Duvall led the column to the passage before the final fork and called a halt. He unfolded the map in his hands and studied it closely by the wan, yellow light of the gas lamps set into the walls. According to its markings, this was the last branching passage leading to one of the exits near the shadowed zone.
A dense web of lines marked the entrances through which the other companies were meant to advance. Every route converged upon the same place: the area at the centre of the map circled in red ink, the shadow.
"We are here," Duvall said quietly, rolling up the map. "Now we wait for the other units to take position."
He turned to face the soldiers behind him. More than five hundred men were crammed into the narrow passage, where the air hung hot and suffocating.
"Hold position," Duvall ordered. "Check your weapons and make your final preparations. Keep quiet."
The command was passed down in hushed voices. Faint metallic clicks and clatters echoed through the passage as the soldiers inspected their weapons—the instruments upon which their lives depended. There could be no carelessness now.
Duvall walked over to Evan Reed. The boy was crouched on the ground, wiping down an autopistol with a rag. Duvall had authorised him to draw it not long before.
Of course, Duvall had no intention of letting him take an active part in the fighting. Evan was to stay obediently at the very rear of the formation. If the boy died, Duvall would have to find himself another adjutant, and that would be a nuisance.
"Sir." Evan looked up. "How much longer until the other units arrive?"
"They should all be in place within the hour," Duvall replied. "Colonel Nathan Fox will not give the order to attack until every company has reached its designated position."
Even as he spoke, hurried footfalls sounded from the passage ahead. Two scouts emerged swiftly from the darkness, tension written across their faces. They approached Duvall and gave a curt salute.
"Report," Duvall said.
The lead scout caught his breath. "That shadowed area... sir, it is not an ordinary passage at all. It is a hall. A vast underground hall."
"A hall?"
"Yes." The scout lowered his voice. "We did not dare approach too closely, but from the mouth of the passage, we could see it was enormous. Large enough to hold thousands. It is packed with cultists."
The second scout added, "We saw firelight as well. Dozens of torches. The stench of blood in the air was strong enough to choke on."
Duvall frowned. A hall? It was not what he had expected. He had assumed the shadowed zone was merely an open space where several passages met, but a chamber large enough to contain thousands...
"Did you see any Chaos Space Marines?" he asked.
The scouts exchanged a glance and shook their heads.
"We were too far away to make out the details. But there were tall figures in power armour, standing in the distance."
Duvall fell silent for a moment. He needed more intelligence. As the main assault force, they had to understand the battlefield more clearly.
"Take me there. I need to see it myself."
He selected four veterans to accompany him, including Finn Valentine. Without a word, the sniper slung his long-barrelled lasgun over his shoulder and followed.
Guided by the two scouts, they set off once more along the passage. The farther they went, the more nauseating the reek in the air became.
And that hateful sensation began to coil around Duvall's heart once more. A dull ache returned at the back of his skull.
They walked for roughly fifteen minutes.
The passage ahead gradually widened, and the ground began to slope upward. Duvall noticed that the earth beneath his boots had given way to gravel and excavation spoil. The marks carved into the rock walls on either side became rougher, as though they had been gouged out little by little with crude tools.
A glow abruptly appeared at the far end of Duvall's vision. They had arrived.
The scouts stopped and signalled. Duvall motioned for everyone to slow down and lower themselves. Keeping close to the rock wall, they edged forward inch by inch.
At the end of the passage lay a downward slope formed from heaps of discarded rubble. Duvall carefully crouched and eased his head forward to look.
The sight before him stole his breath.
A vast plaza spread out below.
The space was unimaginably immense—at least four standard drill grounds across, with a ceiling more than twenty metres high. A rough rock dome arched overhead, from which hung dozens of iron cages burning with some unknown fuel, casting a meagre light across the chamber.
Crude stone pillars stood around the edges of the plaza to support the roof. Some had already cracked and were barely reinforced with wooden stakes. Rotting, abandoned timber scaffolds still clung to the surrounding walls, draped with faded strips of cloth and rusted iron chains.
Duvall's eyes travelled over the support pillars, and he froze for a moment. Upon them stood rough statues of angels, their heads smashed away, their broken bodies covered in carved blasphemies.
This was no natural cavern. Duvall understood at once. It had been a refuge, excavated bit by bit by the people of Falak IV over generations with their own hands.
They had carved it out to escape the savage winters, to survive in the narrow margins left between the oppression of tax collectors and nobles. Here they had prayed. Here they had lived.
The high slope beneath Duvall's feet was made of rubble discarded during that excavation. In the distance stood several more heaps like it, each crowned with a tunnel entrance—the very assault routes marked for the other companies upon the map.
Such tenacious people, the inhabitants of Falak IV. Yet in the end, they had chosen rebellion because they could no longer survive. Duvall sighed inwardly. The only tragedy was that their butcher's blades should never have been turned upon civilians.
He returned his attention to the plaza.
Below, cultists swarmed like ants. Bearing torches, they criss-crossed the plaza and carried unknown burdens, firelight revealing face after face twisted by fevered zealotry.
At the centre of the plaza was an enormous eight-pointed star of Chaos painted in blood. At each of its eight points stood a pyramid of severed heads, far grander in scale than any cult rite Duvall had encountered before.
Several large-calibre fixed autocannons had also been emplaced around the site, with cultists standing watch beside them.
But what truly held Duvall's attention were the four figures stationed beyond the eight-pointed star.
Clad in black hooded robes, they stood at the four cardinal points, all facing the centre. Their faces could not be seen, but Duvall could feel the unnatural aura radiating from them.
Psykers.
Duvall's heart sank. What in the hell was this? Four psykers conducting a ritual at once? And there was no telling what grade of psyker they were. Damn it. His gaze continued onward.
Before the pyramids of heads stood seven Chaos Space Marines in dark crimson power armour, motionless as silent statues. Each was half again as tall as the cultists around them, their armour scarred by battle and adorned with skulls.
Seven? Together with the one they had killed earlier, that made eight Chaos Space Marines in total. A small Chaos warband.
They were finished. Against elite enemies of this calibre, this was destined to be a brutal battle with only the faintest hope of survival. Perhaps he should run. Though the thought crossed his mind, Duvall forced himself to remain calm and continued observing.
At the far end of the plaza, the space had plainly been excavated recently. The rock face had been cut away to expose a wall of silver alloy steel: the casing of the geothermal heating core. Excess heat streamed continuously from it, while cultists with naked, twisted flesh laboured before the steel wall.
The enemy was ready to begin. They had arrived at precisely the right moment.
Then Duvall's eyes fixed upon a figure before the steel wall.
Everyone else was at work, but that man merely stood there with his arms folded, immovable as a statue. He was taller than the surrounding cultists, though not as massive as the Chaos Space Marines. He wore a standard-issue Planetary Defence Force uniform, his back turned towards Duvall.
Just as Duvall tried to study him more closely, the figure abruptly turned his head.
Duvall reacted instantly, jerking back into the passage.
Too close.
Duvall felt his heart hammering in his chest. He had nearly been discovered. Who was that man? Could he be... Duvall thought of the rebel leader Colonel Nathan Fox had mentioned before.
"Withdraw," Duvall said in a low voice. "Move back slowly. Make no sound."
They retraced their route with every step measured and cautious. Only after they had gone far enough did Duvall finally let out a breath.
"Record everything you saw," he told the scouts. "The hall's layout, the enemy dispositions, the psykers' positions, the number of Chaos Space Marines, and that figure before the steel wall. Every detail."
"Yes, sir."
With that intelligence, they could formulate a more precise battle plan.
The assault was about to begin. And what they had just glimpsed would become the battlefield upon which the fate of millions was decided.
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register