It was a woman in his arms, a cold and lifeless woman.

The necron elites were tough, but Praxor's blade would not be denied. His power sword hummed as it cut through the thickened carapace of one, finding the crucial systems that animated it. He plunged the crackling blade deep, until hilt met the simulacrum of metallic bone, and the creature phased out. His Shieldbearers were fighting hard too. Close-range bolter bursts flashed in the encroaching night. A stream of liquid promethium lit a blazing conflagration in the enemy ranks. They moved together, with Sicarius and his Lions as their inspiration.

Despite the dark cloak drawn over his thoughts, Praxor felt uplifted and galvanised by his lord's presence. Before such glory, death would be a lauded thing destined for the annals of eternity. From his advanced position and proximity, Praxor had a good view of his captain.

Sicarius was imperious as he killed. The Tempest Blade flashed like a lightning bolt captured in his fist, unleashed time and again in a storm of righteous anger. It was easy to see why so many followed him, why he was spoken of in the same breath as Agemman and even Lord Calgar. He was ambition and arrogance, he was skill and courage personified, he was guile and reckless bravura. He was was Ultramar. Ultramar.

Daceus and Gaius Prabian went before him, hewing a route through the necrons in order that Sicarius find his enemy, the one who led the mechanoids. Agrippen applied a similar fervour to his efforts; smashed necron bodies erupted with every swing of the Dreadnought's power fist, phasing out in mid-air before they could land. At such close quarters, he eschewed his plasma cannon and instead utilised the heavy flamer mounted to his armature. It scorched a ruddy line across the silvered necron hordes, burning their armour black. One fell beneath his foot and he crushed it.

'For Macragge and the Lords of Ultramar!'

Overhead, Praxor caught the flaming contrails of Ixion and Strabo as they duelled with the flying necron gun-platforms. One of the a.s.sault Marines fell like a downed comet, wreathed with emerald fire, his armour flaking away before he crashed out of sight into the melee below.

Elsewhere, the Devastators at the back of the line were cutting furrows into the enemy.

Sergeant Atavian punched the air in triumph as his lascannons tore an arachnid construct in half. Bursts from the other heavies scattered the smaller beetle-like creatures, melting their bodies with intense microwaves or engulfing them in bright plasma.

Everywhere the Ultramarines pushed and fought like the Legion warriors of old, those who had trod the same earth as Guilliman. But despite their heroics, more and more necrons were spilling through the sundered defensive wall and into Xiphos. Only one thing would break the deadlock and Praxor saw it.

It stood taller than the others, wreathed in archaic vestments that hinted at a royal heritage. The necron overlord's gilded metal body shimmered, half-silvered by the moon, its ochroid nature only revealed in the flash of nearby weapons fire. Encircling its skull-like visage was a crown, a red gemstone in the centre. A blue pectoral hung around its neck and torcs banded its arms. Clenched in its skeletal fist was a rippling pole-arm, glaive-edged and wrought with alien iconography. As its gaze alighted on Sicarius, the overlord's eyes flared.

'I am the Undying, I am doom incarnate...'

Sicarius holstered his plasma pistol as he faced down the overlord. He wanted to be on even terms with the monster. It was a moment long coming, but now arrived he was ready.

'We are the slayers of kings,' he spat, the words grating through his vox-grille. A crackle of energy coursed up the length of the Tempest Blade.

He would wreak such carnage against this thing.

Sicarius advanced, signalling his Lions to stay back. For a moment he thought he might have to kill the overlord's honour guard too but the Undying ordered them aside.

It was strangely martial, even ritualised.

Sicarius struck the first blow. Chopping with the bluntness of a broadsword, he cut into the overlord's arm. The Undying was fractionally slow to defend itself and a narrow gouge was sc.r.a.ped across its pristine metal. Split torcs cascaded like a fountain of unlocked treasure. A modulated cry was torn from the necron's rictus mouth but its face betrayed no emotion.

The glaive swept out in a wide arc, preventing the Ultramarine's follow-up. He parried, hot sparks dancing off the clashing blades before the combatants parted.

Sicarius came again, aiming a thrust for the necron's midriff which was turned aside by glaive's long haft. A punch dented the captain's battle-helm and he staggered, before firming up his stance and rolling away a blow heading for his gorget.

He slashed downwards, cutting a jagged furrow in the necron's torso. The glaive's haft smashed against his pauldron before he could properly defend, numbing his shoulder. Sicarius backed up again but the monster would not relent.

The Undying was slow, ponderous even, but tough. Every blow was like being hit by a tank. Sicarius went in again, unleashing a hail of blows against the necron's defences. The monster parried some, took others against its near-impervious body, before replying with a lightning-fast riposte that cut into Sicarius's plastron.

As the captain cried out, Praxor was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. He moved towards the duel, as did the Lions, but a warning glance from Sicarius held the veterans at bay.

The necron overlord was gathering momentum. The Undying whirled its glaive in a circular arc, spinning it end-over-end. With a viper's speed, it snapped out, clipping Sicarius's shoulder guard. He leapt forwards, forging the extra impetus into a double-handed blow that bit into the necron's forearm. Still, the monster came on undaunted. Its cries of pain had turned to laughter.

Enraged, Sicarius threw himself at the Undying, hacking and cleaving with the Tempest Blade like it was an extension of his inner anger. He fought the Undying back a step and felt the tide turning...

...until a flash of energy from the necron's open palm overloaded his retinal lenses and sent Sicarius reeling. Light, hot and emerald-tinged, filled the captain's world. He backed off, blinded, tearing at the seals connecting his battle-helm to the rest of his armour, and ripped the headgear loose. Blinking away the after-flare, Sicarius had time to parry a blurred attack. The overhead blow pranged pranged hard against his sword, forcing him to one knee. hard against his sword, forcing him to one knee.

Vision still adjusting, he tore the plasma pistol from its holster and snapped off a quick blast. It struck the Undying beneath the chin, forcing the necron's head upwards and burning off part of its jaw. Staggering back from the kinetic impact, the overlord leavened the press of its glaive and Sicarius stood.

This was it.

He was about to ram the Tempest Blade into the Undying's fleshless skull when something slammed into his side, stopping him.

Agony flared like a thousand burning needles in the captain's flank. As Sicarius looked down, disbelieving, at the glaive embedded there he felt the world grow cold. A sense of weightlessness overcame him and he realised he was being lifted off his feet. The nerves in his fingers failed him and the Tempest Blade slipped free, clattering on the ground below beside his discarded battle-helm. Blood tanged his mouth, slipped over his swollen tongue like copper filings. He spat a gobbet and it stained the Undying's gilded carapace.

As the war-scythe was driven deeper, the genebred champion gave up a cry of pain. Emotionless, the Undying looked on.

'I am doom,' he rasped as the shouts of others clawed for his attention. More cobalt-armoured warriors were coming for him.

Shucked desultorily off the glaive like a piece of offal, Sicarius crashed earthwards and lay still. Immediately, the Lions surrounded him just as the necron overlord's honour guard closed too.

'No!' The word fell clipped and defiant from Praxor's lips. He drove the Shieldbearers hard into the necron elites, splitting them apart so he could reach the side of his lord. It was to no avail. He lost Sicarius amidst the crowd of bodies, the image of a fallen sword next to a captain's helm imprinted onto his mind.

He saw the banner, upheld defiantly by Vandius. Brother Malican was by his side. Daceus and Gaius Prabian led the line. They struck down two of the honour guard, exchanging a few blows before dispatching them. Stalwart as statues, they stood over Sicarius's body and felled anything that came close. Venatio knelt behind them, working his ministrations. In Praxor's heart, he knew it was too late. Sicarius was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

By the time the Ultramarines reached the edge of the Thanatos Hills and left the mountains for good, Tigurius was coming back around. Strengthened by the force of his will, he stood straighter and was able to walk unaided, albeit by leaning on his staff.

Evacuation from the mountains had been conducted in silence. Led by Scipio and his Thunderbolts, the Ultramarines were driven by a frustrating sense of urgency. Their captain was likely in very real danger but until communication was restored they were powerless to do anything.

'Check again,' said Scipio as the icy fells gave way to a stretch of flat tundra. Perpetual blizzards roamed this part of d.a.m.nos, kicked up in squalls that moved from region to region on the arctic winds. Weather was still fouling the connection to their distant brothers.

Brakkius shook his head.

They marched on. Scipio spared a glance for Jynn. She was being carried on a makeshift stretcher by two of the surviving guerrilla fighters. The rest were dead, left on the plateau where the earth and rock would bury them. Scipio checked the distance from the plateau on his retinal display. A few more kilometres and they could detonate the charges that would obliterate the artillery station.

His thoughts went back to Jynn. He'd left her, abandoned her to this fate. It was the right thing to do, Tigurius was in danger. But he couldn't shake the guilt that she and her troops should never have been there. Scipio was reckless and arrogant, believing they could take the necrons by surprise, sweep in and destroy the guns without casualty. He gave no regard to the potential loss of human life. It made him think of the earlier attack on the outpost and the death of Ortus. Brother Renatus, too, had lost his life on account of injuries suffered during that ill-fated a.s.sault. Again, Scipio's lack of temperance had done this.

Iulus's words, spoken long ago on the a.s.sembly deck of the Valin's Revenge Valin's Revenge, came back to him.

'You are becoming like him.'

He was right. Orad's death had changed Scipio, although he was only now realising it.

He hoped that Jynn would live.

The comm-feed in his battle-helm crackled. Brakkius had made contact with the others.

Agrippen barged through the silver horde. Scattering the last of the necron immortals in his way, he descended on the honour guard. One he crushed in his fist; the other he burned, pressing the flamer so close it scorched his armature and stripped away the paint.

The necron overlord glared up at the Dreadnought, a h.e.l.lish fire ignited in its eyes. Sicarius had wounded it the Undying's face was caught in the flux of self-repair. Agrippen cared not. He smashed his power fist down upon it brutally, crushing the gilded overlord into ruin.

The destruction of their lord sent a ma.s.sive shockwave rippling throughout the necron ranks. As one they began to fall back. The Dreadnought was not to be denied, though, and tore apart the mechanoids as they fled.

a.s.suming command, he drove the Ultramarines forwards. Only the Lions remained, surrounding their fallen captain protectively.

They harried the necrons across the rubble and out into the wastes. In disarray, the automatons were easy prey. During the retreat, the warriors of Sicarius exacted their vengeance in a tally of enemies that scoured the earth and cleansed the area around Kellenport completely.

Iulus heard a cheer resound behind him as all the men of d.a.m.nos witnessed the necrons' defeat. Like his battle-brothers, he was swept up in the moment. When he saw the Lions of Macragge arrayed around the slumped figure of his captain in a protective cordon his exultant mood ebbed. It was replaced by vengeance and the desire to vanquish the enemy utterly.

Stationed in the rear line of the army, alongside the Devastators, Iulus pushed his Immortals forwards. He caught Sergeant Atavian's eye.

'Sicarius has fallen.'

Like Iulus, Atavian gave nothing away. 'Is he dead?'

'They watch over him like pallbearers.'

The grating rasp of Chaplain Trajan interjected. 'Rites will be spoken if he is slain. Now we must let our bolters and blades describe our litanies of hatred.'

He led them into the fleeing ma.s.ses, crozius swinging. Iulus followed a little way behind. Atavian's advance was slower still with the heavy guns.

A gauntlet reached out and s.n.a.t.c.hed Iulus's arm. He turned about to strike, believing a destroyed mechanoid had self-repaired, but it was Praxor. He wasn't wearing his battle-helm and his eyes were wide.

Iulus said, 'Brother?'

'He is dead. I saw him fall with my own eyes. Captain Sicarius is slain.'

Iulus's expression went from grief to resolution. 'Then we avenge him.'

For over an hour the Ultramarines pursued the retreating necrons, all the way to the far border of Arcona City. Thousands were destroyed in the rout, the mechanoids unable to mount a defence or any kind of useful tactic that might have spared their losses. Without their overlord they were less than automatons, little more than directionless drones. Even the elites appeared locked onto a single course of action full-scale retreat.

The as-of-yet unseen phasic generator teleported some of the constructs back to the sunken tomb all the way into the northern polar wastes. No Ultramarine had laid eyes on the device, and it was likely withdrawn upon their arrival.

Only when the last of the necrons had either been teleported or damaged into instant phase-out did Agrippen call a halt, his fury sated. Then the Ultramarines began the long march back to Kellenport.

The sun was high in the ice-blue d.a.m.nos sky when Scipio reached the city. The edges of its walls were veneered in hazy umber from the light.

Led by the Thunderbolts, the Ultramarines from the Thanatos Mission pa.s.sed through the Kellenport gates just as a viridian explosion lit up the distant hills. So large and destructive, the blast was even visible from the city. The pylons and gauss-obliterators would not return. For one they were buried, for another the Ultramarines had used enough explosive to level the mountainside.

'Sergeant Vorola.n.u.s.'

It was Tigurius. Scipio stopped and turned to face the Librarian.

'I will see to our captain,' he said. 'Agrippen has command.'

Scipio bowed, acknowledging.

As they parted ways, Tigurius stopped. 'I saw courage on the Thanatos Hills and a desire for self-sacrifice. Now you know who you are, brother. Remember it.'

The Librarian was heading into the distant hubbub of the city. Already, preparations were being made for the arrival of the Ultramarines armour. Several squads stood watchful upon the battlements, alongside the d.a.m.nosian soldiery.

There was no sign of Agrippen or the Lions. Scipio a.s.sumed they were in council, planning the strategic defence of the city. At least two other sergeants were not present at that meeting. Leaving Brakkius in charge, Scipio dismissed the Thunderbolts. His gaze lingered on Jynn as she was carried to the nearest medical station. He banished the bleak thoughts from his mind as he went to meet his brothers.

Hugging Scipio firmly, Iulus said, 'I am glad you're alive, brother.'

Scipio laughed mirthlessly. 'You sound like you had your doubts.' He turned to Praxor. 'Brother?'

He looked downcast, his shame obvious in his bearing. Praxor had believed Sicarius dead and become like the people of d.a.m.nos he had thought weren't worth saving on account of that fatalism.

The captain was injured, badly, but lived. The truth of it was revealed later when the courtyard had cleared and Venatio announced to the Lions that their lord still drew breath. He was still in the Apothecary's care, surrounded by his inner-circle warriors. But Cato Sicarius would play no further part in the war on d.a.m.nos. As soon as possible, he would be ferried to the Apothecarion aboard the Valin's Revenge Valin's Revenge and allowed to recover. and allowed to recover.

Scipio put a hand on Praxor's shoulder. 'Neither of us was there, brother. We didn't witness what you did.'

'I should have known, but instead I gave in to doubt.'

'All three of us have experienced much in this campaign. I confess I never thought this ball of ice would be a place for revelation.'

At this point, Iulus stepped in. 'It's not done yet, either.' He held up a data-slate displaying the planet's northern geography. 'Necron forces are stirring in the north. Scans reveal ma.s.sive tectonic activity.'

Exhaling, Scipio marshalled his anger. 'So all we have done so far has merely set them back?'

Iulus nodded. 'It would appear so.'

'We have sacrificed much for little.'

'And more is needed.'

Scipio was pensive for a moment before he straightened and clapped his brothers each on the pauldron. 'Then by the glory of Ultramar, it will be given.'

Praxor nodded determinedly. Iulus even cracked a feral smile.

All three looked skywards as a large vessel silhouetted the upper atmosphere. The sound of the battle-barge's engines was loud, even as far up as it was, and smaller ships were disgorging from it.

Valin's Revenge.

The Ultramarines on the wall, those in the courtyard, all of the d.a.m.nosian infantry looked up.

The voice of Antaro Chronus, veteran Ultramarines tank commander, came over the feed. 'The heavens are clear,' he announced, shouting above the sound of heavy machinery in the background. 'We are coming, brothers.'

EPILOGUE.