battered at its walls.
The next time Maghernus would see Prioress Sindal of the Order of the Argent Shroud, she would be a mangled corpse in three pieces, spread across the floor of the inner sanctum.
That would be in less than one hour's time, and her body would be one of the last things he saw before he was killed by a bolt round in the back.
B
ane-
S
idhe tore
clean through the Hel's Highway when it fell.
The Warlord had made it half a kilometre before its void shields burst out of existence and its front-facing armour began to suffer the assault from the
guns. No matter how thick the ceramite and adamantium plating covering the Warlord's vital systems, the sheer level of firepower hurled at
meant that once its shields died, its existence was measured in minutes.
It was perhaps unfair that such a noble example of the Invigilata's god- machines met its end as a sacrificial lure, but within the Legio's archives, both
and her command crew were given the highest honours. The wreckage of the Titan would come to be salvaged by the Mechanicus in the following weeks, and restored to working order fourteen months later. Its destruction at Helsreach was marked upon its carapace with a six-metre square engraved image upon its right shin, depicting a weeping angel over a burning, metallic skeleton.
Unable to withstand any more punishment, with flames pouring from its bridge, the great Warlord fell backwards on howling joints. Its immense weight was enough to break the rockcrete columns holding up the Hel's Highway, sending the
and a significant section of the main road crashing down to land in a mountain of rubble.
The
stood over the crater of broken road, as if staring down at the body of its latest kill.
Fourteen seconds after the Warlord's shattered remains came to a rest, a flare of sun-bright and fusion-hot energy screamed across the Hel's Highway It was the shape of a newborn star, flaring with arcing coils of plasma light and surrounded by a blinding corona.
The
shields disintegrated at the sunfire's touch. Its armour disintegrated mere seconds later, as did its crew, skeletal structure, and all evidence that it had ever existed.
Jurisian drooled through clenched teeth, feeling the untamed machine-spirit's quivering rage at being used without being ritually blessed and activated via the correct rituals. As the knifing pain in his skull faded to tolerable levels, he opened a vox-link to Grimaldus, and breathed two words.
They were laden with both agony and meaning - symbolising the completion of his duty, and a final farewell.
'Engine kill,' he said.
'T
he
G
odbreaker is
dead,' Grimaldus voxed to anyone still listening to the comms channels. The news brought no relief to him, and no joy, even for thought of Jurisian's glory. There was nothing now beyond the next second of battle. Step by step, the Reclusiarch and his last brothers were pushed backwards through the basilica, room by room, hall by hall.
The air reeked of alien breath, spilled innards and the sharp overcooked ozone sent of las-fire.
The walls still shook as xenos tanks shelled the holy temple even while their own forces stormed through it.
A young girl in Argent Shroud battle armour was cut down, wailing as she was disembowelled by the horde. Artarion's two blades, both inactive from meat-clogging and no more use than jagged clubs, ripped across the face and throat of the girl's killer. Then he too was beaten back by the four beasts that took the dead brute's place.
A voice rose above the carnage - harsh and enraged.
'Kill them all! Let none survive! Never has an alien defiled this holiest of places!'
Grimaldus dragged the closest ork against him, gripping its throat and thudding his skulled helm against its face to shatter its hideous bone structure. The voice was the prioress's, and he realised now where he was.
No.
No, how could it all be over already?
W
e have been
beaten back to the inner sanctum in mere hours. Sindal's cries of defiance have the worst effect: they awaken everyone from the mindless heat of battle and bloodshed, dragging us back to face the truth.
The inner sanctum is a gore-slick mess of heaving, slashing, shooting humans and orks. We are beaten. No one in this room is going to survive more than a few more minutes. Already, others have sensed this and I see them through the crowd, trying to run from the room, seeking a way past the orks rather than lay down their lives at the last stand.
Militia. Civilians. Guard. Even several storm-troopers. Half of our pathetic remaining force is breaking from the battle and trying to run.
With my hand still at the ork's throat, I drag the kicking beast up with me, standing atop the Major Altar. The beast struggles, but its clawing is weak with its skull broken and its senses disoriented by pain.
My plasma pistol is long gone, torn from me at some point in the last two days of battle. The chain remains. I wrap it around the beast's throat, and roar my words to the painted ceiling as I strangle the creature in full view of everyone in the room.
'Take heart, brothers! Fight in the Emperor's name!' The beast thrashes as it dies, claws scraping in futility at my ruined armour. I tense my grip, feeling the creature's thick spinal bones begin to click and break. Its piggish eyes are wide with terror, and this… this makes me laugh.
'I have dug my grave in this place…' An explosive round detonates on my shoulder, blasting shards of armour free. I see Priamus kill the shooter with the Black Sword in a one-handed grip.
'I
Five knights still live, and they roar as I roar.
'
The walls shudder as if kicked by a Titan. For a moment, still laughing, I wonder if the
has returned.
'
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