Chapter 943 - 943: The Warmaster's Evil Plan Must Be Foiled

In orbit above Prospero, Captain-General Constantin Valdor studied the holographic display.

The augur scans flickered, runes flashing.

The aetheric reader's readings spiked. The Thousand Sons had unleashed their psychic power, disrupting the entire battlefield.

Barely perceptible red runes continuously appeared on the Wolves' flanks and rear.

"My lord," the comms officer's voice trembled.

"The comm arrays are at full power, but we still cannot re-establish contact with Lord Russ."

"Keep trying." Valdor watched the iron-grey spearhead, bogged down. Though Leman Russ, the punitive fleet's supreme commander, wanted no interference in the Astartes civil war, believing he had no right to judge a Primarch and his Legion, Russ had ordered him to remain in orbit.

But he held the Emperor's judicial seal, the Seal of the Supreme Magistrate. This was a sacred duty entrusted to him by his master, above all other commands.

Valdor gave the order to the Knight-Commander of the Sisters of Silence, Krole, the 3rd Terran Auxilia, and the eight garrison regiments of the Throneworld, the Pelian Outer Regiments.

"Strike the orbital transfer station. Full attack."

He didn't directly support the Wolves, to avoid aggravating the Wolf King's frustration at the stalled assault.

As Swordtail interceptors of the 3rd Terran Auxilia and the Custodes' Dawn and Dusk interceptors swept over a flight of Lightning fighters, Boros Khun, commander of the Sons of Horus, descended with five thousand warriors and Auxiliaries into the already-pacified old city of Tizca.

He ordered over the high-frequency comm channel: "By the Warmaster's command, establish containment zones. Drive the refugees."

Khun then led his Honour Guard towards the area with the densest life-signs, as indicated by the augur scans.

He rounded a corner and saw his first target, a woman pulling two children.

He activated his translator. Local Low Gothic echoed.

"Tizcan, stop immediately."

"By the command of the Warmaster, appointed by the Emperor of Mankind, you will be properly contained and processed."

The woman turned, seeing it was not the familiar red armor of the Thousand Sons.

She pulled the two children and ran for a shattered fishmonger's stall.

The woman collided with Khun's armor.

He reached out, taking the children from her. Two fingers pressed.

Pop! Pop!

Like bursting watermelons, the children's brains splattered across their mother's face.

"Ah!" The woman's piercing scream shattered the mental discipline honed by years of Tai Chi.

Frost spread across the street. The scream, like a thousand steel needles, pierced Khun's skull.

Her fingernails lengthened, gleaming black.

"Give them back! Give me back my children-"

The mangled corpses fell onto the mother. The scream died. Her hate-filled eyes brimmed with tears as she clutched the bodies.

Khun drew his power sword. He didn't activate the disintegration field, instead hacking the mother into several pieces.

He gestured. "Hang them high. Let the residents see the price of resistance."

The servitors moved, dragging the bodies.

Tizcans were herded like livestock into containment zones. Resisters were dismembered and hung as warnings.

Screams of death echoed. The old city grew darker.

Shadows flickered in the alleys, dragging their slow, stumbling steps.

Khun strode forward, towards the guidance rune.

His tactical display flashed.

After four turns, the jade tower blocking his target receded. He saw a grand theater.

Refugees huddled inside, watching him nervously through the windows.

"By the command of the Warmaster, appointed by the Emperor of Mankind, you will be properly contained and processed."

"Come out of the theater now. Proceed to the containment zone."

Twenty-five civilians emerged, hands raised, moving slowly.

Khun gestured. A Son of Horus stepped forward, herding them to the zone.

Seeing more refugees cowering in the theater, he repeated: "By the command of the Warmaster-"

No one left.

Khun gripped his blade, feeling like a clown on a stage.

"Move!" he ordered, raising his bolt pistol.

Boom!

A corner of the jade building shattered. Khun's gaze swept over the terrified faces.

He strode forward. The refugees cowered back, those in front stepping on those behind.

Amidst the chaotic screams, Khun crashed into the crowd, his sword sweeping.

Puddles of gore spattered the floor.

The crowd scattered. A dozen people raised their hands.

Flames surged, slamming into the Cataphractii-pattern Terminator armor.

The supernatural fire seared Khun's body, fueling his rage.

He pushed through the flames, reaching the psyker, and swung his sword.

The power sword crackled against a shimmering, invisible shield.

Bang!

The shield shattered. The sword fell, tearing the psyker apart.

He was about to lunge at the next resister when a cheer erupted from deep within the theater.

The wave of sound grew, crashing into Khun's ears.

He turned, catching a glimpse of red, as a savage bolt of lightning shot towards him.

Khun jerked his head aside. The lightning struck his right pauldron.

Charred fragments fell. The current coursed down his shoulder, like a serpent, paralyzing his entire arm.

"Warlock!" Khun hissed, his shoulder flexing, muscles recovering under the surge of adrenaline.

Hathor's obsidian eyes grew pale, his pupils vertical.

Khun's charge veered towards eleven o'clock.

He swung his sword, striking a jade pillar.

Khun shook his head, trying to regain his senses.

Hathor had slipped behind him, his "Psychic Invisibility" deceiving Khun's scattered thoughts.

The ornate khopesh rose.

Thwip!

The khopesh spun, slash after slash.

The Magister Templi of the Pavoni Cult precisely carved out each heart, each lung.

His mastery of flesh meant each cut touched the organs without damaging them.

Thud!

The Sons of Horus, filing in, watched their commander's body hit the ground.

They raised their boltguns, firing a volley at Hathor.

Diamond-hard shells screamed, then disintegrated mid-air.

The bullets turned to dust, scattering on the ground.

A Thousand Son in ornate Cataphractii-pattern Terminator armor stepped forward. His crimson armor was engraved with geometric patterns.

A golden scarab adorned his right pauldron, a curved star with a sharp hawk's claw on his left.

The Scarab Occult Terminators following him bore a burning phoenix on their left pauldrons.

He raised his force staff, and a torrent of flame erupted, melting the Sons of Horus' armor like candle wax.

The superheated explosions consumed their bodies. Mist drifted.

"Escort them to safety." The Black Emperor's divine command: his primary task was to rescue civilians once the Sons of Horus entered the old city.

Though the Black Emperor hadn't explained why, Hathor suspected the Sons of Horus, hiding behind the lines, were rounding up civilians for a dark ritual.

Most Tizcans had latent psychic gifts. On average, three out of every ten qualified as Iota-level or higher, under the Adeptus Astra Telepathica's classification.

Hathor stepped out of the theater, waving his staff, unleashing arcs of lightning.

He sensed a psychic pulse. He let Uthizzar's thoughts merge with his.

"Valdor's Custodes have launched an attack on the orbital landing zone's control spires. Phosis T'Kar and Auramagma's 2nd and 7th Fellowships have deployed through the teleportation network, reinforcing the Spireguard and the Sanctum Knights."

"I have sent Sul to support your operations in the old city."

The "Dreamwalker" sensed Uthizzar's doubt. The orbital transfer station was clearly the more valuable objective.

If the Custodes took it, they could quickly deploy across Tizca.

But he had not only brought the Scarab Occult Terminators to the northern sector, to attack the Sons of Horus, but had also summoned the Dreadnoughts of the House of the Jackal, and requisitioned forces from the 5th Fellowship.

'Fulfilling my Lord's divine will comes first. The Warmaster's evil plan must be foiled.'

....

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