Table of Contents

Cover

Ultramarines – Extract

Legal

eBook license

‘The more I learn about these aliens, the more I come to understand what drives them, the more I hate them. I hate them for what they are and for what they may one day become. I hate them not because they hate us but because they are incapable of good, honest, human hatred.’

Inquisitor Agmar

Prologue

If ever there were an abomination given form, it was the tyranid hive ship. Cassius could see it clearly through the armoured windows above the launch bays. Less than three hundred kilometres away, the hive ship was a blot against the bright orb of Argo Secundus’s primary moon; an impossibly vast, half-coiled mass of chitin and flesh. The Chaplain could not see the damage wrought by the battle-barge’s torpedoes and cannons but knew from experience that the alien creature’s armoured form would be pocked and split from plasma blasts and shell detonations. Feeder tendrils, each dozens of kilometres long, trailed from the prow of the hive ship, and a miasma of frozen ichor surrounded the wounded craft.

Though injured, the hive ship was still a threat to the planet below. It was too close to Argo Secundus for further bombardment; if it had been further crippled the hive ship would disgorge its mycetic spores onto the world in a last, desperate detonation to despatch its cargo of bio-constructs. Long, hard experience had taught the Ultramarines this, so the commander of the battle-barge had known when to stop the attack, just short of that self-destructive orgy of seeding.

The next strike would be the riskiest. Cassius and his warriors would board the hive ship with virus charges and melta detonators, to cripple the synaptic corridors along its dorsal nerveways. With these pathways severed, the hive ship would not be able to launch its thousands of spores, trapping the creatures aboard. The strike force would withdraw and the Ultramarines flotilla would complete the hive ship’s destruction.

It sounded simple, this breach-and-destroy mission. Like all Space Marine Chapters, the Ultramarines had perfected starship assault tactics over their long history, and in recent decades the Codex Astartes had expanded with the experience of fighting the tyranids.

In practice, it would be a tense, bloody action. The tyranids excelled at close quarters combat, even more so than the Adeptus Astartes, and the Ultramarines task force would literally be entering the heart of their nest-ship. Speed and precision would be vital.

Leaving the gantry, Chaplain Cassius made his way down to the launch bay below. His black-painted armour glowed with a dull, ruddy aura in the pre-launch lighting. In their blue livery, the seventy-two Space Marines of his command waited beside four boarding torpedoes, ready for the order to embark on the transport missiles. Cassius knew that in the neighbouring bay, three Thunderhawk gunships were readying to lift off, carrying another assault force that would conduct an initial strike against the energy cortex located in the underbelly of the hive ship.

Striding across the mesh decking, he opened a vox-channel to address his force. The Ultramarines turned in unison to face their venerable leader, raising bolters and heavy weapons in salute as he stopped at the top of the ramp leading up to the closest boarding torpedo.

‘Hail the Emperor!’ Cassius declared, the call echoed over the vox-net by his warriors. ‘Praise the primarch! Today we go into battle against the worst kind of foe. We know this enemy well, for they came to our own world, to glorious Macragge. On the snowy tundra and the windswept plains, our brothers and forebears gave their lives to defeat the tyranid menace. This foe, this filthy xenos plague, brought our Chapter to the brink of annihilation, but we prevailed. It is our duty to protect mankind against such alien horror, but to face the tyranids is more than a duty. To destroy them is more than a matter of honour and glory. It is our right!

‘There are countless foes that beset the worlds under our aegis, but it is for the tyranids that we must unleash our greatest hatred. The threat they pose is nigh immeasurable. Dozens of worlds we have lost to them. That would be reason enough to eradicate them, to seek them out at every turn and wipe them from existence. There is another, grander reason to be proud of their extinction. The foe we destroy today is a pitiless, unthinking devourer of worlds. It is an alien intelligence that is beyond our comprehension because it is incapable of any act other than destruction.

‘We are the Emperor’s Angels of Death, but in raining death upon our enemies we bring safety and prosperity to mankind. The tyranids are a malaise of galactic proportions that do not negotiate, do not barter or surrender. Only the utter annihilation of every tyranid organism will see this threat ended. Only with the most ruthless hatred will we prevail against them.

‘It is not our battle-barges and bolters, our lascannons and melta bombs that will bring us victory. These are merely devices of destruction. It is our will to wield them without compromise, to unleash righteous devastation in the Emperor’s name, which will bring us victory. Hate these foes! Hate them with every fibre of your being. Hate them in your hearts and despise them in your souls. Purge them with flamer and sword and rejoice at their deaths.

‘There are some men, weak philosophers and cowards, who say that hatred clouds the judgement. They are wrong! Hatred gives us purity. Hatred gives us focus. Hatred gives us our purpose. Board now the vessels that will take us to the foe and make us the instruments of the Emperor’s vengeance and listen to my words of hate. Bring your thoughts to bear on this tale as you prepare for battle against this noxious enemy.

‘Let me tell you of the cleansing power of hatred. Listen to the story of Styxia and know that hatred is our most potent weapon.’

Chapter I

The bureaucrats of the Departmento Munitorum called it Phagolitic Xenos Threat Omega-seven-octa; the men and women tasked to fight the invading aliens simply called it Hive Swarm Gorgon. The first sign of the hive swarm’s approach had been the encroachment of the so-called Shadow in the Warp over the Styxia star system. Blotting out astropathic communication, eclipsing the holy light of the Astronomican, the might of the tyranid hive mind had swathed Styxia and the surrounding systems with psychic darkness. Astropaths of the affected worlds had broadcast general alarms as the Shadow had enveloped the populated star systems to the galactic east of Styxia, where Hive Fleet Kraken had splintered after the great battle for Ichar IV.

The warp shuddered with the dream-messages of the astropaths. Attuned psykers within hundreds of light years were assailed by images of all-devouring maws and grasping claws. A filthy umbra tainted everything, creating a serpentine, coagulating mass of hysterical ravings and apocalyptic vistas that drove many astropaths to madness and suicide; their last words ranted warnings of a terrifying beast of the abyss arisen to consume the galaxy.

Then there had been silence, black and impenetrable.

The Chief Librarian of the Ultramarines, Tigurius, had felt these panicked waves through the warp and known well what they presaged, as had other astropaths on waystations and monitoring posts across the sector. The Ultramarines were not the only force to have heard the cries for help suddenly snuffed out by the all-consuming advance of the tyranids: the Imperial Navy and Imperial Guard were being mustered for battle at Styxia. The quietude that had followed the eclipsing of the beleaguered astropaths was filled by message and countermessage that commanded the raising of regiments and the redirection of fleets.

Knowing this, Tigurius relayed the matter of the unfolding situation to Marneus Calgar, his Chapter Master, aboard ship en route to a campaign against the orks rampaging through the Vortengard Spiral. The flotilla came together at Arensis, the first of several staging stops to keep the vessels together on the seven hundred light year journey to Vortengard. Knowing that further progress would take his warriors away from Styxia, the Chapter Master called a pause before the next warp translation and brought together his trusted advisors – members of the Librarius, his company captains and Chaplain Cassius, most venerable of the Chapter’s warriors.

From across the fleet they gathered on the flagship, the Octavius.

They formed their quorum in Calgar’s personal chambers, to discuss their response to Tigurius’s communication. Their meeting took place in a small hall, lit by hanging rosettes that gleamed with golden light reflected from marble pillars flanking the chamber. The walls were painted with murals depicting famous scenes from across the realm of Ultramar: the pillared underground halls of Calth; Kronor’s immense furnace-spire whose summit burned brighter than the local star; rugged mountains swept by lightning storms on Espandor; Guilliman’s solace lodge amongst the forests of Iax; surf-cutters chasing a giant aquatic beast on Talassar.

The floor was made of heavy tiles of obsidian and granite, each inlaid with a gilded insignia in the shape of an inverted omega: the symbol of the Ultramarines. The council table stood at the centre of the room, also dark in colour, circular in shape and large enough for twenty Space Marines to be seated around it. Before each chair was a sigil carved into the top of the table and set with shining silver to mark the position of the council attendees: Master of the Fleet; Master of the Watch; Chief of the Librarium; Chancellor of Macragge; Master of Sanctity and many others. It was not often that every seat was filled, such were the many demands that split the Chapter across the Eastern Fringe. Today would not be such a day, though nearly a dozen captains and other high ranking officers would be in attendance.

The ceiling was decorated by tiny glass beads that formed a mosaic of the Seal of Macragge – a wreath-crowned eagle between scrolled insignia that had been the mark of Konor, foster father to the Ultramarines Primarch Roboute Guilliman. It had become the badge of office of every Chapter Master since the old Legion had been split – a mark that was now the privilege and the burden of Marneus Augustus Calgar.

Sitting on a heavy, high-backed chair, the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines waited patiently for his warriors to attend him and make their statements of allegiance and dedication. He accepted the liege-words of each warrior with a simple nod of the head. His hands, encased in the massive Gauntlets of Ultramar, lay in his lap unmoving, though his stillness of body was not matched by his eyes. These moved quickly, taking in the faces and expressions of all who came into the hall, reading their mood and intent by long experience and close companionship. Of the Chapter Master’s disposition there was little sign, except perhaps tightness in the jaw and a slight downward curl of the mouth, that hinted at some disquiet.

Armoured in their full war panoply and accompanied by their entourages of servitors and serfs, the command council attended to the words of their Chapter Master. Each knelt and spoke words of fealty, flanked by banner bearers and helots carrying weapons and other relics appropriate to the rank and duties of their master, before taking their station at the large table that filled the centre of the hall.

Calgar’s explanation of the situation was brief and to the point: the Ultramarines were already committed to the battles at Vortengard and other Imperial forces had responded to the menace at Styxia. It was his view that the Ultramarines should continue on their set course and defer the defence of Styxia to the Guard and Navy forces already being despatched.

‘The matter seems to be in hand,’ said Captain Ixion, commander of the Seventh Company.

‘Styxia is an agri world, home to less than five million souls,’ pointed out Captain Agemman, who held the title of Regent of Ultramar, second in authority only to Calgar. ‘A thousand times that number are threatened at Vortengard. Our priorities are clear, we must not be distracted from our current course of action.’

‘Had we rebuilt ourselves to our full complement from the devastation at Ichar Four, we might respond,’ said Pulo Astersis, a veteran Techmarine who was the most senior member of the Armoury present in the fleet and hence de facto Master of the Forge. ‘Still we await replacements to the vehicles and armour lost in that conflict.’

Cassius growled his displeasure and the eyes of all the Space Marines around the table turned in his direction. The Chaplain stood up and leaned forwards, resting the knuckles of his armoured gauntlets on the polished black marble of the table. Like the table, the Chaplain’s armour was jet black, only his left shoulder pad painted in the blue of the Ultramarines. Skull devices adorned his armour amongst a welter of wax-sealed purity parchments, and at his hip was chained a copy of the Liber Ultramar: the roll of honour of the Ultramarines.

He was the oldest warrior of the Chapter, not including those who had been chosen for the honour of internment in a Dreadnought. Cassius’s skin was thick and leathery, heavily scarred from centuries of fighting. His short-cropped hair was pure white. His right eye had been replaced by an augmetic substitute decades before, and the red lens of the bionic glittered in the lights of the hall.

‘You wish to say something?’ said Marneus Calgar, waving a hand to invite Cassius to speak.

‘It is not my place to countermand the wishes of this council, but I have words that need to be heard,’ said the Chaplain. His voice was deep, his words spoken quickly but clearly. ‘Who knows better than those seated here what devastation the tyranids can unleash? Who but the Ultramarines has the experience and the knowledge to defeat this threat? More than that, who above the Ultramarines do the people of the Imperium look to for salvation from this alien menace?’

‘We cannot fight every foe, no matter how much we might desire it,’ said Agemman. ‘Always we must weigh up the price of action. Styxia cannot be considered a more important cause than the hive worlds and manufactories of the Vortengard Spiral.’

‘In material terms, you are correct,’ said Cassius, moving his gaze from one Space Marine to the next, until his eyes met those of Marneus Calgar. ‘Yet it is not our place to make purely material judgements. We are the Ultramarines, Primogenitors of many hundreds of Chapters, spiritual leaders amongst the Adeptus Astartes. Our actions resonate across the galaxy, for good or ill. What are we to say if Styxia falls to the tyranids? That it was a battle not worthy of our attention?’

‘You do not know that Styxia will fall,’ said Agemman when Calgar offered no reply. ‘Nor can you say for certain that our intervention is necessary to prevent its fall. Styxia is unremarkable.’

‘Perhaps your detestation of the tyranids clouds your judgement, Cassius,’ suggested Captain Ixion, his voice mellow despite the accusation behind the words. ‘You seek retaliation in opposition to strategic necessity. Our judgement must be of sound military basis, not founded upon emotion and personal desire.’

‘Yes, I detest the tyranids!’ said Cassius, thumping a hand to the tabletop, causing the whole slab to shudder. ‘It is no bad thing to hate our foes with passion and conviction. You speak at this council to provide rationale and strategy. I am your inferior in this regard and do not gainsay any statements that have been made. If we are to resolve ourselves entirely by cold logic and logistics, there is no argument.’

‘Yet you have another view?’ asked Ixion

‘I am Master of Sanctity and it is for the honour and spirit of the Chapter that I speak,’ said Cassius. ‘If we do not fight at Styxia, then where would we do battle? If each action is weighed only on the merits of risk and reward, what of our reputation and the example we set?’

Cassius stepped away from the table and crossed the hall to where a broad bookcase stood beneath a tapestry showing the north facade of the Macragge senate house. The Chaplain took the first volume from the top shelf, a hefty tome the spine of which barely fit into his giant hand. Carrying the book, he moved around the table and placed it in front of Agemman.

‘The Codex Astartes,’ said Cassius, stroking the book with a reverent gesture. ‘Penned by the primarch. Show me, Severus, where in the wisdom of Guilliman are we told to put logic before honour?’

Captain Agemman did not rise to the bait, but instead glanced at Calgar for support. None was immediately forthcoming, the Chapter Master seeming content to keep his thoughts to himself for the moment while his subordinates aired their differences of opinion. Whether he had made up his mind and was gauging the mettle of his officers, or was genuinely waiting for them to conclude their counsel, was not obvious.

‘I can turn to the pages that tell us not to waste the lives of our warriors in the cause of vanity, if you like,’ said Ixion, reaching across the table for the Codex.

Cassius’s hand met the captain’s just before Ixion grasped the book, fingers gripping the other Space Marine’s wrist. The Chaplain locked his eyes to those of the other Space Marine, his expression stern rather than angered.

‘I know the pages of which you speak,’ said Cassius. ‘It is not a fool’s errand that we face. It is not vainglory to support the soldiers and ships of the Imperium.’ The Chaplain released his grip, picked up the Codex Astartes and returned to his chair. ‘If not Styxia, then where? There is always some other threat, some other world to be saved. You are correct: we cannot be everywhere at once. Yet we are expected to be. What world is important enough that we would always leap to its defence? Macragge? What if Terra were under threat, would we defend even Macragge? We do not weigh the lives of men by their numbers and we do not judge the worth of a world simply by its strategic significance.’

‘To what advantage would we send our warriors into this campaign?’ said Agemman. ‘If not strategic, nor personal, what end do we serve if we were to respond to this call above all others?’

‘We give hope,’ Cassius said quietly. ‘Ever has it been that the Space Marines are too few to conquer every threat. Yet the truth of our existence and the hope of our intervention steels the hearts of lesser warriors and lends strength to their conviction. They hold out against impossible odds and offer up prayers to the Emperor that the Angels of Death will come. They fight harder, knowing that if they do so we might intervene. Mankind believes our Emperor to be a god, and that is both foolish and blind. Yet they also believe the Adeptus Astartes to be the instrument of His will, and that is not so ignorant. I cannot say whether the Emperor answers prayers thrown up in desperation, but I do know that the Ultramarines reply to calls for aid if it is possible. To not answer that cry for help threatens to shatter something far more precious than ore worlds and hive factories: faith in the Space Marines.’

There was no word raised from the captains against the powerful argument spoken by the Master of Sanctity. Ixion shook his head slightly as Cassius looked directly at him, while Agemman lowered his eyes, unable to meet the Chaplain’s gaze. The council turned to Marneus Calgar, who had remained attentive but dispassionate throughout the exchange.

‘We cannot abandon our war against the orks,’ he said, raising a hand as Cassius opened his mouth to offer argument, silencing the Chaplain. The Chapter Master looked at Cassius. ‘Oaths have been sworn to defend the people of the Vortengard Spiral. However, it is not right that we abandon Styxia to the uncertain care of the Imperial Guard. Our expertise could prove vital in such a campaign.’

Calgar stood up and walked around the table to lay a hand on the shoulder plate of the Chaplain.

‘Cassius will lead a task force to Styxia. Company strength, drawn from across the Chapter,’ Calgar continued. ‘One hundred Space Marines should be enough of a command to make the presence of the Ultramarines felt. Does that suit you?’

‘It does,’ said Cassius with a nod. ‘I shall ask for volunteers.’

‘No,’ said Agemman. ‘That would be unfair. There is not a battle-brother in the Chapter who would not follow you to war, and I would not have those who are not chosen feel that they have been judged against. We shall draw a force from amongst our companies sufficient for the task.’

‘As I warned, materiel is scarce,’ said Astersis. The Techmarine stroked his chin in thought. ‘Some Rhinos and Razorbacks could be spared.’

‘Take the strike cruiser Fidelis as transport,’ said Calgar. ‘It has sufficient berths and craft to effect a landing for one hundred warriors.’

‘Your faith will be rewarded,’ said Cassius. ‘A hundred Space Marines is a force that will baulk any foe. The glory of the Ultramarines will be maintained, our honour upheld.’

‘I will look unkindly upon unnecessary heroics,’ said Calgar, his expression grim. ‘We cannot afford heavy casualties at this time. I trust you not to spend the lives of the Chapter’s warriors without good cause. Do not disappoint me.’

Feeling chastised, Cassius dropped to one knee and bowed his head to his Chapter Master.

‘Your disappointment would be the most severe castigation I could suffer,’ said the Chaplain. ‘We will not fail.’

Chapter II

At first encounter, Cassius thought the defence of Styxia appeared shambolic. Once the Fidelis had transitioned back into realspace and gained full sensor reports, a more coherent pattern emerged and the Chaplain evaluated his assessment of his new allies.

Four hive ships had entered Styxia several weeks earlier. One had been destroyed by the great effort and sacrifice of the system defence ships and the first elements of the Imperial Navy flotilla that had been despatched. Two others had been intercepted and turned away from the most heavily populated world, Styxia Prime, though they remained dangerously close to gaining orbit over the world.

The fourth had not been stopped. It was dead now, a gigantic carcass with a slowly depleting orbit that looked like a small, shrivelled moon circling Styxia Prime. Its destruction had been too late, however, and a huge mass of tyranids had made planetfall.

Still ten days from Styxia, Cassius ordered the Fidelis to approach at full speed, ignoring the ongoing cat-and-mouse encounter between the Imperial vessels and the two functioning hive ships. All attempts to separate the tyranid vessels from one another had failed, and the battleship and two light cruisers tasked by the Navy to halt the invasion simply did not have enough firepower to take on both foes at once. Navy reinforcements were supposedly only days away, including two battle cruisers, but there was a fear that Gorgon had not yet revealed its whole strength and other hive ships might appear at any time.

The first priority was to secure the main city of Plains Fall, which formed the hub of the agri world’s exporting capability. A city-sized starport, Plains Fall was the only vaguely defensible position on the entire planet; the rest of the population was spread thinly across the farms that provided cereal and grox meat to hungry hive worlds light years away.

Although the Imperial Navy had not fared too well in its initial defence of the system, they had safely transported two Imperial Guard regiments to the surface before the tyranid landing: the Astcarian Fourth, a heavy infantry formation which had been bolstered by a company of Imperial storm troopers; and the Cadian 308th who had been despatched from their home world on the other side of the galaxy two years before, in response to the battles against Hive Fleet Kraken in the build-up to the war for Ichar IV.

In overall command of the Imperial defenders was General Arka, who Cassius had met before in the aftermath of Ichar IV. This heartened the Chaplain a little, as Arka was known as a capable commander and Cassius’s own experience of the man had been positive. Three days from orbit, the two were able to hold a conference of sorts.

It was during this brief council of war that Cassius received further good news. Several Titans of the Legio Fortitudis had been brought to Styxia, including two massive Warlord-class machines. The only deficiency that Cassius could see was a lack of airpower and orbital supremacy. With the Imperial Navy unable to destroy the remaining hive ships for the time being, the troops on the ground were wary of further enemy planetfalls. Though the arrival of the Fidelis was a little boon in this regard, the strike cruiser was mainly fitted out for orbital assault rather than engaging other starships. The bulk of her space was taken up with launch bays and drop pod cascades, her weapons geared towards providing orbital bombardment of a dropsite prior to the Space Marines assault.

During their short conversation, Arka invited Cassius to join him at Plains Fall to assist in the defence of the city. The decision had been made to pull as many inhabitants as possible back to the city, sacrificing the fields and grox farms to the tyranid swarm. Crops could be re-seeded and herds restocked in a short space of time, but the massed orbital elevators and docking facilities at Plains Fall would take decades to rebuild if they were overrun and destroyed.

The city had grown around three gravity lifts that soared up into the clouds. Each metres-thick cable was still working, offloading the last harvests to cargo haulers waiting in orbit, the bulk carriers elevating thousands of tonnes of raw foodstuff every few minutes while empty carriages descended. Scores of warehouses the size of hangars encircled the lifters, supplied by a steady stream of crawlers that entered along the dozen roads radiating from the transit hub like spokes of a wheel. Each highway was lined with teetering tenements housing thousands of stevedores and teamsters, overlooked from an artificial mount by the white-walled palace of the Imperial Commander, Sevastin Goul.

Fourteen landing aprons were arrayed around the central complex, linked by a maze of elevated highways and railroads that teemed with trucks and locomotives. Steam and smoke and exhaust fumes billowed around the city, creating a hazy fog that drifted lazily into the cloudy sky.

As soon as the Fidelis had attained low orbit, Cassius took a Thunderhawk down to the city. As he descended towards the main dock, the forces and preparations of the Imperial Guard were evident all across Plains Fall.

Earthworks tens of metres high were being erected around the whole of Plains Fall. Prefabricated bunkers were shipped into position slung beneath enormous tetracopters. Engineer and pioneer teams hundreds-strong dug kilometres of trenchworks and excavated dozens of revetments for mortars and heavy weapons. At each of the twelve inroads, fortified bastions were growing up from the bare earth, studded with weapons turrets and firing ports, covering the open approaches into the city.

Storage sacks had been filled with dirt and sand to make bagged enclosures on the top of the flat-roofed buildings, manned by the Guardsmen under General Arka’s command. Columns of Leman Russ tanks prowled further out along the highway, while at the limit of vision, squadrons of Sentinel walkers patrolled back and forth, waiting for the first approach of the tyranids.

The Titans of the Legio Fortitudis stood guard to the north and west: a Warlord Titan at each highway supported by smaller Warhound Titans and hundreds of Adeptus Mechanicus skitarii in Chimera transports and eight-wheeled armoured cars. The adepts of the Machine-God had brought with them batteries of strange-looking weapons mounted on four-legged walking machines. Cassius recognised some of the artillery – sonic cannons, plasma launchers, lightning generators and more mundane shell-firers – while others were a bewildering array of tubes, cables and dishes whose purpose was unknown to the Chaplain.

Imperial Navy forward ground officers and Departmento Munitorum quartermasters marshalled the effort, and it was from one of these that Cassius’s pilot received confirmation that General Arka had made his headquarters in the Teamster Guildhouse near to landing pad quatros. Directions were given and the Thunderhawk touched down in a spume of plasma and smoke in the north-west of Plains Fall.

Striding down the Thunderhawk’s ramp, Cassius found himself greeted by a contingent of Cadian officers in long coats and peaked caps. Their uniforms were dark grey mottled with ochre, and every one of the five men had at least half a dozen honour badges pinned to their breasts or stitched on the sides of their caps. No aristocratic officer class here, as was found in many Imperial regiments. These were Cadian commanders, raised on the most embattled world in the Imperium and promoted purely on merit and ability.

‘I am Colonel Taulin,’ one introduced himself: a short, wiry man with a thin, grey moustache and bright blue eyes. ‘General Arka’s aide-in-chief.’

Cassius nodded in greeting as the others stepped forwards and gave their names. Taulin waved to a half-track staff car parked at the side of the apron. Two gunners manned heavy stubbers in a compartment at the back, their weapons trained towards the sky.

‘We have had sporadic gargoyle attacks for the last two days,’ explained Taulin, noticing the object of Cassius’s interest. ‘No great numbers, just scouting forces we think.’

Without comment, Cassius followed the man to the vehicle and vaulted over the side into the space between the gunners, the half-track rocking on its axles from his weight. The officers sat down on the padded benches in front as the driver gunned the engine. Taulin twisted in his seat to continue the conversation.

‘Sorry we couldn’t find something a bit more dignified to convey you to the general, but all of the Chimeras are being used to ferry as many refugees as we can find into the city.’

Cassius tested a thick-sided ammo crate and found it sturdy enough to use as a seat. Still he towered over the other men as he looked down into the wood-panelled seating compartment.

‘Do not bother yourself in that regard,’ said the Chaplain. ‘I expect to be treated with the minimum of ceremony and pomp. We are all soldiers of the Emperor here.’

‘Of course,’ said Taulin, stretching an arm along the back of the bench. ‘General Arka would have met you himself, but we have just received word that contact was lost with a storm trooper patrol about eighty kilometres to the west. The general is coordinating our response.’

The staff car bumped off the apron access ramp onto a potholed roadway that headed west towards the edge of the city. To either side, doors and windows on the column-fronted grain stores were being barricaded, while more Guardsmen set up anti-air weapons atop silos and vast storage tanks.

‘Arka is a man attentive to detail, if I remember him correctly,’ said Cassius.

This raised an unexpected laugh from the cadre of officers.

‘Yes, he is very keen on detail,’ said one of the lieutenants. ‘Arka would pick the target of every man and woman under his command if he were able!’

‘I hope he realises that my force will operate with autonomy from the general command structure,’ said Cassius. ‘I will discuss strategy with him, but the operational implementation of our agreed plan will be my decision alone.’

‘The general expected as much,’ said Taulin. He pointed at a building a little way ahead with a wide portico at the front reached by a flight of shallow stone steps. Numerous communications masts and dishes had been set up on the roof. ‘Our headquarters, Chaplain.’

A Leman Russ Demolisher was parked by the entrance, the short but wide barrel of its howitzer directed up the street. A platoon of storm troopers in heavy carapace armour coloured a deep red, hellguns held across their chests, stood guard at the top of the steps. Their faces were hidden behind the black visors of their helms, reflecting the front of the building opposite as they watched the new arrivals disembarking from their vehicles. Their lieutenant gave a shout and they came to attention, presenting their weapons amid the clash of booted feet.

Taulin gave a fly-swat of a salute in return as he took the steps two at a time, trying to keep up with the long stride of Cassius, the other command orderlies trailing behind the pair. The Chaplain stopped and placed his fist against the Imperial aquila emblazoned across the gorget of his armour in a return gesture.

The interior was the same as Cassius had experienced countless times before: a mess of people and equipment that seemed to be teetering on the line between calm and anarchy. The doors to the guildhouse opened onto a tiled lobby, and through open archways to each side could be seen groups of Guardsmen clustered around vox sets, analytical cogitators, map tables and hololithic displays.

The soldiers of the Emperor were dressed in a variety of uniforms. Amongst the grey-and-tan of the Cadians were bright splashes of deep blue trench coats, which Cassius presumed were the colours of the Astcarians. Here and there, the sombre black of the commissars was present, watching over everything with stern expressions and hawk-like vigilance. Half-machine servitors babbled streams of information from the vox traffic, while young boys in tight overalls ran to and fro carrying messages from one command staff to another. A few tech-priests monitored the metriculators and sensor banks, their red robes standing out amongst the darker fatigues of the Guardsmen.

Taulin paid no attention to the throng, leading Cassius to another flight of steps that swept up from the far end of the lobby to the storey above. At the top, he turned and walked around a mezzanine overlooking the foyer, taking the Chaplain to a broad set of double doors leading to a room above the entrance.

Inside was a stark contrast to the activity below. The chamber was obviously some kind of meeting hall for the guild – their badge of crossed cranes was emblazoned at one end behind a stage of dark wood, with worker team banners and plaques mounted to either side. Chairs, cabinets and other furniture had been carefully stacked in front of the long row of high windows overlooking the street, leaving only the light from a huge chandelier at the centre of the hall.

In the wide space, General Arka had set up two distinct areas. On the stage had been mounted a larger projector mechanism, attended by a pair of servitors and a junior lieutenant. On the sheet-like screen beneath the guild seal was displayed a map of Downland, the continent on which Plains Fall was situated. Under the direction of the lieutenant, the servitors interfaced with their device, overlaying runes and sigils onto the chart to represent Imperial positions and the possible locations of the tyranids.

Cassius had studied the topography of Styxia Prime whilst travelling through the warp on the way to the system. It had three major landmasses, the largest of which was Downland, covering nearly twenty-eight million square kilometres. Many thousands of years ago, sometime during the Dark Age of Technology, the first human settlers had come to this world and re-ordered the planet to their liking. Mountains had been levelled, seas filled in and rivers diverted to create a land of pastures and gentle uplands. At the heart of Downland were four artificial volcanoes, delved into the earth to bring forth nutrient-rich expulsions that were conveyed by land and water to the mega-farms.

The hills around these volcanoes had been seeded with fast-growing trees to provide hard timber, and it was from this dense wood that many of Styxia Prime’s buildings were constructed, with only the largest and most important edifices, such as the starport and governor’s palace, being supplemented with ferrocrete panels and ornamented with sandstone blocks quarried from the coastal cliffs.

Plains Fall was located to the east of the continent; its name derived from the thousands of square kilometres of flat fields that surrounded the city. The highways that converged on the city traversed the length and breadth of Downland, crossing hundreds of rivers and canals. For much of their length, the carriageways were raised up on enormous piles fifty metres above the ground, enabling crops and livestock to be grown beneath and allowing the highways to traverse irrigation waterways without interruption. The longest of these stretches, the so called Minoran Gradient, lifted one of the east-west roads to the central highlands, not touching the fertile earth for two and a half thousand kilometres.

A cursory glance at the strategic map confirmed to Cassius that General Arka was concentrating his forces to the west of the city. Sensor reports had shown that the majority of the tyranid spores from the dying hive ship had landed in the volcanic uplands. There was nothing to prevent them ravaging the lands further west – there being no settlement or natural feature upon which to form a defensive salient – and so Arka had rightly drawn a cordon across the highways leading from the highlands to Plains Fall, to intercept any swarm-broods advancing on the city. The rest of Downland would be sacrificed for the survival of the world’s only major conurbation.

A much smaller, more primitive, map was mounted on a wooden easel in front of the stage, depicting Plains Fall itself. It was a mass of colour, showing defensive lines surrounding the city and the labyrinth of communication and supply lines linking the growing fortification complex together. Around this map were about a hundred seats arranged like an amphitheatre, empty at the moment with no briefing in progress.

Far from the stage was a communications area. Several vox sets were lined up on wooden trestle tables, manned by staff officers and attended by more youthful runners. A single cogitating machine stood close at hand, spewing mathematical reports on ribbons of paper, which were then passed to a waiting tech-priest to decode. The tech-priest’s robes were marked with sigils that Cassius knew identified him as a lexmechanic – a statistical analyst who was expert at extrapolation and prediction. His hood was thrown back, showing the bulky metallic implants in the left side and rear of the tech-priest’s skull, linked to the cogitator by three coiled cables. Processing the data-flow from scouting reports and orbital surveys, the lexmechanic translated this pure data into something comprehensible to a group of officers uniformed with the badges of the general’s staff headquarters.

Not far from these aides was the commander himself, immediately recognised by Cassius. The general was a tall man, with narrow shoulders and a somewhat chubby face that looked too big for his body, made to look all the fatter by the thick bushes of his greying sideburns. He removed his forage cap and stroked a hand over his balding head, sweat gleaming in the artificial light. His drab uniform was crisply pressed, his left sleeve stitched with a long line of battle honours, his right breast coloured by the ribbons of more than twenty medals of heroic service. He moved slowly, with a stiffness that spoke of aging joints and old battle wounds, but his gestures were as neat and meticulous as his appearance, if somewhat laboured.

Arka was in conversation with a group of agitated-looking officers from the Astcarian Fourth, the gold frogging and gilded buttons of their dress uniforms a stark contrast to the general’s nondescript battle fatigues. The general noticed the arrival of the Ultramarines Chaplain and dismissed his audience with a few words and a crisp nod of the head. A few seconds later, he was waving for Cassius to join him.

The general extended a hand in greeting, which Cassius shook gently, careful not to hurt the aging officer.

‘It was with some pleasure that I learned the Ultramarines had heeded the call to arms,’ said Arka. ‘When I learned that it was the revered Chaplain Cassius in command, I thanked the Emperor profusely.’

‘I was surprised that you were still on the Eastern Fringe, general,’ said Cassius, releasing Arka’s hand. ‘Pleasantly surprised.’

‘Thank you,’ said Arka, nodding in acceptance of this rare praise. ‘As we just missed out on the fighting at Ichar Four, I decided we should look for another war. This is our third encounter with the tyranids so far. I do not expect it to be our last.’

‘I see that you have your strategy well in order, general.’ Cassius waved a hand towards the briefing area. ‘Do you have any request to make of me?’

‘I do, I do,’ said Arka. He gestured to Colonel Taulin, who had briefly conversed with the lexmechanic and his liaison officers. Cassius noticed that the general’s knuckles were red and swollen, the skin thin over his fingers. Many a man in his position would have undergone anti-agapic therapy or other rejuvenat processes, but Arka was clearly determined to grow old and die within his natural duration. As long as this had no effect on his mental faculties, Cassius was content to accept this foible without comment.

‘It seems our early predictions were correct, general,’ said Taulin, handing a schematic to his commander. ‘Storm trooper and Sentinel patrols have confirmed significant tyranid infestation in the sixth quadrant of the highlands. Vanguard organisms have been seen moving eastwards towards the city in the last two days. The closest was fifteen hundred kilometres, moving along the main highway.’

‘I would like you and your warriors to take the forepoint position at the heart of the predicted line of attack, Chaplain,’ said Arka. He handed the schematic to Cassius. ‘Three rivers and the highway intersect at a staging post called Cordus Via, some seven hundred kilometres west of here. The topography will force the bulk of any attacking force to convene. If Cordus Via can hold for a few days, it will allow us to finish the defensive perimeter closer to the city. I expect it will be the hardest fighting. How strong is your force?’

‘I have a total of one hundred Ultramarines,’ said Cassius. ‘I concur with your plan. We will hold the lynchpin at Cordus Via to stall any advance on the city.’

‘You’ll not be alone,’ said Taulin. ‘The Warlord Titans Victorix and Dominatus Rex are to be stationed in that quadrant too.’

‘Even better,’ said Cassius. ‘I will have my warriors drop directly to Cordus Via and will meet them there. We will have the position secure within five hours.’

‘Are you sure you want to land so soon?’ asked Taulin. ‘It will take the Titans at least twelve hours to reach their positions.’

‘Then it is even more important that someone is ready to guard the crossing,’ said Cassius. ‘Unless your reports are woefully inaccurate, we should not expect any significant enemy force to arrive before the Titans. I know that General Arka prides himself on the quality of his intelligence, and so I expect to meet only minimal resistance, if any. We are quite capable of dealing with any tyranid advance until the Legio Fortitudis reach the line.’

‘Are you sure you do not want any extra assistance?’ said Arka. ‘I could spare some storm troopers. Maybe move up some of the Astcarian self-propelled guns?’

‘That will not be necessary, general,’ said Cassius. ‘We operate best when we have full autonomy. Having to guard your forces will only present extra complications.’

Taulin laughed at this, but his humour quickly wilted under the stare of Cassius.

‘I shall provide you with all of the relevant logistical data, Chaplain,’ said the colonel, looking away. ‘Comm net frequencies, contact protocols and such.’

‘Thank you, colonel.’ Cassius gave a nod to Arka and Taulin. ‘If I require anything else, I shall let you know.’

‘The Emperor protects,’ said Arka. ‘May He watch over you, Chaplain.’

‘You should have no fear in that regard,’ said Cassius. ‘We are the Ultramarines, the Emperor’s chosen.’

Chapter III

Situated at the confluence of several fast-flowing rivers, Cordus Via was predominantly a long arc of the highway supported by spire-like struts that thrust up from the floor of the plains. It formed an intersection of several smaller elevated roadways that stretched hundreds of kilometres to the north and south, linking the mega-farms with the arterial route. The bulk of the settlement was made up of storage towers, a refuelling depot and thick-timbered accommodation blocks for passing convoy teamsters.

Just a hundred metres west of the waystation, three rivers joined at a mighty cataract, plunging some two hundred metres down a gorge. The roar of descending water sent constant vibrations through the settlement, an oppressive noise that blotted out all other sound.

The lead elements of Cassius’s force – three tactical squads led by Sergeants Dacia, Heletis and Octanus – had made planetfall less than thirty minutes after the Chaplain’s conference with General Arka. They had reported the site empty of inhabitants, though over the following hours, three columns of refugees passed through while the task force’s Thunderhawks had shuttled more forces from orbit. Questioning the fleeing farmers, the Ultramarines learned that the isolated farmsteads in the low hills to the west had been attacked by scattered tyranid broods some twenty hours earlier. The refugees had managed to fend off or escape the initial assaults for a short time, before abandoning their farms to head to Plains Fall.

Cassius’s gunship arrived just as dusk was settling. The last Thunderhawk run was being completed, another of the strike cruiser’s three gunships touching down beside the Chaplain’s transport on the wide, black surface of the main highway. A devastator squad disembarked, their heavy weapons in hand, and were met by Sergeant Dacia – as the most senior sergeant in the force, he had been marshalling the defence in Cassius’s absence.

Dacia’s blue and white armour was covered with litany parchments and purity seals, testament to many battle honours. Along with his squad from the First Company, Dacia had been amongst a new generation of Space Marines promoted from the other companies to serve as veterans after the heavy casualties suffered against Hive Fleet Behemoth. They wore standard power armour for this engagement; the highly valued Tactical Dreadnought suits so closely associated with the First Company were in short supply too and had been taken with the Chapter Master for hive city-fighting in the Vortengard systems. The shortage of Terminator armour was a constant reminder to the veterans of the sacrifices made by their predecessors, and Cassius expected his First Company squad to be exemplars to the rest of his command.

Dacia acknowledged Cassius’s arrival by raising his storm bolter in salute. The setting sun glinted from the weapon’s gold casing as the sergeant lifted it to the brow of his white helm. Cassius responded to the gesture, bringing a fist up to his chest. As all Chaplains did, Cassius wore the black livery of purity, only his left shoulder pad remaining blue to signify his allegiance. Atop a golden crux terminatus badge – a legacy from Cassius’s days in the First Company – the Chaplain bore the Ultramarines symbol fashioned from snow-white stone, hewn from the same quarry as the majestic pillars and halls of the Chapter’s fortress-monastery on Macragge. The symbol was riveted to the left pauldron by bolts made from shards of the crozius arcanum wielded by the previous Master of Sanctity, Agai Paulus, who had fallen in battle against foul xenos warriors in the Halo Stars.

The Chaplain considered Paulus’s fate a noble one, and was resigned to his own death at the hands of the tyranids some day in the future. A day long in coming, he was sure. Styxia would not be his last war.

Cassius had been in constant contact with his second-in-command throughout the deployment, and the sergeant’s assessment of the position and his disposition of the Ultramarines force had been faultless, guided by the teachings of the Codex Astartes. While Dacia directed the devastators to their place in the defensive cordon, the two Thunderhawks lifted off – one to return to orbit for refuelling, the other to begin air patrols around Cordus Via. Dust and vapour billowed across the roadway from the plasma jets of the departing gunships, momentarily obscuring Cassius’s vision. The autosenses of his armour switched to a thermal scan, the vents of the Space Marines power packs flaring brightly against a backdrop of reds and blues.

‘Heletis and a combat squad are performing patrol two kilometres west,’ Dacia reported as the cloud dissipated. Cassius joined the sergeant as his view reverted to a normal-spectrum image. Dacia turned towards the buildings of Cordus Via and pointed to each Ultramarines placement as he continued. ‘From the roof of the dormitory building, two of the devastator squads cover the western and northern approaches. This third one will be at the fuel storage tanks of the waystation, providing support fire to the south. We have Corilinus’s assault squad in mobile reserve at the power plant, and a full-strength cordon of tactical brethren patrolling in combat squads. There are three subterranean chambers located beneath the warehouses to the north, with gate access from the garage complex beside the highway off-ramp. I’ve had all but two sealed and set with plasma charges. The others we can use as sally ports if necessary, to encircle any tyranids that breach the inner compound.’

‘Vehicle pool in the garage?’ said Cassius. The two of them began to walk down the highway slip road, which turned a lazy circle down to the tightly-packed buildings.

‘No,’ said Dacia. ‘Too difficult to defend, with the highway passing directly overhead. I have the Razorbacks at the roadway intersections to provide point support. The Rhinos are laagered two hundred metres south, should we require a withdrawal.’

‘There will be no withdrawal, sergeant,’ said Cassius. ‘We will hold Cordus Via.’

The sergeant hesitated in his stride for a moment before continuing on towards the waystation.

‘It was my understanding that we are to delay the tyranid attack only. I have read the Imperial Guard reports. The tyranids have landed in strength on this world. We do not have the resources to halt any advance completely.’

‘Nevertheless, we will not be surrendering Cordus Via to the enemy. That is my command.’

‘As you say, Brother-Chaplain,’ said Dacia. ‘We stand ready to lay down our lives in the defence of this place.’

Before Cassius could say anything further, a sharp noise echoed up from the buildings. It was the unmistakable crack of a bolter being fired, followed by several more shots.

‘Brother Liades is down!’ Sergeant Augustin barked over the comm. ‘Tyranid infiltration organism in warehouse six, south-west corner. Pursuing.’

More firing erupted dully from the outskirt of the settlement as Dacia and Cassius broke into a run.

‘All squads in the south-west sector to converge on Augustin’s position,’ snapped Cassius. ‘South and west patrols increase perimeter to overlap with established routes of displacing squads.’

Affirmatives drifted back over the comm net. There were no more bolter shots until Cassius and Dacia had linked up with the sergeant’s squad, who had been stationed where the slip road met the ferrocrete apron of the refuelling facility. This time the firing came from Cassius’s left, to the north – the sound of several bolters being fired in unison.

‘Another lictor here!’ came the report from Sergeant Octanus. ‘We discovered it before it had been able to hide. Enemy destroyed. No casualties. Continuing patrol.’

‘I’ll start a second sweep to the north,’ said Dacia, signalling to his squad to move out.

‘Yes, sergeant,’ said Cassius. ‘I will join the southern perimeter. I want a street-to-street, room-by-room search. When the main attack comes, we cannot afford any enemies to have secreted themselves behind us. Stay alert.’

With armoured boots pounding on the ferrocrete, the Chaplain ran down the street, heading to the main throughfare that cut across Cordus Via. He listened to the reports of the squads converging on the lictor’s position in warehouse six. The building was already quarantined, each exit covered, but the tyranid creature could well have gone to ground to launch another surprise attack inside. Locating it would be perilous.

Though he was running fast, Cassius was still scanning every street, alley and building he passed. His eyes flicked across empty windows and shadowed doorways and passed over the roofs and balconies, missing nothing. His ears strained against the thunderous background noise of the cataract, his suit’s autosenses doing their best to filter out the blanketing cacophony.

Cassius stopped suddenly, pulling free his bolt pistol with his left hand. With his right, he slid his crozius arcanum from his belt and pushed the activation stud. The winged skull-shaped head of the weapon shimmered with the red light of its power field as Cassius turned to his right and looked back at an alleyway he had just passed, his intuition telling him something was wrong. Examining the alleyway more closely, his gaze fell upon that which had sparked his subconscious: a line of darker patches leading across the alley to an external ladder that ran up the side of one of the warehouses. Magnifying his vision, the Chaplain’s suspicions were proven correct. The dark patches were splashes of liquid.

One of the river banks was located less than fifty metres away from where he stood. None of his Space Marines had been into the water, so something else must have crossed the river, leaving the trail of drips in its wake.

‘This is Cassius,’ he said over the comm. His eyes roved over the facade of the warehouse, finding the identifying plate next to the wide doors. ‘Possible sighting, warehouse three.’

‘Squad Dacia will be with you in two minutes, Brother-Chaplain,’ came the first reply.

‘Negative, sergeant,’ replied the Chaplain. ‘Continue to sweep the north sector. I will call for assistance if required.’

Rather than follow the infiltrator up the ladder, where it might be lying in wait on the roof, Cassius entered the warehouse through a side door. It was dim inside, the open space lit only by a few narrow windows at ground level. Activating his thermal view, the Chaplain looked left and right, seeking any anomalous heat signatures. The warehouse floor was almost empty, only a few empty crates stacked along one wall. Metal steps ran up to the upper storey, ten metres above his head, where the clerks’ offices would be located.

Still checking the shadows as he advanced, Cassius crossed the freight floor towards the stairway. He was aware of the loud thudding of his boots on the ferrocrete, but there was nothing he could do about that. Reaching the bottom of the steps, the Chaplain holstered his pistol and drew out a frag grenade from his belt.

‘Ground floor clear,’ he told his warriors. ‘Continuing to upper level.’

Thumb poised over the primer rune of the grenade, he ascended quickly, taking the steps three at a time, the cavernous warehouse ringing with his heavy tread.

He stopped just a few steps from the top and tossed the grenade ahead, suspecting that the lictor might be poised to attack as he emerged from below. Two seconds later, the warehouse echoed again with the crack of its detonation, shrapnel clattering against the walls and floor, the top of the stairs illuminated by the flash of the blast.

Hurling himself up the last few steps, Cassius came out onto the upper floor with bolt pistol readied again, the glow of his crozius bouncing back from thin walls peppered with grenade shrapnel. Spinning on his heel, he checked the passageway behind him but saw nothing in the gloom. By the gleam of his weapon, Cassius navigated his way towards the north side of the building, glancing into cubicle windows as he passed, finding nothing. He came to a ladder leading up to a small access panel in the ceiling. As far as he could tell, the hatch had not been opened for some time. There was rust around the lock-bolt and undisturbed cobwebs on the ladder.

It did not mean for certain that the lictor was still on the roof, though it seemed increasingly likely. There could be other ways into the warehouse from above. Still on his guard, Cassius continued his circumnavigation of the offices, the outer wall on his right-hand side.

Coming to a place where another corridor met the outer walkway from the centre of the building, Cassius paused once more, checking each approach. As he glanced behind, he thought for a moment that he saw movement in the darkness – a smudge of deeper red amongst the mist of heat left by his armour.

Suddenly feeling that he was being observed, Cassius did not look back to verify what he had glimpsed, but instead stepped into the central corridor. He knew that the lictor would attack as soon as it thought it had been discovered, but until then would stalk its prey for the most opportune moment. At such close quarters, the Chaplain knew that the lictor would be able to strike him down in an instant if it had the chance to attack. Somehow he needed to gain the upper hand, to manoeuvre into a position from which he would be the hunter.

Stepping backwards at the same steady pace he had been walking before, Cassius moved away from the junction, pistol raised towards the outer passageway. He knew he would not get much warning of the impending attack. The lictor’s skin was covered with chameleonic scales that blended with the environment, and its exoskeleton was capable of masking all but a small fraction of its body heat. Sound would be the best detector, but with the whole warehouse quietly thrumming with the pounding of the nearby cataract, it would be almost impossible to detect the scrape of a clawed foot on the floor or the rubbing together of chitinous plates, even with the Chaplain’s superhuman hearing and the aid of his armour’s autosenses.

Lictors had been evolved by the tyranids to be stealth incarnate, and their oversized claws made them experts at ambush attacks, slicing apart their victims before they even knew they were in danger. Such a being was a threat to even a power-armoured Space Marine, but it would be even more deadly if it remained undiscovered and was able to attack whilst the Ultramarines were dealing with the first wave of assault organisms that were surely following the pheromone trail it had left in its wake.

It is behind me again.

The thought came to Cassius from nowhere, a message sent to his reasoning mind from some animalistic, instinctual part of his brain.

He turned and fired without questioning the moment of intuition, the muzzle flare of the bolt pistol illuminating the monstrous form of the lictor as it stretched up to its full height, nearly a metre taller than the Space Marine. Its main attack claws were drawn back overhead, serrated edges glinting sharply in the blaze of light. Its face was barely two metres from Cassius, faceted black eyes gleaming with dozens of tiny reflections of the Chaplain. Its maw was a bundle of tendrils writhing like a serpents’ nest, tasting the air. Hand-like claws flexed at the ends of its lower appendages, while sharply taloned feet were curling, digging into the stone of the floor to increase the beast’s purchase for the killing blow.

The bolt hit the lictor in the left side of its abdomen, blowing out a hand-sized chunk of chitin and flesh.

Even as he fired a second shot, Cassius dived to his left, crashing through a flimsy door, a moment before the lictor’s scythe-like claws flashed down in an instantaneous reaction to the Chaplain’s attack. One claw smashed into the ferrocrete where Cassius had been standing; the other caught him a glancing blow on his right greave, scoring a jagged gash through the black armour, exposing the suspensors and stabilising gyros within.

Falling to his back, Cassius had his pistol pointed at the doorway within a double beat of his hearts, ready to fire again.

The doorway remained empty for several seconds, but Cassius knew better than to believe the lictor had fled. Its presence known, it was biologically programmed to finish the hunt, eliminating all witnesses to ensure it could disappear once more. Cassius had seen such attacks first hand on Macragge and Ichar IV and half a dozen other worlds, and read treatises detailing the same from others who had faced the tyranids. He would not be fooled by a few moments’ pause.

Then the lictor came on, ripping a hole through the wall to Cassius’s left rather than coming through the doorway, scattering chunks of plasterite across the room. The tyranid creature burst into the clerk’s chamber at the heart of an expanding cloud of dust, jabbing wildly with its scythe-talons, ripping gashes across the floor.

Surging to his feet, Cassius narrowly avoided the next attack, the illuminator’s desk behind him detonating in a shower of wooden splinters, coloured inks splashing across the floor and walls. The Chaplain swung his crozius, one wing tip of the powered mace’s head burying itself into the wound opened by the Chaplain’s first shot.

The lictor made no noise as it spasmed in pain, lashing out with its lower set of claws, tearing three lines across Cassius’s right shoulder plate. Twisting the crozius arcanum deeper into the lictor’s innards, the Chaplain pushed himself closer to his foe, underneath the deadly sweep of the beast’s upper limbs. He brought up his pistol and fired into the cluster of feeder tentacles pawing at his helmet. The lictor’s head split apart from within, spraying thick ichor and globules of brain matter across Cassius’s armour.

Still off balance, Cassius found himself borne to the ground by the weight of the dying lictor, the servos of his armour whining in protest for a moment before he crashed sideways into the bare ferrocrete. He lay there, pinned down by the lictor’s corpse, the floor beneath him vibrating gently from the roar of the cataract while the creature above twitched and spasmed.

With a grunt, Cassius managed to heave himself onto his front, pushing the lictor’s body aside. Gaining his feet, the Chaplain fired three more rounds into the creature, targeting the brain stem, secondary neuroprocessor at the base of the spine and the ventricle chambers within its abdominal cavity.

‘Enemy destroyed,’ he announced over the comm. ‘Be vigilant. The first attack wave will not be far behind.’

Click here to buy Ultramarines.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published in Great Britain in 2015
This eBook edition published in 2015 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

Ultramarines © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2015. Ultramarines, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-78572-041-3

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

See Black Library on the internet at
blacklibrary.com

Find out more about Games Workshop’s world of Warhammer and the Warhammer 40,000 universe at
games-workshop.com

eBook license

This license is made between:

Games Workshop Limited t/a Black Library, Willow Road, Lenton, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, United Kingdom (“Black Library”); and

(2) the purchaser of an e-book product from Black Library website (“You/you/Your/your”)

(jointly, “the parties”)

These are the terms and conditions that apply when you purchase an e-book (“e-book”) from Black Library. The parties agree that in consideration of the fee paid by you, Black Library grants you a license to use the e-book on the following terms:

* 1. Black Library grants to you a personal, non-exclusive, non-transferable, royalty-free license to use the e-book in the following ways:

o 1.1 to store the e-book on any number of electronic devices and/or storage media (including, by way of example only, personal computers, e-book readers, mobile phones, portable hard drives, USB flash drives, CDs or DVDs) which are personally owned by you;

o 1.2 to access the e-book using an appropriate electronic device and/or through any appropriate storage media; and

* 2. For the avoidance of doubt, you are ONLY licensed to use the e-book as described in paragraph 1 above. You may NOT use or store the e-book in any other way. If you do, Black Library shall be entitled to terminate this license.

* 3. Further to the general restriction at paragraph 2, Black Library shall be entitled to terminate this license in the event that you use or store the e-book (or any part of it) in any way not expressly licensed. This includes (but is by no means limited to) the following circumstances:

o 3.1 you provide the e-book to any company, individual or other legal person who does not possess a license to use or store it;

o 3.2 you make the e-book available on bit-torrent sites, or are otherwise complicit in ‘seeding’ or sharing the e-book with any company, individual or other legal person who does not possess a license to use or store it;

o 3.3 you print and distribute hard copies of the e-book to any company, individual or other legal person who does not possess a license to use or store it;

o 3.4 you attempt to reverse engineer, bypass, alter, amend, remove or otherwise make any change to any copy protection technology which may be applied to the e-book.

* 4. By purchasing an e-book, you agree for the purposes of the Consumer Protection (Distance Selling) Regulations 2000 that Black Library may commence the service (of provision of the e-book to you) prior to your ordinary cancellation period coming to an end, and that by purchasing an e-book, your cancellation rights shall end immediately upon receipt of the e-book.

* 5. You acknowledge that all copyright, trademark and other intellectual property rights in the e-book are, shall remain, the sole property of Black Library.

* 6. On termination of this license, howsoever effected, you shall immediately and permanently delete all copies of the e-book from your computers and storage media, and shall destroy all hard copies of the e-book which you have derived from the e-book.

* 7. Black Library shall be entitled to amend these terms and conditions from time to time by written notice to you.

* 8. These terms and conditions shall be governed by English law, and shall be subject only to the jurisdiction of the Courts in England and Wales.

* 9. If any part of this license is illegal, or becomes illegal as a result of any change in the law, then that part shall be deleted, and replaced with wording that is as close to the original meaning as possible without being illegal.

* 10. Any failure by Black Library to exercise its rights under this license for whatever reason shall not be in any way deemed to be a waiver of its rights, and in particular, Black Library reserves the right at all times to terminate this license in the event that you breach clause 2 or clause 3.