Sure enough, they were close to the great crushing machine that ground up the dead Chaos Space Marines and transformed them into genetic matter for the daemonculaba to feast upon.
But as before, his gaze was drawn upwards to the centre of the chamber, to the massive form of the Heart of Blood, the daemonic creature that hung suspended above the lake of blood on a trio of great chains.
He tore his eyes from the imprisoned daemon and saw that they were part of a great, curving procession of red bulldozers parked next to the iron ramp that led up to the gantry of the great, daemonic wombs. Their hellish conveyance was but one of perhaps a dozen or more of the bulldozers, lurching in fits and starts towards the blood-smeared conveyor that led to the sticky crushers and rollers. A pulsing forest of pipes pumped a pinkish, gristly matter from the machine to the cages of the daemonculaba and Uriel felt his gorge rise at such a blasphemy against what had once been the sacred flesh of the Emperor’s body.
Vacuum-suited servitor mutants on a raised platform stabbed wide hooks attached to lengths of chain into the dead flesh in the tenders then wound the chains through heavy pulley mechanisms. They worked quickly and efficiently, loading the corpses onto the conveyor in a manner that spoke of many years of repetition.
Beside the conveyor, Uriel saw a cruciform frame holding what looked like a rack of meat, positioned close enough to be spattered by blood spraying from the grinding rollers. Uriel paid it no mind as he searched for any of the dark-robed monsters that were macabre lords of this place.
Seeing none, he eased his body up and over the edge of the tender, dropping lightly to the wet, churned ground.
He tapped the tender and said, ‘Come on.’
Pasanius clambered to join him, cleaning blood from the action of his weapon and wedging the bolter between his knees to rack the slide. Leonid followed suit, wiping blood from his eyes and scouring the vent-breech of his lasgun.
The three warriors crouched in the shadow of the tender, breathing heavily and clearing their bodies of as much coagulated blood as they could.
‘Well, we’re in,’ said Leonid. ‘Now what?’
Uriel glanced around the edge of the tender. ‘First we destroy that machine. If the Iron Warriors cannot feed the daemonculaba genetic material…’
‘Honsou will not be able to create more Iron Warriors!’ finished Leonid.
‘And there will be no more of the Unfleshed,’ added Pasanius.
Uriel nodded. ‘And after that, well, we make for the ramp behind us and slay as many of the daemonculaba as we can before the Savage Morticians kill us.’
His companions were silent until eventually Leonid said, ‘Good plan.’
Uriel grinned and said, ‘Glad you approve.’
Pasanius put down his bolter and offered his left hand to Uriel, saying, ‘No matter what happens, I regret nothing that has led us here, captain.’
Uriel took his friend’s hand and shook it, touched by the simple affection of the sentiment, and said, ‘Nor I, my friend. No matter what, we will have done some good here.’
‘For what it’s worth,’ said Leonid. ‘I wish I’d never even heard of this damn place, let alone been dragged here. But I am here, and that’s the end of it, so what are we waiting for? Let’s do this.’
Uriel racked the slide on his own bolter and nodded.
But before he could do anything more, he heard a great, bestial howl that was answered by a demented chorus of roars and bellows that echoed from the chamber’s ceiling.
He rushed to the edge of the tender in time to see the Lord of the Unfleshed rear from hiding in a fountain of blood and limbs, and tear one of the mutant butchers in two with his bare hands.
THE UNFLESHED ERUPTED from the blood-filled tenders in a thrashing mass of knotted, deformed limbs, ripping into the mutants feeding the crushing machine with the frenzy of predators who had held their anger and hunger in check for far too long.
Uriel watched as the Lord of the Unfleshed’s massive jaws snapped shut on a screaming mutant, biting him in two at the waist and silencing his screams forever.
The beast Uriel had fought at the outflow pulled the arms from another foe before hurling its victim into the crushers of the grinding machine. The Unfleshed slaughtered a score of the servants of the Savage Morticians in the blink of an eye, and Uriel was horrified and grateful at the same time for their savagery.
‘Damn it,’ cursed Uriel. ‘There goes the element of surprise!’
‘Now what?’ asked Pasanius.
‘It will only be a matter of time until the Savage Morticians come to investigate, so come on. We don’t have long.’
Uriel and the others broke from cover, running over to the roaring machine that had a potent aura of malice and hunger to it, its dark purpose imbuing it with a loathsome evil. The sooner it was destroyed the better, knew Uriel, as he drew near and a clawing sickness built in his gut.
Leonid staggered as he approached and coughed a flood of gristly vomit, the daemon machine’s vile presence too much for his cancer-ridden body to bear.
‘Uriel!’ he shouted, holding out the bandolier of grenades he had taken from the rain of Berossus’s army on the mountainside.
Uriel snatched the grenades and ran towards the machine, passing the cruciform frame that held the dripping rack of meat, sparing it but a glance as he did so.
He pulled up short and turned to face it as he realised that it was hot a rack of meat at all.
It was Obax Zakayo.
URIEL FELT NOTHING but revulsion at the sight of Obax Zakayo’s ruined, mutilated body, but part of him wondered at the cruelty of creatures that could do this to another living soul. The Iron Warrior – or what was left of him – was pinned to the frame and drooled thick ropes of saliva from the corner of his twisted lips. Trailing clear tubes pumped life-sustaining chemicals into his ravaged frame.
‘Guilliman’s oath,’ whispered Uriel as the Iron Warrior raised his beaten and bruised face towards him.
‘Ventris…’ he gasped, sudden hope filling his watering eyes. ‘Kill me, I beg of you.’
Uriel ignored Obax Zakayo as Pasanius attempted to form the Unfleshed into some kind of defensive perimeter, and snapped grenade after grenade from the bandolier. The machine roared as he approached, filthy blue oilsmoke venting from corroded grilles and an angry bellow growling from its depths.
The gnawing sensation in his gut increased, but Uriel suppressed it and began attaching the grenades to the machine at power couplings, axle joints and even climbing on top of the machine to place one at the base of the forest of gurgling feed tubes. He worked swiftly, but methodically, ensuring that the machine would be comprehensively wrecked upon the grenades’ detonation.
Uriel climbed down from the machine in time to see Leonid standing before Obax Zakayo, his lasgun shouldered and aimed squarely between the Iron Warrior’s eyes.
‘Do it!’ wept the broken Obax Zakayo. ‘Do it! Please! They feed me piece by piece to the machine and make me watch…’
Leonid’s finger tightened on the trigger, but he released a shuddering breath and lowered the weapon.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should you get off easy after you tortured so many of my soldiers to death? I think I like the idea of you suffering like this!’
‘Please,’ begged Obax Zakayo. ‘I… I can help you defeat the half-breed!’
‘The half-breed?’ said Uriel.
‘Honsou, I mean Honsou,’ wheezed Obax Zakayo. ‘I can tell you how you can see him dead.’
‘How?’ asked Leonid, stepping in and slamming the butt of his lasgun against the Iron Warrior’s chin. ‘Tell us!’
‘Only if you promise that you will kill me,’ leered Obax Zakayo, spitting teeth.
‘Uriel!’ shouted Pasanius from the barricades of the tenders. ‘I think they’re coming!’
‘We don’t have time for this, traitor,’ snapped Uriel. ‘Tell us what you know!’
‘Swear, Ultramarine. Give me your oath.’
?
??Very well,’ nodded Uriel. ‘I swear I will see you dead, now speak!’
‘The Heart of Blood,’ began Obax Zakayo. ‘It is a daemon of the Lord of Skulls and the half-breed’s former master imprisoned it beneath Khalan-Ghol and fattened its essence with the blood of sorcerers.’
‘What has this to do with Honsou?’ demanded Uriel.
‘Know you nothing of your enemies?’ mocked Obax Zakayo. ‘The Lord of Skulls is the bane of psykers and the Heart of Blood was driven mad by such polluted blood. The warsmith’s sorcerers channelled their most potent null-magicks through the imprisoned creature, using its immaterial energies to cast a great psychic barrier around the fortress that no sorcerer has been able to breach in nearly ten thousand years!’
Obax Zakayo coughed and said, ‘I have your oath that you will end my suffering?’
‘Yes,’ said Uriel. ‘Keep talking.’
The Iron Warrior nodded and said, ‘Lord Toramino has some of the most powerful sorcerers in the Eye of Terror to command and, though they have great power, they cannot breach the ancient barrier of the Heart of Blood. Destroy it and they will raze this place to the ground!’
Uriel looked into Obax Zakayo’s eyes for any sign of a lie, but the Iron Warrior was beyond such deception, too immersed in his own misery and need for death. He felt the guiding hand of providence in the traitor’s presence now, for here was a chance to fulfil his death oath and deny the Omphalos Daemonium its prize.
‘Very well,’ pressed Uriel. ‘How do we destroy it?’
‘The awls,’ said Obax Zakayo. The silver awls that pierce its daemonic flesh and hold it fast above the lake of blood…’
‘What of them?’
‘They are hateful artefacts, stolen from your most sacred reclusiam or taken from those whose inquisitions delved too deep into the mysteries of Chaos. They are more than just physical anchors: they bind it to this place. Remove or destroy them and its dissolution will be complete.’
Uriel took a step back from Obax Zakayo and looked up into the darkness of the chamber above the hissing lake of blood where the huge daemon hung suspended in its writhing madness. He saw three gleaming silver pinpricks of light impaled through its scaled flesh, each attached to a chain that was anchored in the bedrock of the chamber’s walls.
His eyes followed the line of the chains from the daemon and squinted as he sought where the nearest was embedded. Uriel turned back to Obax Zakayo and raised his bolter, saying, ‘I will kill you now.’
‘No!’ said Leonid grimly. ‘Let me do it. I owe this bastard a death.’
Uriel saw the thirst for vengeance in Leonid’s eyes and nodded. ‘So be it. Once he is dead, set the timers on the grenades and get clear. The Savage Morticians are coming, so stay close to the Unfleshed. They will try to protect you if you are near them, but you have to hold the enemy at bay for as long as you can.’
‘I understand,’ said Leonid. ‘Now go.’
Uriel nodded and ran towards Pasanius.
Leonid watched as Uriel hurriedly outlined his plan to Pasanius and the two Ultramarines set off up the iron ramps that led towards the daemonculaba.
‘Now, slave,’ hissed Obax Zakayo. ‘Ventris told you to kill me.’
Leonid raised his lasgun and shot Obax Zakayo in the gut. He smelled burned flesh and nodded to himself, satisfied that the Iron Warrior was in pain, but still alive.
Obax Zakayo raised his head and roared, ‘Shoot me again, I’m not dead yet!’
Leonid stepped close and spat into Obax Zakayo’s face.
‘No,’ he said calmly.
‘An oath was given!’ screamed the Iron Warrior. ‘Ventris swore he would see me dead!’
‘Uriel gave his word, but I didn’t,’ snarled Leonid. ‘I want you to live in agony then die in pain when this place is brought down!’
Obax Zakayo wept and cursed him, but Leonid ignored his pleadings as he removed the grenade attached to the crushing machine that was nearest the Iron Warrior and slipped it into his uniform jacket’s breast pocket.
‘Don’t want you dying by accident, now do we?’ he said.
Without another word, Leonid turned and walked away.
URIEL POUNDED UP the ramp and ran past the heaving bodies of the daemonculaba, wishing he could stop to end each one’s suffering. He knew that they had a better chance to end their torment if they could enable Honsou’s enemies to do the job for them. He and Pasanius ran around the circumference of the chamber to reach one of the three awl-chains that pierced the Heart of Blood’s body and kept it bound to Khalan-Ghol.
If they could pull even one of the awls from the terrible daemon, then it would be something…
‘Great Emperor of Mankind, grant me the strength of your will to do this for you,’ he prayed as he ran, his eyes tracing the line of the chain that ran from the daemon’s body.
He saw it was higher than this level of daemonic womb-creatures, and as they reached the point on the gantry directly below the chain, he heard the explosive destruction of the crushing machine and the bestial roars of the Unfleshed echoing through the chamber. This was quickly followed by the bark of lasfire and the screech of the Savage Morticians.
‘We’ll need to climb,’ said Pasanius.
Uriel nodded and turned to watch the battle below, seeing bodies flying through the air and leaping arcs of blue lightning as the denizens of this awful place fought against the Unfleshed.
‘Emperor watch over you,’ whispered Uriel as he gripped the iron bars of one of the daemonculaba cages and began to climb. The thick chain was some ten metres above them, and even in the dim light he could see it was firmly embedded in the chamber’s wall with a rockcrete plug.
‘I’ll need a hand,’ said Pasanius as Uriel reached the top of the cage, sounding thoroughly ashamed to be asking for help.
Uriel turned back, mortified that it hadn’t occurred to him that Pasanius might have difficulty in reaching the chain with only one arm until this moment. He reached down and helped his sergeant climb to join him.
Rusted struts and long-abandoned scaffolding pierced the rock below the plug, presumably left behind by those who had put it there in the first place.
He heard a piteous, mewling cry of anguish from below him and looked down through the mesh of the cage roof into the weeping face of the daemonculaba.
Uriel knelt as close as he could to the tormented creature. ‘I will see your suffering ended,’ he promised. Her eyes closed slowly and Uriel thought he detected an almost imperceptible nod of her bloated head.
‘There is not enough suffering in the galaxy to make the Iron Warriors pay for what they have done here,’ said Pasanius, his voice choked with emotion.
‘No,’ agreed Uriel, ‘there is not, but we will make them suffer anyway.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Pasanius as they climbed onto the roof of the cage and made their way further up the sides of the shadowed chamber, their goal nearing with every heave upwards.
The sounds of battle continued to rage from below as they clambered over the protruding scaffolding spars wedged into cracks in the rock and pulled themselves level with the chain.
As thick as Pasanius’s forearm, it stretched off towards the centre of the chamber and the Heart of Blood.
‘Ready?’ asked Uriel.
‘Ready,’ nodded Pasanius, spitting on his palm.
Taking a firm grip on the flaking, rusted chain, the two Space Marines pulled with all their strength to wrench the awl-chain from the Heart of Blood’s body.
LEONID SPRAYED A burst of full auto lasfire towards the skulking, vacuum-suited mutants taking cover behind a row of blood-filled barrels. His bolts punctured the containers, spilling crimson arcs from their sides. He knew he hadn’t killed any of them, but it kept their heads down. He’d seen the mutant creature, Sabatier with the armed slaves of the Savage Morticians and dearly desired to put a bolt through that monster’s head.
Damn, but it felt good to fire a weapon in anger again! The chaos of the
bloody struggle swirled and raged around him, the Unfleshed battling with a primal ferocity against their creators and their slaves to give the Ultramarines more time to bring down the Heart of Blood.
The Lord of the Unfleshed bellowed as he slew, his powerful fists bringing death to his enemies with every blow. A black-robed monster reared up on great pneumatic legs equipped with shrieking blades, but another of the Unfleshed, a gibbering horror of limbs and mouths, landed upon it and tore its legs off with savage jerks.
Leonid rolled into the cover of the smoking remains of the crushing machine to reload as the Savage Mortician collapsed and its killer leapt for another victim. The limbless form of Obax Zakayo screamed, ‘Kill me!’ from his cruciform rack, but Leonid ignored him, too intent on the battle around him.
As ferocious as the Unfleshed were, the Savage Morticians had been practitioners of the art of death for uncounted millennia, and if there was one thing they knew, it was the weaknesses of flesh. Even when it was as resilient as that of the Unfleshed.
Flying razor discs lopped off thick limbs and heavy darts coated with poisons that could only exist in the Eye of Terror stabbed into pounding veins to slay their victims before they were even aware they were hit.
Creatures were dying and even the relentless fire of the Savage Morticians’ servants was taking its toll, volley after volley cutting down the Unfleshed where they fought.
Leonid rose from cover and saw a Savage Mortician with massive chainblades for fists scuttle behind the Lord of the Unfleshed as he tore the torso from the mechanised track-unit of yet another foe. Leonid swung the barrel around and squeezed off a burst of bright lasbolts.
His aim was true and the Savage Mortician’s head exploded, its twitching form slumping to the ground behind the Lord of the Unfleshed. The massive creature spun as he heard it fall, his confusion at its death turning to savage joy as he saw who had saved him. He beat his fists on his chest and roared, ‘Now you Tribe!’
Even as Leonid ducked back into cover, he heard the thump of booted feet behind him. He spun, bringing the barrel of his lasgun up, seeing half a dozen mutant slave warriors armed with cudgels and billhooks bearing down upon him. An iron-tipped club slashed for his head and he hurled himself backwards, too slow, the tip of the weapon thudding against his temple.