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Sturmhex – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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STURMHEX

E J Davies

‘Board the Stormravens!’ Brother-Captain Pelenas’ order was still fresh in his mind as Aegir pitched Kodachi down on his approach vector. The rapid deployment of a handful of squads behind enemy lines was an accepted stratagem. Airlifting the entire First Brotherhood on gunships was unprecedented.

Aegir took a lingering look at the blue dwarf star slowly collapsing under its own gravity. Its corona bled away to the void. Nucleons, ions and atoms of short-lived isotopes were spirited away on stellar currents, fouling the scrying arrays and teleportaria of the argent Castigator as it orbited Sturmhex Prime. Without scanning capabilities, long-range bombardment was impossible. Aegir winged the gunship into a tight turn, his brothers following suit, as the planet filled his viewport.

+It’s an ugly thing,+ Iocaste pulsed. Aegir smirked slightly beneath his helm before responding.

+We were ordered to undertake a silent incursion,+ he sent.

Iocaste was not wrong. Sturmhex Prime was an ugly rock. Dead, cold and grey. Its pockmarked surface was the legacy of collisions with meteors and asteroids. Stellar winds whipped dust across the planet’s surface. Aegir looked out towards the outer planets, no longer warmed by the system’s feeble sun, rendering them uninhabitable, while the penal colonies of the second and third planets mined ore beneath its dwindling light and the harsh atmospherics of retasked terraformers.

Aegir pulled his gunship into a tight loop, following his vector to the ingress point – a vast opening dug by some long-extinct species of gigantic insect. With one last look out at the blue Sturmhex star, he dived.

Kodachi’s assault cannon whined as it blasted rounds into the blight drone. The Bilecyst exploded in a mist of green-grey fire. It was snuffed instantly by the lack of oxygen, its existence ended. This was the eighteenth such drone to be ended in the tunnels that burrowed beneath Sturmhex Prime’s surface.

A warm sensation washed over Aegir from the First Brotherhood who were assembled on a wing of Stormravens. Exposure to the combined psychic might of Grand Master Vardan Kai’s Grey Knights was like being bathed in the glow of Sol’s radiance – warm and peaceful, and roiling with restrained power. Despite this, the Techmarine could not lose the leaden weight in his occipital lobe.

+On your guard.+ Thebe’s warning was a pinprick of ice in the back of Aegir’s skull. An image lanced into his consciousness – another drone, to the left and slightly below. Like the first, it was as large as a Dreadnought – a huge rust-mottled insectoid carapace attached to two corroded iron rotors. Aegir tasked the servitor. Turning the dorsal weapons array, he loosed a tight burst from the assault cannons. Bullets ripped through the drone’s armour, destroying it in a cloud of baleful fire. Its biomechanical corpse tumbled to the tunnel floor.

+This is an Emperor-forsaken place,+ Iocaste pulsed, his thoughts mirroring those of his brothers.

+The planet is too close to its star, Iocaste,+ Aegir replied.

+And so, like everything, it dies,+ Metis added.

Aegir allowed himself a half-smile beneath his crusader helm. He felt proud of the squadron he now commanded. They functioned well together, even when separated by miles of rock. He could feel each of them communing with their Stormraven’s machine-spirits, relaying binharic commands to the lone gunnery servitors.

+They are becoming more abundant.+

+Then perhaps, Iocaste, we might get a rest from your rambling.+

A psychic presence imposed itself on the collective. It felt like a lodestone: hard and magnetic, pulling the brotherhood to it with its very existence. And then, it was gone, and with it went the Grand Master.

For a fraction of a second, Aegir felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The rapid appearance and disappearance of such a magnificent psyche disorientated him. He breathed, long and slow, reciting his catechisms and returning balance to his talon. He could feel each of them return: Iocaste’s childlike inquisitiveness, Thebe’s stoicism, Metis’ cold rationality, and Kalyke’s zeal. Through him, they focused their talents, and through them, he was a more potent weapon against the daemon.

+Company,+ Kalyke interrupted.

Aegir skimmed the surface of his ceramite-like mind, gleaning the information. Seven squads of Raptors lit their ancient jump packs, and streaked straight for the Stormraven.

+On your guard,+ he communed. +Renegade contact made. Engaging now.+

By the Raptors’ movements it was evident the planet still retained its gravity. They leapt from outcrop to outcrop, scurrying like flies over a carcass, searching for sustenance. Aegir could feel the hatred rising in him; his breath was hot, and his hearts beat faster.

Aegir recited litanies of warding as he pitched Kodachi downwards. Thumbing the activation stud on his control column, he sprayed the incoming renegades with rounds from the nose-mounted heavy bolters. He could feel the passengers below, and their hate magnifying with each second of inaction.

The Raptors spun, swooping to avoid the oncoming wave of mass-reactive shells. One shell exploded inside a Raptor’s torso, spattering his comrades with black-brown ichor and bone shards. Another Raptor erupted in mid-air as a shell punctured his back-mounted reactor, taking out two of his comrades in a miniature nucleonic mushroom cloud.

The rest of the Raptors threw their heads back and keened at the loss of their brothers. Screeching howls filled the air, and the sound waves fed on each other, building to a fevered scream in the honeycombed tunnels of Sturmhex Prime. The Raptors scattered, presenting too many targets for the gunship’s weapons. Aegir fired into the greatest cluster of them, taking down five more with the assault cannons.

+We need more guns,+ he pulsed.

+We have more guns.+ Brother-Captain Pelenas’ voice was low and deep, even in Aegir’s mind. +Open the door.+

Warning klaxons echoed through the cargo space. A red lumen globe flashed its warning as the front access door lowered. Aegir’s litanies changed as he tried to placate the belligerent machine-spirit, which baulked at this improper use of its body.

Aegir could feel his brothers communicating, selecting targets and shooting solutions through the void to maximise casualties. Utilising the egregore was among the very first talents the Grey Knights were ever taught.

+Fire,+ came Pelenas’ silver-edged command. Storm bolters chattered along with the Stormraven’s assault cannons, picking off Raptors as they weaved between the bolt shells, trying desperately to survive. In the close confines of the tunnel, they were no match for the Grey Knights’ guns. The Raptors were annihilated within seconds of sustained fire. The few survivors fled down the tunnels. Aegir felt the speed of the Stormraven pick up, the machine-spirit eager to press the advantage.

+Easy,+ Aegir soothed. +We will find them soon enough.+

Roga watched as seven figures in tattered robes knelt in a circle. Each chanted words long forgotten to the tongues of humans, and long forbidden in the halls of the eldar. For seven days, they had neither eaten nor rested, instead dedicating themselves to the completion of the summoning. Weeping sores covered their skin in triads – the sacred mark of the Grandfather, the blessing of the Great Master of rebirth, the bringer of despair. Words tumbled from bleeding gums that bared teeth the colour of tallow.

As the ritual finally came to its close, a wind rose in the cavern. Dust from the floor drifted, coalescing into clumps in the middle of the circle. The gusts grew stronger and the matter was drawn into a tight spiral, spinning ever faster with the hastening currents. A vortex formed, its column reaching high to the ceiling. The gale whipped at the figures’ robes, flapping them like battle standards.

The sorcerers’ voices swelled until they were screaming their incantations over the sounds of the vortex: a discordant howl, a mix of hatred and joy, a baleful melody to those who listened too closely.

Together, they threw back their heads. Sickly green light poured from their eyes and mouths, only to be pulled into the cyclone. Lightning crackled in the dust. Only now, it wasn’t dust. It was a swarm of fat-bellied flies. The sorcerers spasmed, their bodies jerking and twisting as if they were electrified. The tempest dropped, but the buzzing of a billion bloated, swirling insects remained.

An immense fork of lightning struck in the centre of the column of flies. The maelstrom of insects ceased its spinning. The carrion feeders scattered, landing on the spent sorcerers and consuming their rotten flesh, before disappearing into the porous rocks.

The herald emerged. It was as large as a Space Marine but had the body of a grotesque slug, glistening with moisture and maggots that rippled like a river of undulating flesh. Its head was the only part of its anatomy that was covered. A single horn protruded from beneath the cowl, and an ancient mechanical arm, ending in a simple grab-claw, had been grafted to its shoulder. Blood and pus oozed from the graft site. Skittering beetles played in its skin’s folds, while larvae emerged from the numerous triad pores.

Roga inclined his head towards the figure, his decaying armour protesting at such a movement. Flakes of white lacquer shed from the corroding ceramite. The ache in his temple magnified, though it had improved since he removed the helm. A trio of sores at the corner of his mouth constantly wept. He licked at them, drawing the corruption into his mouth, and delighting in the taste of so many virulent diseases percolating in his body.

‘Captain Roga?’ The herald’s voice was like a breeze through a valley of dead trees. ‘First Captain of the Lords of Decay, and honoured sire of the Great Plaguebearer?’

‘Yes, herald.’

‘His most Imperious Majesty, and chosen of the Grandfather, Anahk’hir.’ The herald swept his mechanical arm wide and shuffled to one side.

Captain Roga’s eyes widened. Despite his corroded armour, he dropped to one knee. The Space Marines and thralls behind him did the same.

‘My lord,’ he said. ‘My followers are yours to command.’

Anahk’hir bid the captain to stand. The daemon prince grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, a swollen tongue and a mouth full of larvae.

‘Then we should begin.’

Two things happened within a heartbeat: Grand Master Vardan Kai’s presence returned to the egregore, and the stench of death sprang forth in Aegir’s senses, then vanished just as fast.

+Brothers,+ Captain Pelenas interrupted, summoning those of Aegir’s level and above. +Tactical communion.+

Aegir closed off the part of his psyche open to the squad. In his imagination, the tactical communion took place around a large, circular wooden table aboard the Castigator – though no such table existed in reality. His mind’s eye painted the picture into which he projected his consciousness. As the others appeared in the shared psychic space, they took their seats at the table, devoid of armour and rank.

Brother-Captain Pelenas joined them, his presence larger than the others, manifesting as a broadening of the shoulders, and standing taller than the rest. Outside of the communion, Aegir had never seen the brother-captain without his armour, so could not gauge the projection’s accuracy. Grand Master Kai then entered, standing a clear head taller than even Pelenas, radiating with a faint golden light.

+Brothers,+ the Grand Master began, his voice reverberating around the communion chamber like thunder through Titan’s great valleys. +Sturmhex is dying. With that death comes a weakening in the barrier between reality and the warp. This is just the opportunity the Despoiler needed to launch a crusade against the Imperium. The Prognosticars have foreseen a great awakening that bathes this system in corruption.+

Aegir could feel the lodestone pulling at the edge of his consciousness. Something was there that he couldn’t quite identify.

+The Lords of Decay, brothers, occupy Sturmhex Prime. Where the renegades amass in number, surely the daemon is to follow.+

Aegir looked around the circle. It did not take a latent psychic talent to see the word ‘renegade’ ignite anger in a Grey Knight. He felt his own hands ball into fists and his jaw tighten.

+The Holy Inquisition has tasked us with destroying our enemy, and whatever Neverborn abominations they have allied themselves with. Agreed?+

+Agreed,+ the communion chimed as one.

+Land the brotherhood. Annihilate the enemy. Extract to the Castigator. You have your orders. Brother-Captain Pelenas, they are yours.+

+Thank you, Grand Master.+

Pelenas was the first to disappear from the circle, followed by the Justicars. Aegir was about to leave when he thought he saw a ripple of anger cross the Grand Master’s face. There was a slight pull at the edge of the image, a slight elongation of the table. Grand Master Kai disappeared, leaving Aegir alone. The mental turbulence of the last few moments left him with a slight sick feeling in his stomach, and a throbbing pain behind his left eye. He dismissed the communion, opening up his psyche to relay the intelligence to his squadron.

+Is everything in order?+ Metis asked, careful to shroud his words from the others. +I can feel something is unsettled.+

+It is nothing, Metis,+ Aegir replied, cursing himself for not closing off that part of his mind to the clairvoyant. +A slight headache that manifested when we translated in system.+ The throb remained, and the sound of buzzing crept in at the edge of his hearing.

+Dying stars will do that to some,+ came the reply.

Aegir angled Kodachi through increasingly tight turns. The tunnel opened out into an enormous domed cavern, the size of Deimos, with a thin, noxious haze hanging in the air. The rest of the squadron emerged from similar tunnels that perforated the cavern walls. Land Raider-sized flesh sacs the colour of flensed bone lay strewn across the ground. Tactical data scrawled across the weapon’s augur. It identified thousands of targets – Traitor Space Marines, thralls, acolytes and edifices in numbers to rival most fortress-monasteries of the Adeptus Astartes.

+By the Emperor,+ Aegir pulsed. +This is not just a simple warband. This is almost two Chapters’ worth of souls! Regroup. Now.+

The wing emerged from the tunnels into the hollow cavern of the planet’s core, and opened fire.

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published in On Wings of Blood in Great Britain in 2019.
This eBook edition published in 2020 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Nuala Kinrade.

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ISBN: 978-1-80026-408-3

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