Armageddon Saint - Gav Thorpe Read online

  ‘We need to pick a way out of here and get moving,’ says the Colonel. He’s already spread his men and women away from the group, like pickets. ‘I suggest we follow the track lines.’

  I hear Grot squeaking and Nazrek looks back towards me, grunting something to the smaller xenos.

  ‘We don’t know which way is out-hive,’ I reply, trying to push the ork’s glare from my thoughts. I can feel its eyes on me, not sure what’s caught its attention so much. ‘If we go the wrong way, we’ll be heading back into those… things.’

  The Colonel grits his teeth at the thought, fingers tightening on the grip of his lasgun.

  ‘There could be more of them ahead of us,’ he says. ‘Send out scouting parties to find the best way to the surface. We can link up with Imperial forces as soon as possible after that.’

  I hear a grunt from Nazrek and feel it stepping closer, a fungal exhal­ation washing over me. Out of the corner of my eye I see the ork’s gaze moving between me and the Colonel. Nazrek is hunching, muscles bunched tight.

  I remember the last time I saw it like that was just after I killed its boss, the ork warlord called Ironfang.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ I say to the Colonel, motioning with my head that we should step away from the ork. He looks as though he’s going to argue and I harden my stare. ‘Now.’

  I don’t wait for the reply but pace away, turning my back to Nazrek. It’s a dominance move, showing that I don’t rate any threat from it.

  ‘What is it, Kage? We do not have time for debate.’

  ‘You’re undermining my leadership.’

  The Colonel looks dubious and folds his arms.

  ‘Your leadership?’

  ‘Don’t stand like that, it looks like you’re ignoring me.’

  ‘I am still your commander,’ says Schaeffer. ‘Unless you really are a deserter?’

  It’s a good point but we don’t have time to debate the subtleties. I can hear Nazrek breathing heavily, getting closer again. I don’t think it even has a choice. It’s an instinct, like breeding rights in lesser animals.

  ‘Orks don’t follow orders, they follow leaders,’ I say. ‘The moment that big green bastard over my shoulder thinks I’m not in charge, it’s going to challenge me, and once it’s in charge it’ll go full ork again and give us to its friends over there.’

  ‘You have already won its subservience,’ says Schaeffer.

  ‘I blew up its boss with a grenade. I don’t have any grenades on me. And it’ll probably tear you apart too if you look like a threat.’

  ‘I do not think it is threatening. It is yawning.’

  ‘Showing off its fangs. I need to establish my position immediately and decisively.’

  ‘How do you plan–’

  My fist smashes into the Colonel’s chin, as hard as I can swing. It’s an awful sucker punch, one I’ve dreamed of delivering for years now. Even in the fraught circumstances a thrill of satisfaction jolts through me as I watch the Colonel reel back, legs buckling but not quite failing.

  I kick at his knee, helping him complete the journey to the hard floor. Balling my fists, I step closer, eyes fixed on his as they regain focus.

  ‘Stay down,’ I tell him, hoping I haven’t knocked the sense to listen out of him. I see his eyes flicker to the panting ork who comes up beside me. ‘Stay down.’

  I don’t know how good Nazrek has got at reading human features – ork expressions are very different and more obvious, and maybe just a hint of defiance could end it all.

  ‘Kill him?’ suggests Nazrek.

  I turn away from the Colonel, as I did the ork, ignoring them both. I’m in charge, I tell myself. Talk the talk, walk the walk.

  ‘You four.’ I jab a finger at some of the Colonel’s troopers. ‘Scouting party, two hundred metres ahead, see if you can find a way that leads up. We’re about half a kilometre below surface here. If we don’t go up we could keep going and going out under the ash wastes.’

  They hesitate but I don’t allow it to last more than a breath.

  ‘Now! Or do you want to sit here and wait for the abyss to come and swallow us all?’

  That reminder sends them on their way, and I turn back to Nazrek. I point at the other orks, who are watching us carefully.

  ‘If we fight with each other, those warp-things are going to come here and kill us all. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yeah. Bloodboys bad news.’

  ‘Can you tell those other orks that? Will they attack us?’

  ‘Don’t know, boss. Big green quiet. Maybe not think so good.’

  An alliance seems likely to break down at any time, and I really can’t be looking over both shoulders right now.

  ‘Okay, this is the plan. We’ll go this way, the orks can go that way. No bother, no fighting.’

  ‘I tell them.’

  Nazrek barks at Grot, who chases after the ork as it strides across the platform towards the other orks.

  ‘There is still some business to attend to.’ The Colonel is just behind me and I turn, finding him with Oahebs at his side. Schaeffer called him a ‘null’ before. Something to do with suppressing the warp and psykers. Just being a few metres from him makes my skin crawl and I know I’m not alone in that feeling.

  ‘What are we supposed to do? Cuddle?’ I growl.

  Oahebs steps closer and I back away without thinking, disgusted by his presence. Schaeffer adjusts his stance just a little, shifting his lasgun, ready to bring it up and fire in a heartbeat.

  ‘Kage…’

  I clench my jaw and fight through the physical repulsion I feel. I know I’m clean. The Emperor drove that abyssal spirit out of my soul and cleansed me with fire. I know myself. I am not the thing that killed and hurt those people uphive. That wasn’t me.

  Forcing myself forward, I lock eyes with Schaeffer, letting him see that it’s me. One step. Another step.

  I’m about two paces from Oahebs and I don’t feel any different. In fact, if anything, I feel a bit better. The pressure in my head – the blood-pound that must be connected to the abyssal incursion in some way – becomes just a faint tremor. I turn my gaze on Oahebs and smile.

  ‘I’m me. Kage. Lieutenant. 13th Penal Legion.’

  Five

  LEAVING ACHERON

  The increasing volume from the orks is starting to worry me. The only thing that gives me any comfort is that Nazrek seems to be bigger than any of the others. There’s still a lot of pointing towards us, but more back the way we came. Several times I see Nazrek square off against some greenskin, baring its fangs to discourage argument. It’s been at least five minutes. I don’t know if it’s good or bad that they’ve been going at it this long. Maybe they’re stubborn and Nazrek can’t convince them, or maybe they’re just too stupid to understand the idea of a truce.

  The stalemate appears to be broken, with some excited bouncing up and down from Grot. Nazrek glowers at the other orks and then crosses back to us. I guess that if it was going to go badly, the other orks would just attack. I’m not sure what the pre-battle pleasantries are with orks.

  ‘They want go that way,’ says Nazrek, pointing in the direction I was planning on going. ‘Tell them that lots of Emperor’s boys that way but they more scared of bloodboys.’

  I weigh up the benefits. We can just let them go and at least we can get moving. On the other hand, my sense is telling me that going along that rail tunnel is the quickest way to the outside. The longer we stay in Acheron the more chance of the abyssal incursion catching up with us.

  I’m about to give my answer when the hairs on my neck prickle. A couple of seconds later, Oahebs comes over, making my skin crawl even more.

  ‘What?’ I growl at him.

  ‘They’re coming,’ he says quietly, a haunted look in his eyes.

  I don’t need to ask who.<
br />
  ‘How long?’

  He shrugs, which isn’t very useful.

  ‘When they came before. Think,’ I tell him. ‘How long between feeling like this and their arrival?’

  ‘Couple of minutes, no more,’ he says. ‘We need to go now.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say, turning back to Nazrek. ‘We’ll go the other way.’

  ‘You backing down?’ it says, frowning at the thought. ‘Them not got much dakka. We break them good.’

  ‘Bloodboys coming,’ I say, speaking as clearly as I can but keeping my voice down. How good is an ork’s hearing? ‘We go the other way but we leave first.’

  It’s a gamble. I don’t know if it will understand, or if it’s against some kind of ork honour code or whatever. From what I’ve seen they’re not big on guile, but that’s just because they think too straightforward to be really sneaky. It takes a few slow seconds for the notion to permeate Nazrek’s brain. It nods and hollers something at the other orks. They grunt and bark back.

  ‘They laugh, but we laugh bigger, boss,’ Nazrek says with a not-very-sly wink – a mannerism it’s picked up from humans.

  ‘Time to move out,’ I shout to the others. I check my pistol’s powercell and wave for us to head off. The Colonel falls into step beside me. ‘No time for scouting any further – if you feel like praying for a bit of the Emperor’s guidance, now’s a good time.’

  We’re almost at the tunnel when the heat prickle on my skin becomes intense. At the same moment there comes a huge hooting and snorting from the orks behind us, while Nazrek stiffens, turning with a confused growl. I pick out blood on the air, I know it too well from past experience, except there’s nothing to actually smell. Like the scraping of blades and distant screams, it’s not my actual senses detecting these things, I’m feeling them inside my thoughts. And the desire to fight comes back.

  I’m not the only one that stumbles to a halt a few metres from the brick archways that swallow the old sunken track lines.

  I look back, flexing my fingers, the instinct to flee replaced with an even stronger desire to stay and fight. I want to face this enemy, to cut it down and prove myself stronger.

  The opposite of every natural feeling coursing through my nerves.

  The air at the far end of the terminal is rippling with abyssal power. The bloody warriors don’t really arrive as much as appear like ruddy shadows, gaining form and definition as they come closer. I feel hooks in my brain, taut chains of rage tugging me towards the horned, milky-eyed slayers. Bellows and war shouts, the clatter of battle gear fills the arching space, rebounded from the walls, accompanied by a hint of clanking tank treads and grumbling engines.

  The orks howl their own challenges and break into a charge, hurling themselves at the oncoming immortal warriors. Gunfire sparks and tracer bullets tear through the materialising host, cutting down a few of the marching army. Behind the juddering bodies, more and more red-skinned creatures come into being, tongues licking the air as though tasting the bestial fury of their attackers.

  Oahebs moves among us, the Colonel with him, breaking the enchantment of the Neverborn.

  ‘Run!’ I shout, uttering that single word only with the greatest of effort, fighting against every part of my body to get my legs moving, arms pumping. I plunge into the tunnel, not caring if any of the others follow, knowing the orks will only delay that terrible foe for a few minutes.

  It’s been about twenty years since I left Olympus. Twenty years as I reckon it, what with warp time dilation and the fact that a year on Olympus is about a third shorter than a standard Terran orbit. But I grew up in the underhive there and it doesn’t matter whether it’s Olympus, Armageddon, Necromunda or Stavistia: an underhive is an underhive. Sixteen years I spent growing up in the half-light, with reclaimed air, reclaimed water. I remember when we were taken to the docks to board the Astra Militarum transports, herded by Departmento Munitorum clerks and Imperial Commander Khaef’s goons. The light of Olympus’ sun, even through the toxic cloud layer, was so bright it hurt just to be outside. But the air. The sweet, sweet air was something I could never have imagined.

  So, it’s with some confidence that I announce we are almost at the surface. Armageddon’s atmosphere will slowly strip a decade off your life, breath by breath, but the faintest hint of it was a draught of the Emperor’s purest exhalation. From His immortal lungs to mine, infusing me with life and energy.

  There’s grit underfoot, a forerunner of the ash drifts that wait for us on the surface, infiltrating the underhive through environmental systems directly connected to the outside. No pure light, yet, but it can’t be long.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asks the Colonel.

  ‘He’s right, sir,’ says one of the troopers that had come with him. We still haven’t had introductions, but I recognise the badge of an Armageddon regiment on the sleeve of her stained shirt. ‘I was born in Hades, I’d know that ash-smell anywhere. Can’t be more than a kilometre or two from breaking ground level.’

  Others cluster closer, some with looks of hope, others disturbed by the news. One of this second group – a tall, wiry enforcer of mine called Harla – voices their concern.

  ‘What then?’ he says, fingers flexing on the wrench he holds in one hand, the other fiddling with the holstered laspistol at his waist. He points to the crude aquila tattoo on his cheek, the number six in a circle below it. ‘There’s mine clearance or living bomb duty waiting for me if I go back.’

  Others add their own discontent at the thought of returning to the Imperial lines. Some of them circle behind the Colonel and the knot of troopers with him, bringing up their guns.

  ‘Emperor’s soldiers shoot Nazrek,’ the ork says, accompanied by animated squealing and gesticulating from Grot.

  The ork has a good point. I can’t see the commissars and colonels of the Emperor’s finest just letting Nazrek swagger into one of their camps. I can’t promise anything, because once we’re under the guns of the Imperial Guard the Colonel is back in control, I have no doubt.

  ‘Acheron is no longer safe for you,’ the Colonel tells them, turning his head one way and then the other to look at each in turn. ‘I only came for Kage, the rest of you are free to follow whatever course you choose.’

  ‘The Burned Man is one of us,’ says Karste, pushing to the front of the crowd. She’s picked up an autogun along the way and points it at the Colonel.

  Harla backs her up with a nod.

  ‘We can’t go back to the army, Burned Man. We should turn these fraggers to grease. Hide out in the wastes, make it on our own. You done it once, you can do it again.’

  ‘Tempting offer, but I’m not sure I know the first thing about surviving in the wastes.’

  ‘The Emperor will show us the way. Show you the way, Burned Man,’ someone adds from behind me.

  ‘It’s not like the almighty Master of Terra is handing out nicely worded notes and a map,’ I snap, not wanting any of this right now.

  Wrong move. There are some grunts of discontent, a few sharp intakes of breath. I resist the urge to check on Nazrek immediately, fearing that the act itself might show weakness, but I can feel its prowling presence somewhere to my left.

  I look back the way we came, down a twilit series of chambers that look like cells or dorms, hard to know which without furniture. ‘You want to do this here? Those nightmares are coming, and you want to stand around and debate what to do?’

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ demands Harla.

  Before I can answer, the familiar flesh prickling comes over me. The others feel it, their disquiet growing. The Neverborn are getting close, like a forge heat that precedes them touching the skin.

  ‘Stop asking the wrong question,’ I growl. ‘I’m taking us out of here. That’s what we still need to focus on. One thing at a time. Get out of Acheron and then we’ll see what’s happening, right? Could be that th
e orks have broken out all over, and there’s nowhere to go. Or maybe the Guard are coming in, tanks and guns blazing, seeing the orks ripe for picking. I just know one thing. We keep going or we get caught. Do you trust me?’

  It’s not exactly Saint Sebastian’s address to the First Synod, but combined with the imminent threat of attack it seems to do the trick. My gangers back away, relenting in their threat against the Colonel and his soldiers. I take the lead with the Colonel and a mix of my people and Schaeffer’s, ten of each. We forge ahead of the main group, picking a way through the rubble of broken ferrocrete and shattered plastek. The roof beams – plasteel pitted with corrosion – sag menacingly and we call for the others to hurry after. I follow my nose, occasionally consulting with the trooper from Hades, who tells me she’s called Terrick, though I’m not sure if that’s her first name or surname.

  The blood-pounding starts again, throbbing in my chest, giving me a headache and filling my body with pressure until it feels like my arteries will burst. I dare not look back when some of the others shout a warning, but push on into the ruins ahead, desperate to find a way forward. Terrick’s keen eyes find a crawl hole through a slope of shifted material that has almost buried a maintenance duct. There’s room for only one at a time, so I send Terrick in first, and then a few others, before I go after.

  It’s hard going on hands and knees but the thought of one of those blood-things grabbing me from behind is an amazing incentive, and I swear I cover the ground as quick as if I was sprinting. I hear breathing, close and sharp through the duct, but tell myself it’s just the man behind me. No time to look, just keep moving, keep alive.

  I wonder if I should have hung back, bought time for the others, but it’s too late now.

  I can’t see much past the others in front but after crawling about forty metres I get the impression of more light. Softer, more orange than most lumens or glowstrips. I hear a rattle of something falling on the square crawl space and then a shout from ahead. A drawn-out scream behind sends me bolting forward even faster, ignoring the pain in my knees, the jab of buckled metal in my palms.