the wall before Forrix collapse and the furious form of the Warhound's twin emerge from the smoke. He saw it raise
its weapons and blast Forrix from the ruins in an explosion of blood and mechanised body parts.
As he watched Forrix die, Honsou felt nothing but triumph. Kroeger had vanished and Forrix was dead: truly the gods of Chaos
favoured him this night.
The Warhound's victory was short-lived as the might of the Pater Mortis, its crashing footsteps collapsing buildings all around
them, emerged from behind Honsou and fired its weapons. The Scout Titan vanished in a flurry of bright explosions, its few void
shields and light armour no match for the power of the Warlord Titan.
It reeled under the impacts and, for an incredible moment, Honsou believed it had survived, but a massive explosion engulfed its
head and the Warhound fell, its crew compartment a blazing rain.
Honsou snarled in satisfaction and set off once more.
Everywhere the enemy was defeated, broken and fleeing before them.
He emerged into a wide square, at the far end of which he saw a pitiful ring of the Imperial Fists. They stood, swords bared at the
entrance to caverns gouged into the mountains, their faces proud and defiant.
Honsou laughed as he marched at the head of his company, the Warsmith descending from the hot darkness above him. The
master of the Iron Warriors landed hard, the cobbles hissing molten with his step, as though the ground itself rebelled against the
chaos writhing within him. His body rippled with change, as though a million forms sought to be birthed from his unquiet
anatomy. The black wings at his back quivered and his armour was becoming glossier, more organic looking, like the carapace of
an insect.
The Warsmith nodded to Honsou, a gesture of respect between warriors.
'It is time we finished this,' rasped the Warsmith, his voice thickened and coarse.
'Aye,' agreed Honsou, marching towards the Imperial Fists as the Iron Warriors spread out to surround them, weapons raised.
A stillness fell as the ancient foes faced one another in the glare of the burning citadel and a massive shadow fell across the square
as the Pater Mortis strode from the ruins.
A warrior stepped from the ring of Space Marines and removed his helmet. Honsou could feel the hatred this warrior had for him
as he spat, 'I am Brother-Captain Eshara of the Imperial Fists, proud son of Rogal Dorn, soldier of the Emperor and scourge of
deviants. Face me and die, traitor.'
The Warsmith faced Eshara and Honsou grinned as he saw the effect his presence had upon the Space Marine. As the captain's
face twisted in sudden pain, the Warsmith leapt forward, his mighty axe sweeping down to cleave Eshara in two.
Eshara crossed his swords above his head, blocking the blow, the impact driving him to his knees. He grunted and spun low,
slashing a blade across the Warsmith's flank. Black blood gouted from the wound. The Warsmith smashed his fist against Eshara's
chest, cracking his breastplate open.
As Eshara fell, the Imperial Fists charged, the name of Rogal Dorn on their lips.
Gunfire erupted from the Iron Warriors, cutting them down as battle was joined.
But it was an unequal struggle and though the Imperial Fists fought hard, the outcome was never in doubt.
Honsou drove his sword through an Imperial Fist, watching in amazement as Eshara groggily rose to his feet, coughing thick wads
of blood. The Warsmith roared and hammered his axe down upon Eshara's shoulder guard, cleaving him from collarbone to
pelvis, the blade shearing through his armour like paper.
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
Eshara crumpled, but weakly raised his head as the Warsmith sheathed his massive axe and stooped to lift him from the ground.
'Know this, son of Dorn,' hissed the Warsmith. 'I will gorge myself on your gene-seed and I shall make you and all your kind
extinct.'
The Warsmith lifted Eshara's dying body to his head where there was a monstrous cracking, sucking noise. Blood splashed the
steaming ground at the Warsmith's feet and he bellowed in orgiastic pleasure, dropping Eshara's mutilated corpse.
Even Honsou was shocked as he saw the Space Marine's entire chest cavity had been bitten through, the organs within sucked
from his body and devoured by the Warsmith.
Honsou dismissed the incident from his mind and set off after the Warsmith as he charged through the gateway that led into the
mountains and their ultimate goal.
LEONID HAMMERED HIS rifle butt through the glass of an incubation tank and stood back as the amniotic fluid spilled out along
with its foetal cargo. He used brute force because his lasgun's power cell had long since drained. He moved onto the next capsule,
staring in awed wonder at the sheer scale of the cavern stretching before him. Its end was lost in shadows, the vastness broken up
by wide avenues of incubation capsules. Thousands of tanks ran in ordered lines into the darkness, their clear surfaces frosted and
cold to the touch.
Now Leonid understood the danger inherent in this place. If what Naicin had told them was even partly true, there was enough
genetic material stored here to create untold thousands of twisted warriors of Chaos. The very thought of such creations being
birthed from here was truly horrifying.
Worker-servitors with shoulder-mounted illuminators were spots of light in the darkness, moving silently through the echoing
cavern as they tended to their biological charges. Hundreds of his soldiers rampaged through the cavern, shooting, burning and
