Da Gobbo's Demise (Warhammer 40,000) by Denny Flowers

Author:Denny Flowers [Flowers, Denny]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2022-11-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Traitor Commissar Marvarry considered himself a patient man. He had ignored the mutterings from the men as they rummaged through the burnt-out debris. He paid no heed to the sandstorm drawing closer, or the stench of smoke from the blaze his minions had so far failed to contain. Instead, he continued his work, supervising the construct of the new eight-pointed star.

He had a more auspicious feeling about this one. Granted, it too was lopsided, but that was inevitable given the materials. Especially as cultist Zanba continued to struggle against his restraints. Foolish really, given that he was bound by strips of his own flesh. But this symbol, stitched from bodies both living and dead, would surely draw the Dark Gods’ focus. He probably should have permitted Zanba to scream, for it was said that screams drew their notice, but the noise was grating, and Marvarry stood by his decision to remove the man’s tongue.

If only he could silence the autogun fire.

It was not the sound itself. He had been raised on war. To him, the thunder of artillery was a symphony, and the cries of the dying like the verses of a choir. But the intermittent bursts were maddening, fouling his concentration. He would think them concluded, only for another volley to be unleashed. What were they firing at? And why did they keep missing?

How far he had fallen. Not his liberation from the God-Emperor’s light, but the standard of his command. He had started with three piecemeal squads of conscripted cultists, perhaps sixty men. At least ten had been lost in the initial assault, and three more had been extinguished completing the edifice.

It didn’t matter. Lives were expendable, providing they completed their task. But, in the Dark Gods’ name, why did they keep firing? Just hit the damn thing and be done!

Another volley, right when he was carving the final Rune of Disarray into Zanba’s chest. His hand skittered across the man’s torso, leaving a messy trail.

‘What are those idiots playing at?’ he snapped, glaring at the nearest cultist. The man bowed his head. They were doing that now, and keeping their hoods in place. It made it damn hard to tell them apart.

His gaze swept to the church. There was still too much smoke for his liking, but it had begun to clear, and it seemed the building would not be consumed. The door still hung open, but only two cultists stood close to it, and even they had positioned themselves on either side, safe from gunfire. The rest clustered about the church walls, looking up at the upper levels. Beside them lay a fallen statue, and beneath the statue he could just make out a pair of boots, along with a bloodstain.

What were they doing?

There. Another volley, but this time he saw the shooter. The man was squinting up at the church roof before squeezing off rounds. A shot chipped the stonework, but he could not see what he fired at.

Wait. There was a flash of green skin darting between the shadows above.

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