She had forgotten how to fear darkness. When she was a child growing up in the slum-hives of Harsis, she had forced her father to leave the light-orb on throughout the night – just to be sure the daemons of the dark were kept at bay while she slept.
Adulthood and the Imperial guard taught her it was foolish to be scared of the dark. It was only the absence of light, nothing more.
But, now, sitting huddled on a ledge, cradling her near-empty lasgun in almost total darkness, she was petrified. And this time there was something hunting her. It had killed the rest of the squad - even the fearless Commissar Bakeroff had perished. The fact that she could barely see her hands, never mind her stalking enemy, heightened her ravaged senses and drilled the fear deeper into her. It was almost physically sore to move because of it. It was so dark…
A growl sounded above her position.
She had been still for so long her legs had gone numb, and she found it hard to move her weapon into position. She shivered, her skin prickling from fear and the oppressive cold around her. Her weary bones cracked as she edged painfully forward into a semblance of a firing position. The small light-unit clipped to the end of her las-rifle only had a few minutes of power left.
Another growl was heard, followed by the scuffing of razor-sharp claws on rockcrete. Dust fell upon her from above.
The beast had found her, of that she was sure.
The guardswoman whipped her firearm upwards, switching on the light as she went. She caught sight of something moving above and opened fire. It was already leaping toward her, its glistening red skin reflecting off the light momentarily before it smacked into her. Her light reflected off two depthless yellow eyes.
Searing pain tore through her arm and the light blinked out. She screamed helplessly in fear and pain as the shelf finally gave way, and both combatants fell into the darkness beyond…
He looked down upon his brother’s hastily dug grave. A wooden, guard-standard Aquila lay on top of the six-foot mound of dirt. Smoke billowed in a lazy wind, giving the scene a ghostly, barren feel. The grave was one of hundreds that surrounded Sergeant Mel Alderson. Beyond the field burial ground, the ruined city of Veritus stretched out for miles like a jagged maze – the wind breezed through the skeletal remains, whispering lamentations of what had been.
Alderson had one last look at his brothers resting place and turned from the graves, edging back towards the camp. Several brain-thumping explosions echoed in the distance, a reminder that the enemy was still here – still determined. How many more would fall before the end would be in sight? How many more mistakes had to be made? The gruff sergeant checked his thoughts, knowing he was thinking negatively, almost heretically, but the emotions burned deep.
A figure appeared out of the smoke and jogged unevenly through the graves towards the sergeant. Alderson recognised the new recruit, Jacks. The rookie looked almost comical in his new grey fatigues, he thought, and he smiled far too much.
‘Sir,’ the boy said as he closed, smiling, ’we have our orders!’ Alderson could feel his excitement. It would pass, of that he was sure.
The veteran thought about punching the boy for interrupting his mourning, but decided against it. The boy didn’t know. ‘Well?’ he growled.
‘It’s the Tower Sir. We’re going into the Tower!’
Alderson cursed under his breath as another shell hit the earth, closer this time. The Enemy must know, he thought. ‘The Tower it is then.’
‘And, Sir,’ continued the rookie, walking alongside the older man, ‘there’s an Inquisitor here! A real Imperial Inquisitor! He’s leading the mission, well, that’s what Prich said.’
‘There’s always an Inquisitor son,’ said the aging guardsman, ‘especially when trouble is brewing, and I can feel trouble in my bones.’
The Imperial Field-Headquarters was a twenty minute walk from the burial grounds, and by the time the mismatched pair of rookie and veteran reached their billet, the shelling had stopped. Alderson quickly found his tent and threw himself onto his resting-mat, knowing full-well he would need every ounce of strength in the coming hours. His brain, however, refused to switch off, and his thoughts clouded with the recent past…
It had been several months now that the Imperial ground forces had advanced into the city-regions. Before then, the Navy ships had bombarded the enemy forces from orbit, clearing a path for the mighty Astartes to spearhead the invasion. Lastly, the combined thousands of several Imperial Guard regiments assaulted.
Several years ago, the loyal Imperial System of Gariun Primus had fallen to heretic forces, and now the High Lords demanded it back. Alderson, along with his comrades from the Houson 128ths had been one of the first regiments to land on Veritus – Gariuns’ capital world. They were met with heavy resistance at first, and soon the war entered the desolate streets of the remaining cities. The veteran closed his eyes tight against the memories and the fighting. The bloody stand-off had continued for months now, with no end in sight.
Alderson had lost many friends, and now a brother, to this war, and the enthusiasm for fighting had been bled out of him.
‘Sir,’ said Jacks as he entered the tent, bringing the sergeant out of his deep thoughts, ’it’s time for the briefing, their waiting in the Command tent.’
The old sergeant slowly sat up and began tidying his fading uniform. As he stood he rubbed his chin and realised he had not shaved for several days, his greying stubble was turning into a rugged beard. He had a quick look into his small reflector – indeed, his beard was growing, but it did not hide the strong, leathery features and patch-work scars. Alderson shook his head, throwing the reflector to the ground and moving outside.
Prich and Wendle were standing waiting for him already, the rookie – always on the move – now standing next to them, smiling.
Prich was a well-built man with dark skin and an annoyingly positive attitude. He got on well with the rookie. Somehow the years of fighting had not truly hardened his feelings, unlike the older sergeant. Prich stood well over six-foot-tall and was fumbling with some form of side-arm, no doubt a new prize from his gambling racket.
One-eyed-wendle was an athletic guardsman who specialised in most forms of weapons. Horrendous scars worked their way down from the right side of his bald head to his neck. He smiled toothlessly at Alderson, his hand brushing the pommel of his old sword at his waist. That blade had saved the team on countless occasions, mused the sergeant.
‘Come on old-timer, the war will be over before long.’
‘You humour astounds me, one-eye.’
‘Yeah, we better hurry - the colonel himself is given the briefing.’
‘Ah, the good old Colonel,’ said Alderson acidly as he walked passed his men towards the centre of camp.
*
The four guardsmen soon found themselves waiting outside Colonel Nasons Command tent. With most of the structures within the city unstable, the Housons’ decided to setup their base of operations outside of the ruined metropolis. The thousands of tents and make-shift buildings surrounded them for miles.
One of the Colonels’ aides appeared out of the tent, parting the folds of the entrance. ‘You can come in now.’
Alderson nodded and walked in, his men following.
The colonel was a lean looking man with sallow skin. His dark hair was slicked back, making him look thinner than he was. His eyes gleamed out of his bony features, boring into each guardsman as they entered. When he talked, his high-pitched, shrill voice, drilled into their ears. ‘Gentlemen, glad you could make it.’
Around Colonel Nason stood several men and women – mostly aides, intelligence officers, and other command personnel – however, Alderson only had eyes for two men: a tall proud looking man in his early thirties and a rough looking bald man whose face he knew all too well.
Rage took hold of the veteran as he looked at the bald man, who also wore a Sergeants uniform. ‘What in-the-Emperors-name is he doing here?!’ he yelled, clenching his fists.
The tall man, wearing ornate armour and a red cloak, looked surprised and put his hand on his equally eloquent sword. The bald man glared menacingly as Prich and Wendle grabbed Alderson.
The Colonel barely flinched. ‘Sergeant Alderson, hold your tongue and act like a guardsman. Sergeant Taedon is here on my orders.’
‘He killed my brother, sir, I will not-‘
‘Control yourself man,’ said the colonel. ‘We have investigated the… misfortunate situation, and there is no blame on Taedon.’
Sergeant Taedon stepped forward, his lined face twisted in annoyance. ‘It was a mistake, I was under orders Alderson – you know this!’
‘No…’ spat the grizzled veteran as he grudgingly backed down to the colonels’ authority. Even so, a boiling rage still rippled through his body. Why would Nason bring both of them close together so soon after his brothers’ death?
‘Colonel,’ said the cloaked man, ‘if this is the way…’
‘Inquisitor,’ replied Nason, ‘it is not a problem. These men will work fine together – they are my best for the job.’ He gave Alderson a withering stare.
Alderson, still visibly shaking, checked his temper as he realised who was in the tent with them, his years of service kicking in.
Nason cocked his head toward the old sergeant, ‘finished, sergeant?’
Alderson shrugged off his men and looked directly at his superior. ‘Yes sir.’
‘Good. Now that we all have our professional heads I would like to start.’
A compact viewing table lay next to the colonel, depicting the basic outlines of the city. A servitor touched an activation switch and the map became a three dimensional display, which abruptly zoomed in through the ragged towers of Veritus, showing the surrounding men the debris strewn roads and smoking husks of buildings.
The display quickly zoned in on what looked at first to be only a dusty crater a hundred metres wide. However, a lone plas-crete spire poked out of the middle like a pleading hand reaching for the sky as its body drowned in the dust below; showing that buildings did to occupy this area at one point. A light breeze seemed to blow the dust of the city across the ruins, obscuring the view almost completely. The vid-screen began jumping and flickering with hisses of static.
‘Welcome, gentleman, to the Tower,’ started the Colonel, his shrill voice betraying little emotion. ‘As many of you know, there used to stand one of the largest buildings in the city within these ruins. The glorious Imperialis Communicatum. Some weeks back a rough, one hundred and fifty metre diameter crater appeared in its stead, and the Communicatum collapsed underground. Now, we still are unsure of what has exactly happened there, however,’ Nason looked at the Inquisitor, ‘my esteemed fellow here, Inquisitor Falcon, assures me that whatever happened has some importance to the campaign on this world. Inquisitor?’
The large cloaked figure stepped forward slightly, pulling each mans stare away from the Colonel. He had smooth features and dark brown, short cropped hair, with piercing brown eyes that seemed to be looking everywhere at once. ‘Thank you Colonel. As most of you know, there has been heavy fighting around this area for a week now, and the Communicatum seems to be the epicentre for enemy action. I know of the rumours surrounding this site also – and they are just those gentlemen: rumours.’
Alderson, calming down after the shock of seeing his brothers’ killer, shot a glance at Wendle - what was going on here? They all knew the stories of disappearing guardsmen and mysterious bloody deaths at the site.
The Inquisitor continued, ‘To put it bluntly, the enemy want something in and around the Tower, and we wish to deny them that opportunity. But first, we need to find out what lies within the bowels of the ruins. That’s where you come in.’
‘Yes,’ said Nason, ‘I am sending you in as a recon force. This could help us take the city, or at least foil the arch-enemies plans, whatever they may be.’
Alderson merely nodded, along with his men, already mentally preparing for the hours ahead. They had completed this kind of mission scores of times before. His earlier fears diminished – this would be routine after all, it seemed. As long as the structure of the building was stable, his mind added.
‘Also,’ continued the colonel, ‘the Inquisitor will be joining you for the mission, along with Sergeant Taedons’ demolition team – we don’t know what it will be like down there.’
Alderson’s timeworn face darkened. ‘Sir, we do this all th-‘
‘You have your orders sergeant. That will be all.’
With that, the meeting was adjourned and Nason’s aides shuffled the guardsmen out to prepare for the mission.
*
As the sun rose hazily the next morning, the squads going on the mission met just outside the Houson camp. A mixed bunch of souls, thought Alderson as he and the three other members of his recon team walked up to others – apart from his men, there was the Inquisitor and his ten-man squad of what looked like stormtroopers. The troopers were decked out in pristine, glossy looking carapace armour. Wendle mumbled something about ‘never even seen a man fight, never mind die, in those beauties!’, but the sergeant ignored the jibe. The inquisitorial troopers’ armour was all-black, giving them a sinister look. Their equally dark hellgun pattern las-weapons added to the bleak look, as did the inscribed ‘I’ in their shoulder pads, helmets and guns. They stood in two ranks of five behind the brooding Inquisitor Falcon.
Falcon wore his cloak once more, and it covered his overly-ornate armour. Always the same with such people, thought Alderson. Always flaunting their position and authority, forcing your position back onto you. The Inquisitors weapons were as flamboyant, and dangerous, as his armour. A long sword sat at his hip, just showing from under the cloak. The old veteran could see an activation switch on its hilt. Power sword. How typically opulent for the inquisition, he thought. A plasma pistol was also strapped around Falcons waist. Alderson almost felt under prepared, being arming with his lasgun, knife and trusty stub pistol.
Sergeant Taedon and his five-man squad were there also, yet unlike the waiting Inquisitor, he and his men were busy checking their equipment – he could see them pack heavy-looking demo-kits and such gear. A pang of hatred surfaced as Alderson saw Taedon, but he suppressed it as he caught the Inquisitor staring as him.
‘All ready and set, Sergeant,’ he said.
Alderson and his men stopped before Falcon. ‘Yes sir, all set.’
‘Good. Sergeant Taedon, I presume you are finally ready to depart?’
The bald demo-team sergeant looked up from his packing. ‘Sir, just making some final checks – but, yes, we are good to go.’ He glanced at Alderson with a weary look in his eye. Alderson, for his part, ignored him, it was too early in the morning to even register the fact the man was alive.
Minutes later the three mismatched squads moved off towards the ghostly peaks of Veritus on foot, and the mission to the mysterious Tower began in earnest.
*
The light above slowly dissolved into a soupy blackness that their meagre light-packs struggled to penetrate. The background noises from the war outside soon vanished as they descended, almost as if they had entered a sound-voided chamber. Each of them struggled through the ruins of the Tower, climbing over broken walls and knee-deep detritus. Again, as the mission-team slowly crept through the damaged building, the now familiar feel of uneasiness slipped into Aldersons’ senses like a Thracian spider crawling down the back of his neck. It had been with him ever since he entered the city. He breathed deeply, trying to catch the last breaths of outside - the Towers air felt like it bore poisons that were right now attaching themselves to the aging lungs in his chest.
Alderson shook his head. What was he thinking? He was not a white-rookie like Jacks anymore – he should not be thinking like this. Over forty years of living and fighting in the guard hardened the soul, it did not make a man weaker. Yes, it could break him, that was true, but not this leathery old man.
He caught Taedon looking at him, and he glared back, willing him to start something so he could ram his lasgun down the traitors’ throat…
Aldersons' brother had died mere weeks ago. They had been on mission deep into enemy territory, locating heretic ammo dumps and supply lines. Dal Alderson had found a large supply-depot and Sergeant Caln Taedon had been sent with his demo team to destroy it. Dal and his squad were guarding the buildings while the demo-team set up their charges. Everything ran smoothly until Taedon set the charges off too early – killing every guardsman near the complex. Not one of Dal’s men, himself included, survived. Acceptable losses, for the disruption it caused the enemy.
Acceptable losses…
Taedon smiled at him. Rage tore through the old man and his aches were forgotten. How dare he smile, how could he-
A firm hand grabbed Alderson. ‘Sir, not a good idea,’ said Prich.
‘But he-‘
‘No Sir, not now. Not now.’ The big man’s voice seemed to calm the old sergeant, and he quickly regained his composure. He was right - there was time enough during the mission to finish off this… fight. Alderson shook his head. What was Taedon playing at? Why provoke him during a mission? Was his brothers’ death an accident, or was there something else more sinister going on?
Alderson once more caught his dusty uniform in a cluster of twisted, sharp wire and then swore as he tore himself free. This was not going to be as easy as he had first thought. The endless darkness and the hostile surroundings had begun to sap his energy already and they were only an hour into the ruins. His older, unaugmented bones had started to complain even before they entered, and now they pleaded for a respite that was a long way away.
Again, he felt his annoyance surge to the fore of his thoughts and anger simmered close to the surface of his mind. How dare he be sent into this hell-hole, probably to die, by Nason! And to be put here with that gutless Taedon! Why? What was the point? Oh, to see their warm blood fountain from their bodies…
The Sergeant stopped and checked his thoughts. What was he thinking? This was not him. He stared around, the light at the end of his lasgun picking out the wrecked details of a plain wall and ceiling. This place, this city, was getting to him. Maybe he should have taken a few days leave after his brother was killed…
‘Sir, are you okay?’ asked Jacks.
Alderson coughed and mentally shrugged. ‘Aye son, just being cautious is all. Let’s move.’
They continued down the tomb-like corridor in silence.
It was a long, ardious climb down into the depths of the ruined Imperialis Communicatum. Several hours later they were still crawling through the increasingly unstable ruins. The remains of the building more resembled a hell-dimension rather than anything else, with collapsing walls at every corner and sheer drops in place of whole floor sections. Sergeant Taedon, however, assured them it was safe enough to continue on.
So far, they had not encountered any enemy, but all of them were on edge. This place scratched on the nerves – not only could every foot-step send you to your death, but the cloying darkness seemed to be a living, breathing entity that fed on their souls. One of the drone-troopers of Falcons’ unit had already fallen to his death because of the treacherous surroundings. The Inquisitor had merely shrugged afterwards, and signalled the others to continue on their way. It was only a mind-wiped puppet after all.
Alderson and his men had point, as always, and the stormtroopers followed closely, with Taedon bringing up the rear. A water pipe had burst close by, and the air had a damp quality to it as they trudged through the swampy mess of what was left of the floor.
As they edged down the dank corridor into a wide open space – some hall within the Communicatum – the only sound they could hear was the running water, and the darkness seemed to silently stare back at them. Their dim lights picked out what remained of the ceiling which had caved in and lay haphazardly across the soaked floor. A straining metal beam cracked ominously close by, as if warning the men to turn back.
‘Sir, movement to the left,’ said Wendle calmly. Alderson motioned the rest to be alert.
Alderson panned his light around the chamber; the only sounds the water and failing beam. No, something else. A breathing? A growl?
A short scream echoed through the hall, followed by sporadic weapons fire. Alderson turned and looked back down the line of imperial troops. There was commotion and more las-fire from Taedons' group. He could see flashes of laser fire that lit up silhouettes of the men.
‘He’s gone!’ someone yelled.
‘What’s going on,’ shouted Falcon above more angered voices.
Alderson turned to his men, ‘boys, look alive, this could get interesting.’ Each of them nodded in understanding.
Suddenly, a figure raced through the torch-light. Alderson caught the faintest glimpse of a large canine body, and a flash of red. As he breathed he tasted copper in his mouth and his head felt lighter.
Simultaneously Prich and Wendle opened fire with their guns. The hall erupted into chaos. With both ends of the imperial line firing, the stormtroopers also let loose on the shadows within the hall with their powerful hellguns.
‘Cease fire, cease fire!’ cried Falcon, and seconds’ later silence once more reined within the hall. ‘Report!’
‘All clear,’ said Alderson, acknowledging his men and spitting the metallic taste out of his mouth.
‘I’ve lost one,’ shouted Taedon, raggedly. ‘Something… took him. I-‘
‘Focus men,’ started the Inquisitor, ‘the Emperor is with you. Let’s move.’
‘But Sir, my man..?’
‘We keep moving Sergeant, this is not the place to stop.’
With that, the guardsmen edged out of the hall and into a small room. There were only two entrances to it, and Falcon positioned two of his stormtroopers on each.
‘Sergeant Taedon, what did you see?’ he said finally.
‘Nothing much,’ the sergeant, breathing hard, replied. ‘There was movement in the darkness and our rear guard vanished. It was so quick…’
‘Be more alert men, I don’t want us being caught off guard again. We must keep moving, we are close.’
Alderson looked up quizzically, the sporadic torch-light cast off shadows throughout the room as he spoke, ‘Close to what, Inquisitor?’
Falcon turned to the veteran, ‘our goal.’
‘Which is?’
‘Something we must destroy, if I am right.’ He said bluntly. ‘Enough talk, we continue on, in His name.’
The stormtroopers took point and edged out of the room, and they all continued downwards, the discussion over.
A short time later the Inquisitor called for a break. They rested within a large stairwell that opened into several chambers and rooms due to most of the surrounding walls having collapsed into one another. Alderson and his men had been posted on the lower levels, ahead of the other soldiers. Since the disappearance of Taedon’s man they had not been attacked again, yet everyone had jumped at every falling rock and phantom noise. The old Vet began wondering on his odds of making out of this alive. Two men dead or missing already. Who was next?
The rookie walked over to him and sat down. ‘Sir, is it always like this? I mean, are all of our missions so… well, dangerous?’
Alderson could see the young mans fear, yet he could also sense strength within the youth – to be in his unit he would have to show something special anyway, and looking at Jacks now, even though these strained circumstances, he saw something.
‘Not all of them are as dark, son. But most are dangerous, the trick is to survive and learn. You’ll live longer.’
The young man caught his humour and smiled. ‘Yes Sir.’
‘We’ll battle through as we always do, Jacks. It always looks bleak before a victory in my experience.’
The rookie nodded and relaxed slightly, taking out his water canteen and drinking in the liquid greedily.
A gut-wrenching howl vibrated down the stair-well, followed by a lonely scream. Jacks dropped his canteen.
‘What the-‘ breathed Alderson as he grabbed his lasgun and stood. Jacks swiftly followed. Gunfire and yells could be heard close by.
Wendle appeared out of the gloom. ‘Sarge, the Inquisitor is under attack above us. Enemy unknown.’
Prich met them as the sprinted up the short flight of stairs between the squads.
Horror awaited them above.
The light-pack shone on splattered blood that disappeared into the gloom. The corridor had become increasingly dusty as they moved closer to the fighting. They could here frantic voices just ahead, and the sound of random las-fire. The air had a strange, metallic tinge to it, as if a form of gas had permeated the walls into the staircase. Alderson moved silently ahead of his men, slowly pacing through the crumbled remains of the Communicatum. More blood was to be found, yet this time a body lay amongst the mess. It had been torn apart, limb from limb. Again the sergeant could hear the inhuman growl, so loud yet thin, as if the sound should not exist in this reality. Maybe it didn’t, he thought.
The squad edged up to a ruined door passed the body of a stormtrooper, the sounds of fighting on the other side. Another scream. The sergeant and most of his men were used to the sounds of war, but this was different. More strained and volatile, like the men had forgotten their training and were fighting on their wits end.
Alderson motioned Prich forward and positioned Jacks behind him, keeping the rookie close. Wendle bought up the rear, shouldering his lasgun and unsheathing his sword and pistol.
Something burst through the door and landed heavily in front of Prich. Cat-quick he pounced with his combat knife, unseen until now, but suddenly stopped once he realised it was only the broken body of a stormtrooper. Blood seeped through several tears in the troopers armour. He looked at his sergeant.
‘Slowly, Prich,’ the old veteran whispered, ‘slowly.’
Prich moved to the door, peered through, and entered the platform beyond. Alderson swiftly followed with the rest of the squad.
Violent shadows ran hither thither across the darkness. Taedon’s remaining men and the Inquisitors stormtroopers fought almost blindly against a fleeting foe. Alderson caught meagre images of a grotesque looking animal; Flashes of red muscled hides blinked in the dullness, followed by an eerily after-image of oversized fangs and claws. Suddenly the sergeant was pushed aside as another bestial monster lurched past and bowled into Prich.
He big man rolled into the attack and brought his knife to bare, cutting into glistening red skin. The two combatants were suddenly lost to the darkness and fighting as Wendle tore into the room firing his weapon. Jacks turned to pick his sergeant up, but the older man pushed him off.
‘I’m fine son, just scratched pride,’ he said. ‘Go help Wendle.’ As the reluctant rookie moved off to support Wendle, Alderson pulled himself up. The Atmosphere was intense in the hall. The Inquisitor had found yet another large lobby to search, and he seemed to find what he was looking for. It was something the older man had feared they had been hunting.
It wasn’t just traitors they were fighting on Veritus anymore, but the embodiment of their foul Gods itself. Chaos. Daemons. All the anxiety, fear and doubt suddenly made sense to him: they were against the most dangerous of enemy, daemons from the Warp itself! Alderson had crossed paths with such beasts before and it did not end well. It would take all of his experience and wits to survive this, he thought, just like last time.
Pain washed across his face and the sergeant was battered off the wall. The old soldier in him refused to fall this time and he used the hard rockcrete to steady himself, barely keeping hold of his weapon. He looked up, his eyes blurry from the blow, and Taedon’s face appeared out of the gloom.
‘Time to join your brother old man,’ he growled. There was something wrong with his face, Alderson thought as his head cleared. His eyes, it was his eyes; they had blood weeping from them, yet the man could clearly see. The blood dribbled down his hate-etched face and onto his guard uniform. ‘I have always hated weak men. No taste for blood! How can you be a soldier – an instrument of death – and still weep for lost souls? Such weakness must be purged in blood!’
Alderson ducked as the crazed sergeant tried to crack his head open with the butt of a lasgun. As he bent low he brought up his own weapon and mercilessly fired it into the gut of his foe. Taedon grunted and fell backwards, his gun falling into the darkness. He rolled over on his pack and writhed in pain.
Still the battle raged within the hall. Yet, as Alderson searched the darkness for his squad he realised something had changed. Guardsmen not only fought daemon, but guardsmen also. The men, rage-filled, had turned on one another – many had dropped their weapons and ferociously attacked the nearest person in bitter hand-to-hand combat. It was appalling. It was Chaos.
Alderson had seen it before. The taint must be close and strong, for it was corrupting the men around him. He felt it suddenly, as if a powerful entity had just caught sight of his soul and closed around it. He wanted to tear apart his enemies and taste the blood of his foes, ripping the skulls from their necks and piling them high for his God…
No… this was not him. Not Sergeant Mel Alderson. He prayed to the Emperor, pulling himself away from the darkness around his being and suddenly found himself back at the entrance to the hall. He was not alone. One of the Chaos hound-beasts stood snarling before him.
I’m dead, he thought. It was too fast and he too slow.
Suddenly the hound was hit in the face with a rock. It took its eye off the old man and turned to this new prey, and snarled with unearthly menace, its hackles rising. Alderson reacted immediately, aiming and firing on full auto simultaneously. The beast – its attention now back on the guardsman - leapt at him, forgetting whatever was behind the sergeant. His las-shots burned deep into the daemon, and as it flew towards him other las-rounds joined his own, knocking the beast passed him. It felt awkwardly into rubble next to Alderson and seemed to fade as it roared in anger and pain, bleeding from multiple wounds. Jacks appeared next to his sergeant, his lasgun smoking at the end.
‘Sir! Are you…?’
‘I’m fine son, just fine.’ The beast, along with its blood had vanished, the wrongness and metallic taste dissipating with it.
‘Sir, who’s that?’ asked Jacks, looking behind Alderson.
The veteran turned and aimed his lamp-pack at a shadowy figure and the light revealed a ragged looking woman in a tattered and dirty guard uniform. She held a piece of masonry in her hands. ‘It’s all the weapons I have left,’ she whispered matter-of-factly.
Alderson was about to answer, but Jacks suddenly cried out and fell to the ground. The sergeant turned back to the hall to find Taedon lying next to his pack, holding a lasgun. His other hand was inside the pack and a horrible thought struck Alderson – it contained demo-charges, he was sure. He turned and bolted out the door, dragging the mysterious woman and the injured Jacks with him.
Taedon coughed blood, looking at the retreating Alderson. ‘Blood for the blood God,’ he whispered as he pulled a switch in his pack.
The detonation blasted through the Tower and the already weakened structure collapsed further into itself. Only darkness and blood remained.
*
His last memory before blacking out was a feeling of falling, then pain.
Mel Alderson slowly swam back to reality. He was running, then there was an explosion, then… nothing. What had happened? Where was he? Pain shot through him as he tried to move – it was as if his whole body was rebelling against him.
The quiet well of his foggy head suddenly flared into river rapids of memory. The mission; the tower; the darkness and fear; the attack and the daemons; Taedon, Jacks, the woman…
The explosion. He opened his eyes and fought the pain in his body. He could see nothing. Only darkness surrounded him. He channelled his fear and helplessness into overcoming the pain and tried to bring himself to his knees. After a while he managed it. The ground felt soggy and soft. Where was he? As he became more aware he realised he could taste copper in his mouth, and a presence seemed to push on his very soul. He panicked. Where in the Emperors name was he? The inky blackness only heightened his fear and highlighted the hopelessness of his situation. Was he to die here, alone within the bowels of a Chaos stronghold, his soul to be tormented for all eternity?
Shame poured through him. He was a weak, puny old man who was going to die here with fear in his heart. He was going to die.
The rugged veteran shook his head. He became dizzy for a few moments before his senses cleared yet more. He became aware of a deep thirst within him and coughed through a dry mouth. When was the last time he had taken a drink? His stomach churned and he felt so weak, ever so weak.
No. This was not how Mel Alderson would perish. Not sitting on his knees and crying for death. He knew he would go out fighting – it was his way. Always fighting no matter how desperate the situation.
Chaos would not defeat him. Darkness would not consume him. It was time to draw a line in the sand and fight the battle. It was the time to make a stand and be counted – not for the sake of a cold-hearted Colonel or an ambitious Inquisitor, but for himself, for the Emperor, for his soul. Would Dal ever give up? He asked himself. I doubt it.
Light seemed to flare within his mind. A belief that he was not alone. That Chaos would not, could not, take him. It was as if the Emperor was there, watching over his shoulder. There was light. He could feel it. Alderson unsteadily moved across the strange ground, determination growing within him.
And there was a light. It shone close by, a single shaft of glorious light. It moved. Alderson’s eyes had grown more accustomed to the dimness and he realised that the light came from a lamp-pack, and the pack was being held by Jacks. The boy had survived! The rookie was moving slowly towards something and Alderson soon saw a faint red glow coming from nearby.
‘Jacks,’ said the veteran, ‘it’s me, Alderson.’
The young man, his face covered in gore, seemed to notice his sergeant for the first time. Instead of the usual warm welcome he merely put a finger to his mouth and signalled for silence. Alderson understood immediately and moved closer. As the light grew he finally discovered why the floor was so weird, and he soon wished he was in total darkness once more. The ground was not the ground at all, but scores of rotting dead bodies that lay piled everywhere. Alderson choked and tried to hold his breath – if there was anything in his stomach he would surely have vomited.
The carcasses were in all states of decomposition; body parts and aging weapons lay scattered as far as the light shone. What on Terra had he woken too? Jacks was still moving towards the red glow, so Alderson moved with him, shutting out the corpses as he edged across them.
He closed on the rookie. ‘Prich, Wendle?’ he whispered.
Jacks mere shook his head: No. Only the two of them were left, it seemed.
The two guardsmen finally found themselves looking down through a brass metal grating that seemed to crisscross underneath the bodies. Blood dripped down into a bright red chamber, like a splattering of rain, and what Alderson saw there sent raw fear through his bones.
A glistening red being, in the form of a twisted man, hovered above the ground below them. It looked as if chains attached to various parts of its body held it in place. Oversized muscles pulsed with energy and strength. It’s face contorted in constant rage and thick horns poked out of its forehead. The beast, the daemon, was laughing.
What surprised Alderson the most was that two people stood before the daemon – the mysterious woman and Inquisitor Falcon. Both looked badly hurt. The woman trembled miserably while the Inquisitor stood defiantly before the red monster.
Quite suddenly, the man-daemon lashed out with a wicked-looking clawed hand and tore Falcon’s head from his shoulders. Blood fountained out from his mangled neck, showering the beast and the woman. An unearthly howl vibrated through the chamber and up to the charnel house above. As the Inquisitors body collapsed to the floor, two of the daemon-hounds pounced upon it, lapping up the blood.
Alderson had seen enough. The woman had saved him earlier, and no matter who she was, she deserved a chance to survive this nightmare. The old man pulled himself up and dangled his legs over the drop – and not too long a drop, he thought, I can make it.
‘Sir, I-‘ started Jacks.
‘Time to stand and face our daemons, son,’ interrupted Alderson. He even managed a smile, then let go, falling into the beasts shrine.
The guardsman landed heavily, rolling instinctively to soften the blow.
Immediately, the daemon-man turned to face him. ‘Ah, the strong-willed one. I had thought you dead.’ Its voice could only be described as endless and eternal in its brutality.
Alderson lay crumpled on the ground, his ankle twisted and sore. He pulled out his old stub gun from its ankle holster, and aimed it at the daemon. ‘This is one soul you can’t have, beast, the Emperor has it already!’
The daemon snorted at him, and glided off its plinth – Alderson suddenly realised that the chains had vanished. The beast was free!
‘Yes little man. Enough blood has finally been spilled and enough skulls have been collected for my God. The chains that bound have been broken.’ It stopped inches away from him, its feral face glistened a deep red, its eyes black as the void. ‘Yes, you seem to defy my mind, interestingly, but not everyone has…’
The daemon moved swiftly away from Alderson, its two pet hounds snarling as they appeared at its side. Suddenly a shadow moved out from the edge of the shrine-chamber. A large blood-soaked man stepped into the red light.
The woman screamed – Alderson had almost forgotten about her, she seemed to have come out of whatever trance the daemon had held her in.
The daemon growled. ‘I would love to stay and enjoy the blood, but alas, I have a world to conquer. Enjoy the reunion, old man.’ The beast laughed as it moved upwards and out of the chamber.
Alderson fired wildly at the retreating daemon, hoping against hope to injure it.
‘You should be more worried about me, old-timer, rather than an ancient and immortal being,’ said a familiar voice. Alderson turned and looked into the face of an old friend. Prich stood before him, yet it was not the Prich he knew. As he looked into his eyes he felt rather than saw the soullessness.
‘Prich… what have you done?’
‘I choose a different path – a better path.’ With that he hefted up a thick bladed, double edged axe. Dried blood coated its blades.
Alderson fired his weapon. It clicked empty.
Someone screamed as the blade arced downwards. The axe never met flesh.
Jacks, screaming all the way, fell upon Prich, knocking the larger man aside. Somehow, the rookie landed agilely on both feet, his earlier wound forgotten. He held an old, rusting sword in his hand; he glanced over at his sergeant. Alderson nodded wearily back.
Prich picked himself up and seemed to growl. ‘You first then, rookie.’ With great speed he charged Jacks, his mighty axe whirling above his head. As the weapon swung toward him the young guardsman deftly ducked under it and moved swiftly to the side, bringing his sword up to counter-strike. Prich dodged and turned his wrists to swipe at the rookies’ legs. Jacks, fully prepared for the attack, jumped over the blade and in mid-air swung his sword toward his foes’ neck.
Prichs’ head messily parted from his body.
Alderson sat aghast at the young mans fighting talent. Jacks, breathing heavily, looked over at the veteran, and seemed to understand. ‘Well, sir, I am in your unit for a reason.’
Alderson laughed. It was the only thing he could do.
*
With the death of Prich and the disappearance of the daemon, the red light diminished. Jacks soon found a couple of working lamp-packs from the many las-weapons and packs that lay strewn everywhere – it seemed that many people had lost their lives and souls here.
Alderson picked himself up in the dim light and limped over to the woman. She had barely moved since Prich had died and looked half-dead as well as exhausted.
‘And who might you be?’ asked Alderson.
She stared at him for a moment, then said: ‘Private Yelan, Houson 128ths.’
‘Okay,’ he responded. ‘I guess that’ll have to do for now. Jacks help her.’ The young guardsman moved to help Yelan, as Alderson knelt next to the mangled body of the Inquisitor. He rummaged through the dead man’s armour and clothes, and soon grunted in triumph.
‘What is it sir?’ said Jacks.
Alderson stood and moved in to the guardsmans’ light. In his hand he held the Inquisitors rosette. ‘I think I have a new idea about retirement, son.’
‘Sir?’
‘I’ll explain on the climb out. Let’s just say I feel like a promotion and we have a daemon to hunt, and new ways to find it.’
With that, the bedraggled threesome began their climb upwards.