The Skulls of Salandraxis by Chris Dows

Author:Chris Dows
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Published: 2016-07-21T15:08:05+00:00

Samzar opened his eyes and tried to blink the throbbing after-image from his sight. It was made all the more pronounced by the fact that he was staring up into the sky, so he moved his head down to see just how far the blast had thrown him. He was many yards away from the foot of the body-strewn steps to the High Temple where the glowing figure still stood. Samzar realised he was looking upon the form of a Living Saint, and the blood started racing within his veins. What a prize his skull would make for the Blood God! He would be elevated above all others, perhaps even Khârn himself, were he to claim him as a trophy.

Samzar tried to right himself and the base of his spine exploded in a cauldron of heat. He had experienced pain before, but nothing on this scale. Reaching down and behind, his fingers traced the melted hole blown in the ceramite of his armour by the Sister of Battle during the encounter with the armoured column. He felt the slick, warm sensation of blood running freely down his legs from the gaping wound she had created. That did not bother him in the least. Something else was making him feel strange, as if a great veil had been taken from his thoughts. He felt focussed, able to think and plan. He realised it was a moment of lucidity, that the Butcher’s Nails had receded to a whisper at the back of his mind for a moment.

His thoughts turned to Lukosz. How he would have revelled in this battle.

Something moved towards the golden being at the top of the steps. It was the Chapter Master he had fought so savagely. Samzar’s rage began to boil over. All thoughts of tactics fled into the bloody shadows cast by the Nails, consumed in hatred and loathing. He made no attempt to resist. Samzar had but a single reason to live – kill all that stood before him, and do it before anyone else claimed their heads for their own glory.

Clambering to his feet over the corpses on which he had landed, Samzar became aware of movement all around. The blast might have cleared the entranceway to the High Temple and swept all that stood before it down the steps, but it had not killed many of his warriors. At least a dozen of the warband were rising, weapons drawn and raging at the Angels Eradicant assembling in front of their Living Saint. All Samzar felt now was the favour of the Blood Father upon him. He did not care if the other berzerkers fought with him or against him. Bellowing an oath to Khorne, he began running back towards the steps, the searing pain in his back completely masked by his Butcher’s Nails. In seconds he was nearing the top, having rammed his way past other berzerkers in his bloodlust. The Angels Eradicant Chapter Master stood only yards away, shoulder to shoulder with his

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