Chapter 6.3 – The Seal of Iron and Fire
The war-chant of bolters cracked through the broken hive like thunder rolling through the bones of a dead god.
Kael's boots hit the blood-slick ground as he pressed forward, stumbling under the weight of exhaustion, eyes darting between shadows. A cultist lunged from the smoke to his right—he parried with the broken haft of a lasgun, twisting his body low as another rushed from behind. A swift kick slammed the second into a collapsed pipe, the crack of bone lost in the chaos.
A Dark Angel roared past him—a blur of green and gold—and crushed two more cultists with a swipe of his power sword, cleaving through them like meat.
"Get to the ridge! Hold it!" shouted the sergeant. Kael looked up.
The high ground—a skeletal framework of broken supports—was being secured by a squad of Astartes. One of them vaulted upward, catching a handhold mid-jump and pulling himself atop the ridge before firing down with surgical bursts. Another dropped behind the enemy with a thunderous leap, landing on a cultist's back, cracking spine and skull in one motion.
The Angels moved like gods—each step precise, each motion lethal. While Kael had trained under their watchful gaze, nothing in those drills prepared him for this. He watched in awe as they advanced, splitting into fireteams that rotated between suppressing fire and pushing up the corpse-strewn lanes.
"Cover your left, Kael!" barked one of the Astra Militarum beside him, a corporal with blood caked to his brow. Kael spun just in time, catching a rusted blade on the metal of a fallen hatch cover, then slamming his fist into the cultist's throat. The foe collapsed, gurgling.
Another wave surged from the flank. This time, they came with madness in their eyes, blades soaked in poison, mouths chanting foul, choking hymns. Kael took a deep breath and ducked low under their charge, using his momentum to drive one into the shattered wall.
He rose, panting.
The warp entity screeched.
It had grown, its form a writhing column of half-formed limbs and twisted eyes, bones cracking as it hovered above the central rotunda. The Dark Angels had cornered it, circling with calculated ferocity. One tossed a grav grenade that bent the ground beneath it. Another fired a melta blast into its chest.
Still it screamed. Still it endured.
"A full seal—circle it! Seal it with the Rite of Obsidian!" ordered the sergeant, his vox distorted through the metallic howl.
Four Dark Angels took positions, standing in a precise formation as glowing sigils were activated on their armor. Their presence disrupted the warp-spawned energy, their bodies radiating a nullifying pressure that caused the very air to thrum with tension.
Kael watched, breathless. One of the Astartes—massive even among giants—charged the entity with a power maul, striking it with the full weight of centuries behind the blow. The entity recoiled, tendrils flailing in pain. Another laid down suppressing fire, keeping the remaining cultists from breaking the seal.
Kael turned. The cultists were not done.
"They're trying to break the seal!" he shouted.
The Astra Militarum fell in line, side by side with him, as more cultists charged, now frothing with desperation. Kael moved without thought, body soaked in sweat and blood, blocking a downward strike, countering with a jagged shard of steel. Another grabbed his arm—he twisted, slammed him down, drove a boot into the skull.
The ground shook. The air screamed.
The Astartes finished the seal.
With a sound like a void breach, the warp entity was pulled inward, its limbs folding, its screeches silenced. The sigils glowed for a moment longer… then dimmed.
Silence.
Only breath and blood remained.
The Dark Angels stood in formation, armor cracked and bloodied but unbowed. The sergeant walked forward, helmet removed, eyes cold and unreadable.
"This deployment ends. The Hive is purged. The taint… contained."
Kael stood with a hand on his knee, gasping, surrounded by corpses and smoke.
He had survived.
But the Emperor's darkness was just beginning to take notice.