C. Goto - Dawn of War

The twin-peaked mountain was thrown into sudden silence, leaving the motionless, prostrate forms of Blood Ravens and Biel-Tan eldar lying on the rocky summit. The clouds parted, and the dusky red sun shone warmly through the cold, still air.

C.S. Goto (ebook by Undead)

01 – Dawn of War

“The Thunderhawks are on their way, captain,” reported Corallis, finding Gabriel bent over the body of Sergeant Matiel. “Matiel was a fine Marine, Gabriel. He will be missed,” he added, kneeling at Gabriel’s side.

“Yes, sergeant. We have lost many fine Marines on Tartarus. The Blood Ravens have suffered greatly for their part in this debacle,” said Gabriel gently.

“It is our role to suffer, so that others will live,” replied Corallis. “This has always been the way of the Adeptus Astartes. It is what makes us better than our foes.”

“But even the Blood Ravens must survive, sergeant,” said Gabriel, rising to his feet. “We must collect the gene-seed of our fallen battle-brothers, ready for transportation back to the Litany of Fury. We will burn the bodies in a pyre on the mountain top, so that the evacuated civilians in orbit will see the flames of those who sacrificed themselves to save their planet. Their legends will live on, even as their souls ascend to the side of the Golden Throne itself.”

“Yes, captain. It will be done,” said Corallis, nodding a slight bow.

“Did the young Sergeant Ckrius survive the fight against the orks?” asked Gabriel, slightly preoccupied with other things.

“Yes, captain. He was badly injured, but Tanthius has recommended him for battle honours,” replied Corallis. Like many of the other Blood Ravens who had seen the young trooper fight, Corallis was impressed and proud of the boy’s achievements.

“Good. Make sure that he doesn’t die, and see to it that he receives medical care aboard the Fury. We have to look after the future of our Chapter, Corallis,” said Gabriel, smiling faintly.

“Yes, captain,” nodded Corallis, returning Gabriel’s smile. “I will inform Tanthius at once-he will be keen to see to these arrangements himself.”

“Very good, sergeant,” said Gabriel, turning away and scanning the desolate scene in the dying light. The mountaintop was littered with the bodies of Alpha Legionaries and the mutated corpses of treacherous Guardsmen. Interspersed with them were the red-armoured forms of fallen Blood Ravens, and Gabriel shook his head painfully.

“Well done, captain,” said Mordecai, striding through the killing field towards Gabriel. “I knew that I was right about you.”

Gabriel looked at the inquisitor, unable to return his familiar tone. Something still did not feel right about this episode, and he was certain that Mordecai had more to answer for than he was letting on. The Inquisition never released more information than they needed to-and knowledge is power, as the Blood Ravens knew well.

“What happened to the eldar?” asked Gabriel, keen to fill in some of the missing pieces.

“They disappeared after you destroyed the stone. They simply vanished,” he said, holding out his hand.

Gabriel stared at the hand for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he realised what the inquisitor was waiting for, and he slapped the shaft of the daemonhammer into Mordecai’s gauntlet. He snorted inwardly, utterly unsurprised by the actions of the inquisitor.

“And the orks?” he asked.

“As you know, most of them were drawn to the mountain by the commotion of battle. And those that were not dispatched by your Terminators were seen to by the explosion. The Tartarans from Magna Bonum are mopping up the few survivors,” replied Mordecai, almost gleefully, feeling the weight of the daemonhammer in his hands.

“Good,” said Gabriel uneasily, nodding a quick bow to the inquisitor before turning away from him. “I must find Chaplain Prathios,” he added as an explanation, striding away.

Huge flames lapped out of the massive funeral pyre on the summit of the mountain, filling the night sky with dancing fire and shadows. The bodies of each Blood Raven had been removed from their ancient armour, with their gene-seed carefully extracted, and then laid onto the pyre with every dignity. Gabriel had stood before the bodies with a torch burning in his hand, the surviving Marines and troopers arrayed behind him, each kneeling respectfully Then he had thrown the torch in a spinning parabola, flipping over and over through the darkness until it landed in the heart of the pyre, which erupted into blossoms of flame immediately. Plumes of dark smoke wafted up into the night, blotting out the stars in an otherwise clear sky.

Gabriel watched the smoke rising slowly, feeling the heat of the flames against the skin on his face. The smoke swirled and eddied in the breeze, gyrating into transient shapes before dissipating.

He hung his head slowly, his heart aching with the amount of blood that had been shed over the last few days.

Kneeling in prayer, Gabriel closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, knowing that the rest of the Blood Ravens would be doing exactly the same thing behind him. Over to the side of the funeral pyre, standing on his own, Gabriel knew that Mordecai was watching the ritual with disapproval-there were some aspects of the Adeptus Astartes that the Inquisition simply had to tolerate, and ritualised cremations of Marines were one of them.

From the silence in his mind came a single, solitary voice. It was a soprano, soaring quietly into the heights. One voice became two, the second low and rumbling, plunging into the ancient depths of his soul. Then another voice joined the harmony, and soon the silvery chorus filled his head once again. It was pure and clear-the majestic music of the Emperor himself, guiding Gabriel’s soul and purging his sins. At last, it seemed that Gabriel was at peace.

Then, one of the voices faltered, and the soprano shifted into a piercing scream. The silver lights started to tinge with red, and Gabriel screwed his eyes closed tightly, trying to shut out the invading images. But the silver ran with blood, and the faces of the angelic choir started to melt and ooze, rendering themselves into perversions of Imperial grace.

He twitched his head from side to side, trying to shake himself free of the vision, but something held him there, trapped inside his own head. Isador’s face flashed past his eyes, whispering to him that he should not falter. Myriad faces exploded into sight, speckling his consciousness with the visages of Cyrene and Tartarus. The faces started to merge and swirl, spiralling together as though stirred into an emulsion. And then, peering out of the curdling mess came a familiar voice, laughing and cackling with amused triumph.

I am free, Gabriel-you have my thanks.

Show yourself, daemon! yelled Gabriel into his own mind.

You will see my form soon enough-you who are my herald!

I am not your herald, warp-spawn-I am your vanquisher. It was I who destroyed the Maledictum, said Gabriel, shaking his head invisibly.

Yes, it was you who released me from that prison, liberating me with your every sacrifice…

Gabriel’s soul rebelled, struggling to keep its distance from the vile rape of his consciousness. He refused to believe. My sacrifices were not in your name, daemon. We fought to destroy you.

And yet it was you who spilt the blood of the orks. It was you who mixed the blood of the Chaos Lord and his sorcerer into the giant altar that is Tartarus. And it was you who thwarted the attempts of the eldar witch to prevent my coming…

“No!” Gabriel let out a scream of defiance, throwing himself forwards into the flames of the pyre and burning his body out of its vision. A strong hand gripped his shoulder and dragged him out of the fire.