Leviathan (Warhammer 40,000) by Darius Hinks

Author:Darius Hinks [Hinks, Darius]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2023-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE FORTRESS CITY AT ZARAX

SAMNIUM PROVINCE, REGIUM

Castamon strode through the gates and headed out into the crowds. He was preceded by blocks of auxilia troops, who used their lasguns to shove people aside and clear a path. Thousands of refugees were racing through the darkness and swarming around the gates, wounded and traumatised, jostling for a place in the fortress. But Castamon barely registered them, marching down the avenue made by the soldiers, out into the fields. The air resisted him, thick and greasy and filled with spores. He took out his pistol and made for a glimmer of light up ahead, just beyond the edge of the forest. Abarim was at his side, armour shimmering as he gripped his force axe.

‘Life signs.’

Castamon nodded. ‘I see them.’ He blinked sigils across his helm display. ‘It is Vultis. But it would seem that he came down hard.’

The auxilia soldiers began to drop behind as he and Abarim picked up their pace. He had ordered the rest of the Ultramarines to remain on the walls and prepare for imminent attack. The impact tremors were a constant drumroll now and he knew, from hard-won experience, what was about to happen.

After a few minutes he saw the shape of the downed Storm Speeder up ahead, silhouetted by flames coming from its fuselage.

‘He lives,’ said Castamon as a figure came rushing towards them. He recognised the shape of the Apothecary’s Gravis armour and the autopsy equipment mounted on his backpack. Despite his bulky battleplate, Vultis was running fast across the mud, showing no obvious signs of injury. Behind him was the hulking shape of Baraca, who also seemed to be unharmed.

‘They are not alone,’ said Abarim.

It took Castamon a moment to understand what Abarim was referring to, then he saw that what he had mistaken for the edge of the forest was actually a line of figures – a numberless host, stretching out in every direction, bearing down on Vultis.

‘He needs covering fire.’ Castamon glanced back at the troops rushing after them. ‘But the light is too poor. They might hit Vultis and Baraca.’

‘I can help,’ replied Abarim.

‘Abarim, are you sure? I saw how it drained you, reading the consul’s thoughts. Will you have enough control?’

‘A little light, brother. I can still manage that.’

Before Castamon could press him further, Abarim raised his axe, crying out an oath as he ran. Energy pulsed from his armoured cowl, shimmering down his arm and igniting the axe’s runes. The temperature dropped and the distant thumping sounds grew muted. Then columns of light burst up from beneath the ground, lancing through puddles and troughs, illuminating the fields for hundreds of feet in every direction. Castamon felt a surge of righteous power. It was more than light, it was the force of Abarim’s will, igniting the very air.

Vultis emerged from the glare, his white armour flashing as Baraca pounded after him. But Vultis and Baraca were not the only things Abarim had revealed. Behind them the light washed over a tide of glinting shapes.

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