Salamander

for generations,' growled Akuma, with a half-glance at the green-armoured warriors running alongside them. 'What do we need

them

for?'

'I doubt we could stop them even if we wanted to, Akuma,' answered Illiad.

Dak'ir saw that the old man's face was grave at the sounds of carnage just ahead of them. The Salamander felt the human's pain, and his anger boiled at the thought of the settlers' suffering.

The weak will always be preyed upon by the strong.

He remembered the words of Fugis many months before, outside the Vault of Remembrance at Hesiod. The words of his reply then came swiftly to his lips now, like a catechism.

'Unless those with strength intercede on behalf of the weak, and protect them.'

Emek turned to the sergeant as they were nearing the invisible boundary line of the settlement. The crack of las-fire and the flat bangs of solid-shot rifles were like a discordant chorus to the shrill of terror, ever rising in pitch and urgency.

'What did you say, sir?'

Dak'ir kept his gaze ahead as he answered.

'We must save these people, brother. We must save them.'

Akuma's voice intruded suddenly as they ate up the last few metres. He was addressing his men.

'Once we reach the settlement, break into squads. Surround them and aim for the eyes, between the plates. No chitin will ever…' The words died on Akuma's lips as they emerged into the open and saw their home.

Chitin swarmed from emergence holes, dragging screaming settlers to their deaths. Bloodied bodies, mangled by bone-claws or rent with razor-sharp mandibles, were strung out over the ground, or slumped in the archways of once peaceful dwellings like butcher's meat. There were women and children amongst the dead, as well as armed men. Some were so badly mutilated that it was impossible to tell either way.

A sudden tremor wracked the ground, pitching a man sniping off the roof of a hab-shack. He screamed as a chitin scuttled over his prone form with surprising speed. It severed his torso with a snip of its claws and the screams were abruptly silenced. In his wake came a woman carrying a shotgun who'd managed to hold on. Scurrying into his place, she started firing.

Two men and a lean-faced youth fended off a chitin with long, spiked poles. Screeching, the xenos creature rolled back onto its hind legs as its soft belly was pierced and its blood spilled out in a grey morass. The victory for the humans was short-lived as two more chitin took its place, one smothering a pole-wielder with its bulk, before the second gouged another with a snapping bone-claw. The youth fled in terror only to be lost from view in the desperate battle.

A woman brandished a flare like a spear, thrusting it towards the eye of a chitin intent on devouring her and the two children she protected. The flare, like the life of her and her children, was slowly fading.

Everywhere, the humans fought. Some only had spears or crude ineffectual rifles, and they were badly outnumbered, but these were their homes and families, so they battled on regardless.

'I have never seen so many…' breathed Illiad. He staggered as another tremor rippled through the cavern, sending chunks of rock and dust spiralling from the roof. 'Each time, the chitin hordes increased, pouring from their emergence holes like vermin. The quakes must have disturbed them.'

'That or they were driven here,' Dak'ir muttered darkly. 'I'll take my weapons back now, Illiad.'

The old man gestured to Akuma who had the chainsword and pistol in a heavy pack on his back. He unveiled them swiftly and returned them begrudgingly.

Dak'ir nodded grimly to him, testing his grip on pistol and blade before turning to his brothers.

'The preservation of human life is priority. Do all that you must to protect the colonists. In Vulkan's name.'

Dak'ir raised his chainsword, the dim light reflected off its ancient teeth as if relishing the blooding to come.

'Into the fires of battle!' he roared, leading the charge.

'Unto the anvil of war!' his brothers replied as one.

'T

his place reeks

of death,' snarled Tiberon, sifting through the wreckage of the Warsmith's tools.

The captive Iron Warrior was gone. The ghoul-drones had been removed too, and burned upon the same smouldering pyres as the slain Iron Warrior garrison.

Chaplain Elysius had already left, going to his duties. Tsu'gan and his squad had remained behind.

Another flamer burst lit up the outer corridor as Honorious and his brothers continued to purge the walls and alcoves where Tsu'gan and his warriors had almost met their demise. Cleansing by fire had quietened the voices, but not engulfed them completely. The brother-sergeant was grateful this would be a short stay. Their mission was to search amongst the wreckage for anything that might shed light on the Iron Warriors' presence on Scoria and stand guard over Techmarine Draedius.

The Mechanicus adept had been sent from the

Vulkan's Wrath,

at N'keln's behest and Master Argos's concession, to examine the device the Warsmith had laboured over so manically. It was a cannon: forged of dark metal with a long, telescopic barrel and angled towards a blast door mounted in the ceiling. Though hidden in the metal floor plating, the weapon was obviously elevated into position via a pneumatic lifter. Its intended target, however, remained a mystery.

Tsu'gan knew artillery and he likened this one to the Earthshaker cannon most commonly employed by regiments of the Imperial Guard. Few Astartes Chapters had need for such a static bombardment weapon. Strike cruisers and Thunderhawk gunships provided all the long-range support a Space Marine army needed. Surgical strikes, swift and deadly, that was the Astartes' way of war. Patient, grinding shelling went against the Codex, but then the Iron Warriors followed no such tome. Tsu'gan knew enough of the Traitor Legion to be acquainted with their use of long-range artillery. Siege-specialists as they were, the sons of Perturabo preferred to employ such weapons to crush their foes from distance, before closing in to apply the killing stroke.

Only cowards feared to attack and finish an enemy before it was already beaten. Tsu'gan felt his rancour for the Iron Warriors deepen further.

'It is more than just death that pervades the air in here,' replied Brother Lazarus with obvious distaste.

Tsu'gan scowled.

'I smell cordite and sulphur.' It was more than that. The stench was redolent of a memory, an old place just beyond reach that Tsu'gan would rather not revisit.

'Here, my lord,' called Iagon from across the chamber. 'I may have something.'

Tsu'gan went over to him and knelt down next to the crouching trooper who gestured to a dark stain seared onto the floor.

'The metal is fused,' said Iagon as his brother-sergeant traced the edge of the