suffer no ill-effects from the scarce amount of oxygen. His eyes were closed as he chanted, his voice powerful and deep. Varnus did not understand the meaning of the words the priest spoke, but he knew them well, having heard them for weeks on end within the roar of the Discords.
The chains hanging from the black frame began to rise and their barbed tips began to wave around in the air like the searching heads of serpents. They reached out towards the slaves, who were all face down but Varnus. The tip of one of the chains approached him and it hovered in the air. The barbed tip was the size and length of his forearm and he saw that the dark metal was covered in tiny script. It swung back and forth before him, mesmerising and moving gently in time with the rhythms of the Discords, as if held in thrall by some fell snake charmer.
With the speed of a striking serpent, the chains struck down into the backs of the slaves, driving through their bodies and ripping out through their chests. The slaves were lifted up into the air, transfixed upon the living chains running through them. The bladed tips of the chains coiled around and lunged again, stabbing again and again the bodies of the slaves impaled on other chains, until no body was pierced fewer than a dozen of times.
The blade hovering before Varnus hung in the air before him, waving back and forth before it too plunged forward, but not into him, instead it descended into the back of the overseer at his side. The black-clad slaver squealed horribly as the bladed chain tore back and forth through its body, and it was lifted high in the air, along with all the others, black blood showering Varnus.
The chains began to knit together, forming an intricate pattern within the eight-legged frame above the hovering priest, who continued on with his intonation, uncaring of the mayhem that had been unleashed around him. The chains bound together tightly until they resembled a giant spider web, complete with grisly trophies. The bodies of the slaves and the overseers hung impaled and wrapped within the chains, and Varnus was horrified to see that most of them were not yet dead. They twitched and moaned, and their life blood dripped down onto the Chaos Marine priest beneath them.
He stood atop the Gehemehnet walls, his limbs shaking as he realised that he stood alone. Every other slave and overseer was within the sickening chain-length spider web, dying. Only he had been spared.
The priest's eyes opened and fell upon him. He felt as though the warrior's gaze pierced his soul and he cowered before him. Though the Chaos Marine continued to chant his monotonous incantation, Varnus felt a voice throb within his mind.
Screaming shells rained down upon the Word Bearers, throwing up great explosions of earth as they struck at the embankments. The bombardment had increased in tempo and they detonated across the entire length of the Shinar peninsula.
The Warmonger stood atop the battlements in the centre of the first line of defence, uncaring of the mayhem exploding around him. The enemy's pitiful shells could not harm him and he stood motionless in the midst of the bombardment, surveying the battlefield coldly.
The other war machines and daemon engines of the Legion had been pulled back to the second line. Their unarmoured attendants would have been slaughtered beneath the fury of the attack and the daemon engines would have stormed forwards across the plain, eager to get to grips with the enemy. They would have been uniformly destroyed. None but the Dark Apostle would be able to restrain them.
The Dreadnought's augmetic senses pierced the fire and smoke that surrounded the first line, and he saw a series of detonations erupt further out along the salt plains, several kilometres away. This was no bombardment of the Word Bearers, and the Warmonger was momentarily confused. Not even the pitiful gunners of the Imperial Guard could be so inaccurate with their fire. A second line of explosions ran out along the salt plains, this time two hundred metres closer to the Word Bearers' lines. His senses could not pierce the vast clouds of smoke that rose from the detonations.
'Kol Badar, the enemies of the Warmaster are on the approach. They mask their advance with ordnance and blind grenades.'
'Received, Warmonger,' came the vox reply. 'Incoming aircraft have been picked up. Be ready.'
'The blessings of the true gods upon you.'
'Kill well, old friend.'
'The enemy has made its move, Icon Bearer. Your time has come,' said Kol Badar.
Burias bowed his head to the massive, Terminator-armoured war leader.
'You do me a great honour, my Coryphaus,' he said.
'Remember it, Burias,' growled Kol Badar. 'Do the Legion proud. Do not make me regret giving you my favour.'
'You will not, Coryphaus,' said Burias, his handsome, pale face serious with devotion. 'My first kill will be dedicated to you, my lord.'
He could not gauge the reaction of his words upon the Coryphaus's face, hidden as it was beneath his quad- tusked helmet, but he thought the warlord's posture showed that he was pleased. Good, thought Burias.
He turned away from the Coryphaus with another bow of the head, to face the gathered warriors below him, on the off-face of the embankment. Explosions detonated around them, but the warriors were unflinching, their helmets turned up towards him, awaiting his order.
Burias slammed his icon into the ground and the warrior-brothers stood motionless in rapt attention.
'My brothers, the time has come for us to ride out and face the enemy head on,' he roared, the daemon Drak'shal giving his voice unholy resonance and power.
A huge roar of approval rose from the gathered, since many of their voices were also enhanced by the daemons lurking within their souls.
'The Coryphaus honours us with this sacred duty.' Burias continued, which was met with another roar from the gathered warriors.
'Do the Coryphaus proud, my brothers, and kill in the name of Lorgar!'
The gathered warriors roared the name of their daemon primarch, their voices mingling with Burias's bloodcurdling bellow, screaming to the heavens so that their lord might hear their devotion.
The gathered Coteries intoned prayers to the dark gods as they climbed into their transport vehicles. A pair of Land Raiders would lead the Rhino attack column and the assault ramps of the monstrous tanks hissed as they slammed open to receive the warriors honoured to be carried within. Engines revved in anticipation and the lascannon turrets of the Land Raiders swivelled as the daemon spirits controlling them expressed their impatience.
'The smoke the Imperials use blocks our sight, but it blocks theirs as well, Burias. Go forth. Tackle them head on. They will not see you coming.'
Burias snarled a wordless reply. Drak'shal was rising within him. With a final nod, he turned and jogged towards the awaiting Land Raider. Before the assault ramp had even hissed completely closed, the column of tanks roared forwards, climbing the steep embankment quickly amid the explosions of incoming barrage fire. Engines screamed as the massive Land Raiders reached the apex of the climb and rose over the lip of the embankment before the tanks thumped down on the other side. They rolled towards the enemy hidden behind a wall of smoke and ash that was drawing closer with every falling barrage.
Drak'shal's daemon essence pumped strength through his veins and his muscles strained within his power armour.
To become one of the Anointed had been his dream since his inception into the Legion. He knew that his relationship with Marduk had kept him from being embraced into the cult, for his prowess was faultless. Long had it been a source of dishonour for Burias and he had at times hated the First Acolyte for it. He had no idea what had occurred on the moon of Calite, but the hatred between Marduk and Kol Badar had been palpable ever since.
Curse him and his feud with the Coryphaus! Burias thought. If the warlord would allow him to be embraced into the cult of the Anointed then he would relish the opportunity and grasp it with both hands.
The Coryphaus was right, the future of the First Acolyte was far from certain, and to throw his support behind Marduk without consideration of this would be foolish. No, he would wait for the right moment to make his decision about where his loyalties lay.
