Blood Gorgons - By Henry Zou Page 0,111
as if entirely spent. It dropped, steadied and dropped again like an injured bird. Sindul only just managed to level out before the Harvester collided belly‐down. It bounced once and skidded, wings sheared by a wall as the ship spun axially on its underside.
Finally, with its rearward engines trailing flame, the ship came to a final, shuddering stop.
Barsabbas pushed the side hatch open and manoeuvred his shoulders out from the frame. Gammadin strode out after him, his ceramite‐fused body entirely unaffected by the landing. Without a word, the Ascendant Champion disappeared into the darkness of the launch tube’s hangar seal.
Pausing briefly, Brother Barsabbas stole one last look into the Harvester’s interior.
Under the flickering cabin glow, he could see Sindul’s body slumped in its cradle. As much as the creature had irked him, the dark eldar’s instinct to survive had impressed him. The utter lack of social conditioning, much like that of a Traitor Marine, meant the dark eldar could operate ruthlessly and without inhibition. That much at least was to be admired.
Giving Sindul an almost imperceptible little nod, Barsabbas left, following Gammadin into the dark.
SINDUL BREATHED UNSTEADILY.
If he could see himself now, Sindul imagined he would not be the handsome creature he had once been. His pared‐open face was smeared with a synthetic gel. Dried blood aproned the front of his chest and thighs. His hair framed wiry strands across his shoulders.
He did not want to look down. He already knew his legs were a mess. The grating pain in his femurs had dulled now, one of the last feelings he would remember.
Shaking uncontrollably, Sindul powered down the Harvester’s systems. Interior lights dimmed. Resting his head against the pilot’s cradle, he fought to stay awake.
THE SEPTIC INFANTRY squad clattered down the lightless launch tube, unmasking the shadows with clumsy floodlight. Striding ahead of the human infantry came Brother Pelgan, a shambling, rusting behemoth of Nurgle. Despite the calls and clicks of animals that lurked in the subterranean depths, Pelgan was by far the most fearsome thing in the region.
They made their way down into the abandoned extremities of the floating fortress. It was too dark to see what purpose these corridors once served, or where they led. In many 164
parts the ceiling had collapsed or the mesh decking simply fell away like a cliff‐face. Men stumbled often, sometimes a mere step away from some bottomless drop. It was difficult to imagine how large the Cauldron Born appeared from orbit, but within, Pelgan had learned to hate the enormity of its landscape. It was so easy to get lost.
It was for that same reason Pelgan had bemoaned his ill‐fortune when his squad sergeant forced him to investigate a foreign object that had breached the ship. It was likely no more than a small meteorite, attracted by the gravitational pull of the floating fortress.
Nonetheless, the Septic subordinates could not be entrusted to such a task. With the recent riots in the dungeons, Opsarus had become even more wary, ever more alert.
‘Bring that floodlight over here,’ Pelgan snapped impatiently. The Septic hauled the heavy lamp over to where Pelgan indicated and began to pan the light back and forth.
At first they saw nothing. The walls were caked with a patina of organic decay. Like an ossuary, the oxidised metal was honeycombed with fossilised plant life. Yet if Pelgan looked closely he could see gouges in the walls – high‐impact damage to parts of the ceiling where flora and decay had been ripped away to reveal the raw metal of the ship’s infrastructure beneath.
‘Over there,’ Pelgan said, checking his auspex again.
The floodlight captured something reflective in its beam. A long and fluted silhouette three times the length of a battle tank, yet organic in its sweeping profile. Its skin was the colour of a fresh bruise, mottled purple and black.
It took Pelgan a moment to recognise the unfamiliar shape of an alien vessel. Lying tilted on its side, exposing its wounded stomach with one snapped wing saluting upwards, the craft looked severely vulnerable.
Pelgan chortled. Finally, he thought, something worthy of investigation. He beckoned for the Septic infantry to follow. ‘Hurry now,’ he said as he closed in on the stranded craft.
PELGAN ENTERED THE gaping spacecraft slowly and cautiously. Nurgle had a peculiar method of execution in all things, which was evident in Pelgan’s approach. The Plague Marines proceeded slowly, creeping through the xenos craft’s unlit interior. Entering through the rear cargo ramp, Pelgan sent his Septic infantry ahead to probe for traps.
Judging by the