C. Goto - Dawn of War

As he lunged towards the sorcerer, Isador felt his feet lift off the ground, but he pushed on, focussing his will and driving forward with sheer determination. But his lunge was never completed. The field of warp energy stopped him in his tracks and lifted him into the air, suspended on a thin thread of power that flowed out of Sindri’s forefinger.

A flood of whispers and slices of pain cut into Isador’s mind, taunting him and attacking the very fabric of his soul. His body spasmed, racked with agony as the daemonic force of the Maledictum fought against his grip. Chaotic voices cried into his ears, and his body went suddenly rigid, as though shot through with electricity. Then his force staff erupted into flames, burning his hands until the flesh in his gauntlets started to blister and melt. With a sudden explosion, the staff shattered, spraying fragments and shards of the ancient weapon into Isador’s face and lacerating his skin.

As suddenly as it had begun, it ended, and Isador collapsed to the ground, broken and bleeding, the Maledictum glowing faintly in his ruined hands.

“Lord Bale was likewise foolish in believing that I was defenceless, Librarian. He also thought that he was in control of his own destiny. Like you, he was wrong,” said Sindri, peering down into the face of Isador with mock concern as the stone flared again and the Librarian writhed in agony.

“The orks also thought rather more of their own abilities than of mine. And their simple arrogance was very useful to me,” continued Sindri, apparently compelled to share the details of his machinations with his fallen adversary. “And now it seems that even the great Blood Ravens have played their part, exactly as planned.”

The stone pulsed again, and Isador cried out as its energies riddled his body with pain. He looked up at Sindri and spat. “You have not seen the last of the Blood Ravens, sorcerer. I am their worst, not their best.”

“Ah, such humility, Librarian,” replied Sindri, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think that you hold much promise-much promise, indeed. And for that I should kill you, in case your abilities prove too great a threat to my plans-your honoured battle-brothers are far too narrow-minded to appreciate them.”

With a slow gesture, Sindri pushed his hand down towards the fallen Librarian, his fist crackling with energy, and Isador braced himself for the death blow. But it never came. Instead, the Maledictum flashed out of his grasp and darted up into the outstretched hand of the sorcerer. Isador slumped back against the ground as the agony left his body.

“But I have already invested so much in you. And, to be honest, even if you had a century to prepare, you would still be too late to prevent me from achieving my glory tonight. Now, I must see to my own preparations, and you… you must attend to your dear captain’s demise, if you are capable,” said Sindri, taunting the broken Librarian.

“I will not serve you, sorcerer,” moaned Isador, hardly able to move.

“It does not matter what you want to do, Librarian-you have already ensured that the valiant Captain Angelos will hunt you down. You will either kill him, or you will die. The choice is yours, but it is not much of choice, is it…?” said Sindri, turning away from the crumpled figure of Isador and striding away into the ruined city.

As he disappeared behind the remains of a stone building, his thoughts washed back into Isador’s mind: You have already served me, Librarian-I forgot to thank you for delivering the Maledictum.

In the distance a bolt of lightning flashed out of the sky, striking the forest off to the east of the huge mountain. A brood of dark clouds was gathering on the horizon, and distant thunder rumbled with foreboding. The landscape was cast into two, with half lit under the brilliant afternoon sun and the other half shrouded in the advancing shadow of the storm.

The faint rattle of gunfire and the distant, erratic thud of explosives sent little Shockwaves pulsing down the mountainside, but Gabriel could not yet see the site of the battle, as he looked out of the roof hatch of the leading Rhino in the column of Blood Ravens.

As the convoy roared up the mountain, grinding over the barren, rocky terrain, Gabriel started to see signs that combat had been joined along that route. It started with the broken body of an Alpha Legionary, riddled with holes and his back broken as he lay slumped backwards over a large boulder. But then, as they made their way higher up the slope, there were more bodies. Not only the shattered, bulky forms of Alpha Legionaries, but also the hacked and mutilated bodies of the graceful eldar. Gabriel took all of this as a sign that he was on the right track. More worrying, however, was the occasional bloodied body of an Imperial Guardsman, perforated by shuriken fire.

“It looks like we are the last to join the party,” said Gabriel, his face taut against the wind as the Rhino rushed up the mountainside.

“No, captain,” replied Mordecai, his mouth cracking into a smile for the first time. “The party can’t start without us.”

Gabriel laughed weakly, straining his eyes against the wind, trying to distinguish individual shapes amongst the flashes and confusion at the summit of the mountain. But they were still too far away, not even the Space Marine’s enhanced ocular system could resolve the images. He thumped down on the roof of the Rhino, willing the machine to move faster.

Behind him, the full force of the Third Company was arrayed in a glorious convoy. He had lost too many Marines on Tartarus already, but this was the moment for which they had all fought and died. The remnants of the Assault Bike squadrons bounced along the flanks of the column, and the remaining tanks rumbled along in the middle, interspersed with Rhinos. On either side of Gabriel’s Rhino skimmed the Typhoons, and immediately behind came the Land Raider, which contained Tanthius’ surviving Terminators. Visible through the open side-doors was Tanthius himself and, dwarfed by the immense size of the Blood Raven, Sergeant Ckrius rode alongside him-his storm troopers having been loaded into the spaces left by fallen Marines in the various Rhinos.

“Sergeant Ckrius is a fine soldier,” said Mordecai, flicking his head back towards the Razorback.

“Yes, Tanthius has spoken highly of him,” replied Gabriel without looking round. “But look at his brethren,” he added, casting an arm out to indicate the bodies of the Guardsmen on the mountainside. “They are cowards and traitors, tainted by Chaos.”

“There are some pure souls on Tartarus, Gabriel,” countered Mordecai. “Not all of them have succumbed. It is a testament to his character that he has remained so resolute.”

“Perhaps,” said Gabriel, “but we are not here to recruit new Marines, inquisitor.”

“So many have fallen, captain. You must look to the future-not even the mighty Blood Ravens live forever,” said Mordecai, hesitating as he wondered whether he was overstepping the mark. “Even Cyrene had some souls worth saving,” he added, aware of the ambiguity of his words.

“And yet we saved none-and some who survived have betrayed the memory of those who should have been saved,” responded Gabriel bitterly, snapping his head round to face Mordecai, his eyes burning with a confusion of pain-Cyrene, Tartarus, and Isador spiralled through his mind. “I know nothing of the soul of this Ckrius-how can I know that he will not crack under the responsibilities of a Blood Raven?”

“You cannot know, captain. You must have faith,” said Mordecai gently. “Just as Chaplain Prathios once showed such faith in you.”

Gabriel looked off into the distance, watching the storm gathering on the horizon. Then he nodded, reaching a decision. “Very well, inquisitor-you are right. If the young sergeant survives this day, he will take the Blood Trials. The loss of Isador warrants a new birth in the Blood Ravens.”