As the 88th hunted within, Enginseer Osiron remained outside the monastery with the thirty Chimeras.

He was not alone, of course. The drivers, armed and ready, stood by their vehicles. A handful busied themselves with minor maintenance on engines or armour plating. Between the orderly rows of Chimeras, lobotomised tech-servitors moved here and there, using their augmetic hands and machine tool limbs to aid in the repairs. One of the servitors a- formerly a deserter, now a half-machine slave without a mind a- had its forearms replaced with industrial scrubbers. It crouched by the command Chimera, its whirring hands scrubbing and flushing out gore from the tanka's treads. Another servitor with a hammer for a left hand panel-beat another tanka's distorted front armour back into Standard Construct regulation shape.

Dead Mana's Hand stalked around the parked troop transports, their steps making a rhythmic drumbeat of blessed iron on stone. Perimeter defence duty.

Wreathed in a cloak of blood red, the hood pulled over his head and hiding his features, Enginseer Osiron nodded silently to one of the patrolling Sentinels as it pa.s.sed. Vertain replied to the tech-priesta's nod with an acknowledgement blip over the vox.

None of the 88th knew Osirona's age. He could have been thirty or two hundred and thirty. His face was forever concealed by the low-hanging crimson hood and a surgically attached rebreather mask covering his nose, mouth and chin. The only visible human features beyond the pale skin of his cheeks were his eyes of Cadian violet, glinting in the depths of the hooda's shadow.

His body a- what there was to see of it beneath the traditional robe of the Machine Cult of Mars a- was an armoured form of tarnished plating, whirring gears and hissing pistons. Ostensibly he was human, at least at the most basic level: two arms, two legs, and so on.

But everything visible was replaced or augmented with the holy alterations of his cult. His internal organs ticked and clicked loud enough to hear. His joints hummed as gears simulated bones moving in harmony. His voice was a toneless murmur emitted from the vox-speakers on the front of his rebreather. This last aspect betrayed his curious inhumanity most of all, turning every breath into an audible rise and fall of static. Krsssh, in. Krsssh, out.

Osiron leaned on the haft of his ma.s.sive two-handed axe. The weapon was too heavy for an unaugmented man to lift, and sported the split-skull image of the Adeptus Mechanicus on its black iron blade. From a bulky backpack that thrummed with power, a multi-jointed mechanical arm rose and extended out, its clawed hand opening and closing as if stretching. A cutting torch on the arma's wrist flared briefly as the power claw whirred closed. Drill bits and other tools folded back into the arma's body. It coiled behind the tech-priesta's shoulder, reposed.

a"Count the Seven,a" Osirona's internal vox said directly into his left ear. It had been doing that for an hour now and, unlike the squads engaged in the retaking of the monastery, Osiron had disobeyed orders, remaining tapped into the compromised frequency. It fascinated him.

a"Curious,a" he said in a murmur of vox-speakers. The servitor next to him turned slowly, unsure if it had misheard an order. Osiron tapped a b.u.t.ton on the signum attached to his belt, hanging down his thigh like a metal pouch decorated with a hundred keys to press. The servitor cancelled its attention cycle, going back to staring mutely ahead, as dead in its own way as the poor wretches still staggering across this planet.

a"Osiron to Vertain.a"

a"Honoured enginseer?a"

a"Monitor auspex for signs of jamming.a"

a"Yes, sir.a"

Sir. The t.i.tle always made Osiron smile. He held some minor authority in the 88th by dint of expertise, his ruthlessly logical mind and his close friendship with the captain a- not from any formal rank.

a"Ia'm not seeing evidence of jamming,a" Vertain voxed back. a"Confirmed by the rest of my team. Dead Mana's Hand reports no instrument glitches.a"

a"That, scout-lieutenant, is exactly my point. When have our scanners been so clear?a"

a"Maybe wea're just lucky.a" Osiron was no expert at interpreting human emotion through tone of voice, but Vertaina's doubts were obvious as he spoke. He didna't believe what hea'd suggested. Neither did Osiron.

a"Unlikely. Auspex has been clear for over an hour. I detect none of the interference we have come to a.s.sociate as standard for Kathur Reclamation operations.a"

a"Acknowledged, honoured enginseer. Ia've already logged the clarity of auspex readings with High Command. Can you reach the captain?a"

a"A moment, please. Suspicions must be confirmed before the captain is alerted. Osiron to inbound Valkyrie His Holy Blade.a"

The reply took several seconds. When it came, it hit in a mangled wave of savaged vox. Just noise.

a"Enginseer Bylam Osiron to inbound Valkyrie His Holy Blade.a" The tech-priest adjusted his internal vox by tweaking dials on his forearm.

a"His Holy Blade. Two minutes until arrival,a" the pilot said. a"Problems?a"

a"Count the Seven,a" Osirona's vox whispered again. a"Count the Seven.a"

The enginseer frowned. a"Pilot, report auspex performance as you enter standard close-range scanning distance relative to our position.a"

It was an unusual request. Osiron waited patiently for the pilot to check his instruments. a"Standard distortion at medium range, sir. Reaching close range in twenty seconds.a"

Osiron timed the estimate against the ticking of his own heart-engine. Twenty-three seconds pa.s.sed.

a"Auspex is clear. Minimal interference.a"

Osiron killed the link and switched channels. a"Scout-lieutenant.a"

a"Yes, honoured enginseer?a"

a"Deploy available resources in defensive spread.a"

a"What? Why?a"

a"Because you are the ranking officer here, and we have walked into a trap.a"

The double doors were steel-shod Kathurite oak and had stood for three thousand years; consistently blessed, reinforced, redecorated and restored over the centuries. They were built in the same style as most of Kathura's savagely overdone architecture, but practicality was in their construction, too. In the event of a fire, these doors would seal closed and allow those within the preparation chambers to survive up to nine hours protected from the flames.

The ornate doors exploded inwards under the force of the plasma blast. With twin crashes, they flew off their hinges and clattered to the red carpet blanketing the floor. Eleven men stood in the torn opening, rifles and pistols raised. It was the third set of such doors Zailen had opened with his plasma gun. White steam, hot enough to scald flesh, hissed from the weapona's focusing ring in an angry gush.

Another preparation chamber opened up before them. Another hall filled with the enraged dead. The corpses turned their attention to the living interlopers, their ruined faces peeling into expressions resembling something like joy, and something like pain. Several began to wail.

Thadea's sword cut the air and his squad opened fire.

After the mayhem, the squad reformed in the centre of the room. Blood marked them as surely as if theya'd been painted with it. Their bootsteps echoed throughout the chamber, bouncing off walls that sported stone angels leering down in cold dissatisfaction. The reliefs in this room depicted scenes of the Great Crusade. Winged Astartes warriors standing tall and proud a- a testament to the Raven Guard Legion that had forced this world into compliance so many thousands of years ago.

Another set of double doors barred their way into the next chamber. Thade shook his head.

a"Wea're being herded. Like cattle to the slaughter.a"

The Cadians nodded. Zailen said, a"Room after room of p.i.s.s-poor resistance. Theya're wearing us down piece by piece.a" Several of the soldiers checked their digital ammo readouts and muttered agreement.

a"Seth?a" Thade fixed him with his violet glare. a"Wea're running out of preparation chambers. This is the heart of the monastery. Whatever youa've sensed is nearby.a"

The psyker was trembling. Dark blood leaked in a viscous trail from his right eye. Thade considered shooting him on the spot. Setha's unreliability today was a little much even for the captaina's patience. He knew a commissar would almost certainly have executed the shivering man by now, for dereliction of duty as well as the risk of psychic contamination. But Thade needed every advantage he could grasp.

Everything about this mission was a mess, right back to the fools in the Ja.n.u.s 6th whoa'd tried to take the shrine in the first place. Could the monastery be held? Maybe. Could it be held without extreme losses? Not a chance. Could some amateur outfit like the Ja.n.u.s 6th a- just thrown out into s.p.a.ce by their founding world a- have any chance to cut it here? Never.

Thade had hoped to secure the key points with his divided teams and seal themselves in, awaiting reinforcement. A good plan, but getting more unrealistic by the second. Everything fairly reeked of deception and an enemya's pre-planning.

a"Seth. Ia'm going to count to three.a" Thade rested his bolt pistol against the sanctioned psykera's cheek. a"One.a"

a"So old,a" Seth whispered. a"So old. So diseased. How do they live?a"

a"Seth, focus. Two.a"

a"So old a"

Thade backhanded him with the weighty pistol, not hard enough to injure but not a light slap, either. a"Seth, focus! Cadian blood, ice in your veins. You have a job to do. Wea're counting on you. What. Is. Ahead?a"

Seth closed his bleeding eyes. The trembling ceased, and every man present felt the invisible tremor of the psyker reaching out with his powers. Zailen stepped back, as if the unseen forces at work could destabilise his temperamental, humming plasma rifle.

a"Ia'm still hearing the voice. Ita's trapped, barely reaching the surface a"

a"Seth, focus now or I shoot you where you stand. Ignore the d.a.m.n voice.a" Thade asked again, a"What do you see?a"

The psyker smiled. A Cadian smile, a morbid twist of the lips, grim and humourless. a"Traitors.a"

Enginseer Osirona's warning flashed through the vox network, squad by squad. No one was surprised. Hopes had hardly been high of the mission being a success, and many of the 88th had questioned the initial orders to reinforce the Ja.n.u.s 6th in such a tactically unviable location. The green unit had pushed too far, too fast, and it was down to the Cadians to get in there and do their best to keep the fresh meat alive. In theory.

Of course, there was only so much you could do when the regiment you were supposed to reinforce was already annihilated by the time you arrived.

Taan Darrick crouched behind a row of stone pews, clutching his battered lasrifle. Chunks of his cover broke away in flying pieces or were disintegrated outright by the bite of heavy bolter rounds. His glance kept flicking up to the stained gla.s.s dome thirty metres above his hiding place. Kathur Reclamation protocol was adamant about avoiding collateral damage, but any second now, Kathur Reclamation protocol was about to go to h.e.l.l.

Deft fingers ejected his riflea's spent power pack. The sickle-shaped magazine fell into his free hand, and he stored it in his webbing.

a"Machine-spirit, forgive my actions. Soon you shall be whole again.a" The Litany of Unloading. Taana's voice was cool and unshaking. Cadian blood, ice in the veins. There was no way hea'd let himself die here.

He slammed the fresh power cell in and pulled the recharge slide, now speaking the Litany of Loading.

a"Machine-spirit, accept my gift. Swallow the light, and spit out death.a" Simple words. Even silly, in other circ.u.mstances. A grunta's attempt at something poetic. Yet Darrick had been saying the same words since hea'd loaded his first lasgun at age four. They made him grin now. Funny how certain things gain such significance.

The last time hea'd raised his head above the row of seats, hea'd counted close to seventy of the Remnant scattered in a loose line, their numbers punctuated by hastily erected heavy weapons emplacements. Seventy soldiers. There had been over a hundred a few minutes ago.

Seventy left.

Taan looked left and right, counting his own remaining men as they crouched in the makeshift trench, sheltered from the onslaught by the rapidly-eroding stone pews.

He counted twelve. Wonderful. Thata's just wonderful.

a"Darrick to His Holy Blade. In the name of the Emperor, where are you?a"

a"On approach, Alliance. Cruor requests pict detail of deployment.a"

a"Do I sound like I have time to start a career as a taker of rare and beautiful picts? Wea're pinned. You hear that gunfire? Thata's not us shooting, you son ofa-a"

Taan was Cadian, born in a barracks and bred under the violet sky. Even as he ranted, he focused the lens of the picter attached to the side of his helmet, and took a peek a- no longer than a heartbeat a- long enough to take a single pict of the wall of Remnant forces across the circular chorus chamber. All the while, he swore. Darrick ducked again just as a lasbolt burned the stone black an inch from his eye.

a" raised by dogs, you ungrateful a" he trailed off, clicking a"Senda" on the helmet picter. a"Can you see that?a"

a"Quite a party in there. Patching it through to Cruor now.a"

a"No rush.a" The pew shook as a ma.s.sive chunk of its front detonated under the full force of a direct heavy bolter round only three metres away. a"Take as long as you need. Ia'm starting to get comfortable.a"

Taan couldna't resist. He looked up, taking a pict of the stained gla.s.s dome. It was the only point of entry unless the Valkyrie was going to drop Cruor through the hole blown in the wall. That was unlikely. Darrick clicked a"Senda" a second time, transmitting the pict of the pristine dome.

a"See that second pict? Ia'm not seeing much deployment here.a"

The pre-dawn light filtering through the dome darkened under an avian shadow. The Valkyrie hovered, its thrusters screaming as they burned. Several of the Remnant cried out as coloured melted gla.s.s rained on them in sticky, agonising drips.

a"Now!a" Taan called to his surviving men. They used the momentary distraction to break cover, twelve rifles firing. Twenty-two Remnant soldiers went down, hit in the first or second volley. Two shots went wide. Taan laughed as he ducked back into cover.

a"I saw that, Kallo! Are you sure your mother had violet eyes?a" He knew Kallo had been hit in the shoulder and it was ruining his aim, but still a"Two misses! The captain will hear about this!a"

Kallo offered no excuse. Taan called out the Litany of Forgiveness with a wicked grin. a"Sweet G.o.d-Emperor, forgive Your servant Kallo his sins. Remember he is just a man!a"

Several of the soldiers sn.i.g.g.e.red in their cover.

The gunfire renewed, but in less force. Some of it was angled up towards the Valkyrie, but the greatest difference was the fact that a third of the force was no longer firing.

a"Strike Team Cruor confirm receipt of tactical situation. Deploying.a"

a"Oh? Nice of them to finally drop by.a"

a"I heard that,a" came a deeper voice that Taan recognised instantly. a"See you in a second, joker.a"

Taan grinned as Strike Team Cruor made their entrance.

Ten men in night-black carapace armour fell through the melted ruin of the gla.s.s dome. Boots first, they dropped like knives, firing as they plummeted. The Valkyrie above stayed locked in hover while the squad rappelled down.

On maximum power, standard issue lasguns constructed on the Cadian armoury world of Kantrael fired a finger-thin red beam of superheated laser energy. The blasts roaring from the ten rifles in the falling mena's gloved hands were headache-purple with a blinding white core. Several of the Remnant hit by the las-fire burst into flames as their clothes caught light. They dropped to the ground, already dead, their clothes aflame.

a"Stormtroopers!a" one of the Remnant cried, and the devastated remains of the enemy force turned to flee. One of the black-clad soldiers cut down two enemy either side of the shouting Remnant warrior, and disconnected his rappelling cable. He caught the running Remnant in three strides and bore him to the ground, punching down with a double-edged combat knife.

a"Stay awhile,a" the soldier said, burying his blade in the traitora's neck.

The rest of Taana's men joined Cruor, leaping the cover of the pews and cutting down the foe. For a handful of seconds, the chamber was illuminated in an insane display of strobing laser light: red from the lasguns, purple-white from Cruora's h.e.l.lguns.

Except for the ringing in the Cadiansa' ears, the chamber was silent less than a minute after Cruor deployed. The last surviving Remnant soldier was put down with a las-round to the forehead while he pleaded for his life, on his knees, insisting he had no choice.

a"Aina't that a shame.a" His executioner, faceless in his dark rebreather and full visored helm, turned from the falling corpse, scanning the room. Master Sergeant Ban Jevrian sighted Taan through the green glare of his visor. He popped his helmet seals in a hiss of air pressure as he strode over to the lieutenant, removing it to reveal a shaved head and the suggestion of brown stubble around his thin mouth. Jevrian wasna't so much in athletic Cadian shape as he was a layer of slab-like muscle over thick bone, encased in black carapace armour. His h.e.l.lpistol, connected to a humming backpack via thick cable feeds, purred as he lowered the setting and holstered it.

a"Sir.a" He offered Taan a salute, his deep voice resonating across the chamber as he made the sign of the aquila over his chestplate. a"Kasrkin squad Eight-Zero-Eight reports successful deployment.a"

a"Took your time,a" Taan saluted back.

a"Thata's funny. Youa're a real joker,a" Jevrian said, unsmiling. He didna't smile much. Jokes that had most men in st.i.tches might, if they were truly worthwhile, lift the corners of Ban Jevriana's lips for the ghost of an instant. a"Wherea's Yaune?a"

a"Dead,a" Darrick said. a"Blown out of that hole in the wall.a"

The Kasrkin shrugged. a"He owed me money.a"

a"Youa're all heart.a"

a"Whatever. Orders?a"

Taan did a quick count of his remaining men, thinking of the names hea'd be writing on death notices once they were clear of this h.e.l.lhole.