Geysers of rock burst from every impact, but Phosis T’kar wasn’t worried. He braced his weight on his right leg and snatched his hands through the air, as though sweeping a curtain open. Four of the jetbikes were plucked from the air as if they had reached the end of an unbreakable tether. Phosis T’kar slammed them against the high walls of the Timoran Library, shattering the statues of its first custodians.
The last three exploded as Hathor Maat sent a cataclysmic electrical surge through their engines. The burning wrecks smashed into the ground and tumbled end over end towards the Thousand Sons position, skidding to a halt less than a metre from Phosis T’kar.
“Custodes,” he grunted. “They’re not so tough.”
The northern reaches of Tizca were aflame. The port was a mass of reeking pillars of smoke, the stink of promethium mingling with the acrid reek of burning tar, rubber and metal. Thick clouds hung low over the city and ash fell like black rain. Men and women in their hundreds streamed past his position, heading towards the Pyramid of Photep laden with books and arms full of scrolls. The streets were littered with fallen tomes and fragments of statuary. Carved heroes of the Raptora had once looked down on the plaza, but shelling from enemy artillery had toppled all save a handful. Expressionless faces and outstretched hands lay strewn across the flagstones.
Mixed among the civilians were bloodied remnants of the Palatine Guard, shell-shocked men drenched in blood who staggered from the port in shock. These terrified survivors were all that remained of the soldiers tasked with containing the initial enemy landings.
“I’ve had word from the Athanaeans,” said Hathor Maat, jogging over from his position to Phosis T’kar’s left.
“What is it?”
“The Wolf King is coming,” said Hathor Maat gleefully. “They say he was first to land at the port and is fighting his way towards us.”
“Fighting?” said Phosis T’kar. “I don’t think there’s much fighting going on. The Wolves are cutting through the Spireguard with ease.”
“You didn’t really expect them to hold, did you?” said Hathor Maat. “They’re only mortals, and this is an Astartes fight.”
“Not just Astartes,” said Phosis T’kar, gesturing towards the wrecked jetbikes. “Custodes want our heads on spikes too.”
“They all die just the same,” said Hathor Maat.
“Any word other than the location of the Wolf King?”
“Ahriman’s got the northern perimeter sealed. He’s holding the upper slopes of Old Tizca from the Acropolis to the eastern flank of Corvidae pyramid.”
“Leaving us with the western front from the Pavoni pyramid to the port.”
“Looks that way,” agreed Hathor Maat. “The Athanaeans are taking up position in Occullum Square, they’re going to feed us intel on the enemy plans as they get it. What’s left of the Spireguard is taking up position with the Legion, but we can’t count on them.”
“What about Khalophis?”
“No word yet.”
Explosions burst nearby as streaking missiles corkscrewed out of the sky and detonated overhead. Razored shrapnel scythed downwards, tearing a dozen civilians to bloody rags.
“Here they come!” shouted Hathor Maat, running back to his position.
A trio of boxy shapes moved through the smoke, the roar of their engines like the cry of living beasts. Trailing clouds of plaster-dust and fire, three enormous Land Raiders in the livery of the Space Wolves burst into the plaza. Behind them came the warriors of Leman Russ, hundreds of armoured fighters advancing in a howling tide of blades and bolts.
Among the warriors of Fenris were warriors in gold and red. They carried long spears with ebony hafts and shimmering blades. Phosis T’kar grinned at the thought of matching his strength against such warriors.
Packs of slavering wolves bounded across the plaza, their bared fangs flecked with scraps of uniform and flesh. The Thousand Sons opened fire, and the plaza erupted in a storm of gunfire. The din of shooting was eclipsed by the howls of the wolves. Phosis T’kar snapped his fingers and broke the alpha male of the pack in two. Bolter fire smacked armour plates and spun Space Wolves around, but the warriors of Russ were masters of charging from cover to cover and few were falling.
Heavy lasbolts flickered overhead, fizzing spears of impossibly bright energy. Explosions burst all along the Thousand Sons’ lines as thudding bangs of bolter fire pummelled their positions. Pounding concussions ripped across the plaza, but the kine shields of the Raptora were proof against such attacks.
He concentrated on the lead Land Raider, reaching out and closing his fist. He wrenched his hand back, and the left sponson tore free of the vehicle in a blazing plume of white light. The heavy tank skidded around and slammed into the vehicle next to it, crushing the warriors advancing between them.
Phosis T’kar grinned.
“You didn’t realise what you were getting into here, did you?” he said.
Another angry retort died in his mouth as sudden, cramping pain knotted in his belly, like someone had taken a fistful of his intestines and wrenched them upwards. He tasted bile and felt a sickly lather of sweat prickle on his skin.
Another vehicle exploded, its hull a writhing spider-web of coruscating lightning. The last vehicle erupted in flames as Auramagma’s warriors hurled fireballs at its frontal glacis. It kept coming, shooting as it crushed priceless tomes and beautiful sculpture to shards beneath its treads. Auramagma himself stood atop a fallen master of the Raptora and wove sheets of white fire like a conductor before his orchestra.
“Too arrogant, that one,” said Phosis T’kar, recognising Auramagma’s flaw while ignoring his own. A missile streaked out and slammed into the Land Raider’s topside, skidding off its armour and exploding further behind it.
Phosis T’kar battered a handful of Space Wolves back with a flick of his wrist, hurling them beneath the tracks of the blazing Land Raider. Their armour broke open with satisfyingly wet cracks. No sooner had the vehicle crushed his victims than fire spewed from its insides. Its escape hatches slammed open as the blazing crew fought to escape the furnace of their vehicle. Auramagma let them burn.
Lightning danced through the Space Wolves, exploding their bodies within the armoured casing of their battle-plate. Hissing sheets of fire turned the ground molten, while the kine shields soaked up the weight of return fire. Phosis T’kar laughed to see his Legion unleashed, with no constraints to its full potential and no faint-hearts complaining because they could kill the enemies of the Imperium better than anyone else.
A sudden cold shiver made him start, the whisper of a ghostly touch at the back of his mind. He had felt it once before, but before he could recall where, a wolf leapt at him through the flames. Its fur was ablaze, and he reached up to flick it away with a gesture.
Nothing happened.
The wolf slammed into him and barrelled him to the ground. Its jaws snapped down, the fangs gouging deep furrows in his visor. Yellowed talons tore into his side, and he grunted as he felt them pierce his flesh. The wolf bit him in a frenzy, and Phosis T’kar fought to keep it from his throat.
His eyes met those of the beast, and he saw into its heart, the alien core of the being beneath the mask of the wolf. His eyes widened in recognition, but it was too late to do anything except fight.
The beast’s jaw fastened on his neck, but before it could bite down Phosis T’kar slammed his fist into the wolf’s belly. He pistoned his arm through its ribcage, crushing through ribs and vital organs to shatter its spine. The light went out of its eyes, and Phosis T’kar threw its body away in disgust. He climbed to his feet, looking at his hands in horror. He willed power to flow through them, but he felt nothing, no connection to the Great Ocean nor any hint of its fire.