Chapter 942 - 941: Lord Nareth Foresaw That Si’orda Would Destroy Me

Kalophis surveyed the assembled Castellax-Achea Class Robots.

The Thousand Sons' Castellax robots were all manufactured by the allied Forge World of Zhao-Arkhad.

The key difference between the Achea and other patterns was that the Pyrae Cult's psychic artisans had embedded psychic resonance crystals into the energy cores and conduits, and engraved blazing Pyrae runes upon their steel frames.

His eyes, filled with flame, looked at Chief Librarian Hathor Maat.

"Where are we going?"

"Captain Sokm Vesala's 15th Infantry Assault Regiment has established a defensive line one kilometer east of Skemeus Hill, on the northern flank."

Kalophis raised his hand, about to point towards Vesala's line to the west. But Hathor said.

"I have ordered the activation of Tizca's teleportation network."

"With them, we can gain a local advantage."

The flames in Kalophis's eyes flickered. He ordered Pharis.

"Open the teleportation gates!"

"As you command, Magister Templi." Pharis hurried to the spiral passage, descending.

Kalophis ascended to the Fourth Level of the Enumeration, detaching part of his consciousness from his mind, sending it into the bodies of flame, crystal, and steel.

With a thought, the hydraulic fiber bundles of the fourteen statue-like Castellax-Achea Class Robots trembled, driving their piston-powered feet forward.

The other Pyrae Cult members also activated their psychic powers, most only able to control one or two, the most capable only five.

Thump, thump, thump.

Hathor followed Kalophis down the spiral passage, turning onto the second level.

He looked out: a shimmering portal, wreathed in flame, large enough for small armored vehicles to pass through.

Neophytes in psychic hoods, under the command of a Sanctum Instructor, maintained the portal.

In the past, Legion serfs could have handled the primary maintenance, but Magnus's two rituals had killed them all.

"My lord, we have locked onto the Kritias Gallery." Pharis reported.

Each teleportation gate was located within a large building, enabling full company deployments.

Hathor nodded, stepping first through the shimmering portal.

Psychic energy washed over his red armor, a tumult of aetheric tides.

As the tides receded, Hathor surveyed the defensive sector. Servitors were carrying paintings, bearing statues, towards crates, packing away the artworks the Thousand Sons had preserved from countless worlds.

Hathor's marble-like face was grim. Such delicate work should not have been done by clumsy servitors. But there was no choice.

He walked silently towards the front hall, heavy footsteps sounding behind him.

"Lord Hathor." Vesala, in the uniform of the Prospero Spireguard, a gold medal on his chest, saluted, his broad shoulders rigid.

Hathor nodded. "Vesala, what is the situation?"

"The Wolves' wild assault broke through our line at one point."

"At the critical moment, a squad from the Corvida Pyramid to the west came to our aid. Their help held the line."

Hathor looked at Kalophis, who had come to his side. "The Wolves have been running wild. It's time to teach them that invading our home will cost them dearly."

"You will also see the price of using a Tutelary's power on the battlefield."

"Lord Kalophis." Vesala exclaimed in surprise. He hadn't expected reinforcements from two Magister Templis.

Kalophis nodded, his eyes blazing with fire.

"I will teach the Wolves a lesson."

With a thought, the three man-sized Castellax-Achea Class Robots formed two columns, moving past the front hall.

The Spireguard moved aside, watching the massive machines pass.

Kalophis was the first out of the front hall, looking towards the distant line.

A Thousand Son with a black raven's head at the center of a star on his left pauldron stood before the mortar emplacements.

He raised his ornate staff, and the mortars fired in unison, pounding the densest Wolf concentration.

Shells struck the center of the raging pack, the swift Wolves seeming to crash into the kill-zone.

Boom, boom, boom.

Iron-grey armor shattered. A dozen Wolves fell.

Kalophis strode down the slope. Corvidae Thousand Sons at the street corners flanking the old city's water-gardens raised their staves in unison.

Zhao-Arkhad pattern plasma guns spat brilliant fire, like his own Tutelary, the dazzling angel Si'orda, consuming the surviving Wolves on the pack's edge.

With a deafening roar, an iron-grey steel beast crashed through a wall.

Heavy bolters roared, hammering the jade buildings at the street corner.

Explosions flared. The Corvidae Thousand Sons retreated, but dozens of Spireguard were consumed by the fire, buried in the rubble.

Kalophis moved his mind. The fourteen Castellax-Achea Class Robots formed a line on either side.

Their heavy bolters slowly rose.

Bang, bang, bang.

The heavy bodies' trembling shook the entire slope.

The shells, far larger than heavy bolter rounds, screamed into the iron-grey steel beasts, punching through their armor.

Boom, boom, boom.

Armored vehicles were hurled a dozen meters, shattering in explosions.

Tumbling Wolves were torn apart in the smoke, their charred remains crashing to the ground.

One by one, the Castellax-Achea Class Robots joined the bombardment. Their hellfire covered the entire Wolf armored formation.

"Lord Kalophis!" the Corvidae Thousand Sons shouted.

They raised their staves, guiding the Spireguard's fire into the Wolves, now without their armored support.

Kalophis surveyed the battlefield, shaking his head.

In his aetheric vision, the Tutelaries circled the Corvidaes, guiding their precision strikes. The Wolves' crude charges crashed into the concentrated fire like moths to a flame.

'Hathor, what are you showing me?'

'If I could merge with Si'orda, I could control fifty-two Castellax-Achea Class Robots.'

'No, on Prospero now, with the flame's power surging, I could even pilot a Titan.'

As he thought, the Corvidae Sanctum Instructor, Matis, drew upon his Tutelary Rayan's power, causing the future to blaze in his mind.

He felt a searing heat, as if Rayan were merging with him.

The dark visions grew clearer. Matis trembled, raising his arm.

"Dispersed fire!"

Plasma beams scattered into two, then three, then four.

Wolves were consumed by the searing beams, dying at twice the rate.

"Wolves, your end has come." Matis's words were slurred, his mouth twisting in mutation.

He realized what was happening too late. Every organ and limb was mutating.

Spikes burst from his chest, tearing through his red armor.

Muscles atrophied, then exploded.

Organic tissue and inorganic armor twisted together, grotesquely fusing.

Matis tried to stop the prescience, but his body was no longer his own. Rayan filled him completely.

The daemon had unlocked the violent potential buried in his genetic code, unleashing a century of accumulated Flesh-Change.

Matis let out a terrified scream, then his body exploded like a supernova.

Boom.

Over a hundred Spireguard, and five charging Wolves, were torn apart by the blast.

Kalophis stared at the leveled street, a chill running through his burning body.

'The Tutelaries… the Flesh-Change…'

'Hathor was telling the truth. He saved me, no…'

His face was pale. The Wyvach landed on his shoulder.

He remembered the Shadows of Order, wreathed in golden flame, beside Hathor.

'They came on Lord Nareth's orders to save me.'

'Lord Nareth knew that if I merged with Si'orda, I would be destroyed by that terrible power.'

An image flashed in his mind.

The Wyvach, with senses surpassing an Astartes, projected an image of an iron-grey beast onto his consciousness.

He raised his right arm. A rotating missile launcher aimed at the slope.

Kalophis pushed his state of mind to the level he commanded most adeptly, the Eighth Level.

Flames wreathed his red armor. The Wyvach, startled, fluttered up.

Kalophis raised his right arm. A wall of searing flame rose before him.

The missiles, trailing fire, slammed into the "Flame Shield," consumed like moths.

Kalophis's left arm swung his staff. Streams of white flame shot out, striking the Dreadnought.

The superheated explosions ignited the cold sarcophagus, melting the iron-grey machine like candle wax.

....

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