THE RED TIDE CONSUMES

The ramp of the Chimera dropped, and I charged out, already seeking cover as I fired my lasgun at the heretics. Behind me one of my squad mates fell to return fire, collapsing face down into the dirt. Our transport had stopped horizontal to the defensive line, forced to stop suddenly by a previously unseen ditch wide enough to trap it. We would have to charge the enemy fort across open ground, and although the artillery bombardment had done its job at knocking out the weapon placements, there was still enough resistance to be deadly.

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The other transports of our assault force had stopped as well, although some not as quickly; to the right of us a heavy weapon squad climbed out of their slanted Chimera. Our sergeant, Gideon, seemed ready to order us to aid them, but before he could we heard the Major over the vox “Push forwards, troopers! Secure beachheads before they recover, and while we have the advantage! For the Emperor!” The sergeant nodded, as if he had received the order personally, and directed us to move up.

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The heretic position was a villa that had likely belonged to some noble, maybe even the Planetary governor. But when a Chaos fleet had invaded the world of Avidan, it had been seized by the heretics, to be turned into a centre of foul worship. Even from outside the walls, I could see the unnatural symbols dabbed on the walls in red.

Our regiment had been one of eight sent to relive the world’s helpless PDF. It had taken us four years, and cut our regiment down to half strength, but finally the heretics had been pushed back to their final holdouts. All that was left, in theory, was cleanup.

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We charged towards a breach in the villa’s walls, trading fire with heretics that poked their heads over the roof’s lip. One appeared carrying a lascannon, but before they could fire Trooper Iclast dropped to his knees and sent a Frag missile their way. The explosion must have cowed them, as no more heads appeared. 

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Another squad joined us at the breach; among them was someone we all, privately, wished were elsewhere. Commissar Oster had been promoted from Cadet-Commissar only a few weeks ago, and was still trigger-happy with his new execution powers. Even now he was paying more attention to us than the enemy; eyes jumping between each trooper, looking for one slip, one step back, one excuse to put a bolter shell into our skulls. We would need to be on our best behaviour moving forward.

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The corridors of the villa were filled with more bloody symbols, and this close they hurt to look at and made our blood hot. There were skulls everywhere; skulls placed on shelves in place of books, piled into small stacks on the floor, carried by the cultists that attacked us. 

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Perhaps we offended them by trespassing in their holy place, or their anger had reached its boiling point, because they threw themselves at us, abandoning their ranged weapons for short knives and maces. They came at us like unrelenting waves, screaming and howling, and died by the dozen. My squamate Trecks held back the first few assaults with only his flamer, precise bursts charring their flesh, until one burst through the flames and buried a blade into his throat. After that, they got much closer, and we had to attach bayonets or use our lasguns as clubs.

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Slowly we were whittled down. Iclast was knocked down by a spear and didn't get up, while Gideon was battered to death by a skull-headed mace. I saw a man seized by two heretics and pulled apart. Blood and gore flew in every direction, and several times I had to wipe it from my eyes. I saw Pavel drop his spent lasgun to pick up a cultist’s chainsword, only to be shot from behind. The Commissar howled at us, saying he would kill any one that sullied his hands with the weapons of the enemy. So we continued, until finally the last cultist dropped.

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By then only 7 others were alive. Oster stripped the vox set from it’s dead carrier and reported in, asking for new orders, listening for a short while before throwing it at Gornitz to carry. “Listen well, Guardsmen! The main thrust of the attack has encountered stiff resistance, but we are behind the heretic’s position, and so can take them unaware. Onwards, and no slacking!”

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Slowly the sounds of pitched gunfire grew louder, the sounds of death and pain echoing. We encountered no cultists… but I could not help but feel we were being watched. The eyes of the desecrated and blood splattered paintings seemed to turn to watch us pass, and there was a strange chittering from the shadows. But Commissar Oster seemed to notice none of this, and led us onwards until we reached a pair of large doors. Oster used hand signals to tell us to prepare for a breach - then kicked the doors down, advancing with his bolt gun firing.

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On the other side was a small courtyard, and in the centre was some kind of foul ritual circle. A mound of blood stained skulls was in the centre of a twisted and sharp pattern, around which a small number of cultists were gathered, arms raised in supplication. They turned towards us, arms dropping to weapons, but they were too slow and all of them dropped to the floor with holes blown open in their bodies. 

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We advanced quickly into the courtyard, sweeping for other hostiles. Oster approached the skull pile, while I walked towards one of the heretics. Las shots had torn off his legs, and a steady trickle of blood was mixing with what was already on the ground. But, I was shocked to see he was still alive; writhing, gasping for breath, but his eyes met mine as I knelt, a question burning within me.

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“Why do you do this,” I asked. “Why do you cause such destruction?” 

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He gurgled, blood now coming from his mouth, as he raised his head to give me a chilling smile “Bl...blood for the… blood god…” I was filled with a sudden revulsion, a hatred for this mindless monster, and I drew my combat knife to ram it into his throat. He collapsed back into the filth.

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“Skulls for the Skull Throne.” I jumped up, snapping my lasgun towards the center of the circle, searching for the source of the deep, unnerving voice. I saw Oster, backing away; the mound of skulls was shaking, blood spilling out of eye sockets. The whole courtyard began to shake, and I heard screams and shouts that seemed so near, but also so far. Behind me I heard my fellow guardsmen collapse, but I seemed frozen, unable to move my limbs.

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As I watched the pile of skulls burst apart, a great pillar of gore sprouted from nowhere. As I heard mocking laughter echo, I watched a figure pull itself from the gore. It’s armour seemed to swirl with flowing blood, and it stretched it’s wings wide, blocking out the light. Oster fell to his knees, gibbering for mercy. The monster barely glanced at him before lashing out with a great axe, sending half his body flying in a bloody arc. Then the monster noticed me.

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I too fell to my knees as it approached, unable to look away from it’s burning eyes. I saw such hatred; for myself, for those that had summoned it, but I also saw… a kind of regret. He reached down and grasped my neck, pulling me up to his height. I clawed at his arm to free myself, taking in desperate gasps of air; but I somehow was able to speak a single word; “Why?”

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“Why? Because it is time for slaughter. Now, and for eternity.”