Blood Gorgons - By Henry Zou Page 0,62

sanctuary were barred from the inside. Behind Sabtah, the six Blood Gorgons of Squad Pharol wedged their wide shoulders into the cold, wet corridor.

‘Sergeant Orchus,’ Sabtah said, turning to the squad. ‘Breach this door.’

Orchus lumbered his way to the front. ‘Milord,’ he said, patting his power maul against his palm. The weapon’s energy field activated with a crackle of compressed oxygen. The corridor’s stale air was cut with the smell of ozone.

Hauling back for a wide backhand, Orchus collided his power maul into the blast shutter. The boarding weapon sank through with a liquid pop. Bubbles of molten metal boiled to the surface as the power maul was torn from the shutter. It peeled away a long 90

strip of armoured door, leaving it to slough off like a wilting petal. Orchus struck again, throwing his hips and torso into the swing. Again and again. Droplets of liquefied steel flew.

‘That’s enough, sergeant,’ Sabtah said as the solid steel became doughy, melting in puddles across the decking.

The group entered Muhr’s sanctuary proper. They pushed on in a tight formation into Muhr’s laboratories. There, the walls were peeling, the cracked paint revealing cryptic designs underneath. Slab‐like operating tables lined the wide hall. When Sabtah looked closely, he could see the tables were scarred with irregular human tooth marks. The witch conducted many of his live experiments here, and the pain of his victims had driven them mad.

Four black turbans, unaware of the squad’s identity, charged out from behind amniotic tanks and curing shelves with their halberds raised. They realised their mistake too late.

Sabtah and his retinue shot them down before they could protest.

Others appeared on the mezzanine steps. Sabtah could not tell whether they were menial servants or armed guards. It did not matter. They shot them all down, chopping down the silhouettes until none appeared above the banisters. The squad stormed up into the unlit upper levels, moving by the muted shades of night vision.

They found Muhr in the upper tip of his tower, a conical chamber with a thin, fluted ceiling. He was stooped over his mirror, his hair matting his face and trailing to the ground like a torn shawl. He stood up quickly, forcefully.

‘What is this?’ he shrieked.

His outburst stopped even Sabtah in mid‐sprint. Muhr had changed. He was unarmoured, but somehow he looked larger. Muhr had always been pallid and thin compared to the others, but now he looked distended, as if his bones, like his nails, had been painfully lengthened.

‘Muhr. We have come to detain you,’ Sabtah announced from behind the barrel of his bolt pistol.

Muhr laughed aloud. ‘On what grounds?’

Sabtah’s tone was expressionless. ‘You are a traitor, Muhr. Hauts Bassiq, Gammadin’s death, it was all your doing, witch. You sold us to Nurgle.’

‘I accuse you of the same!’ Muhr retorted, his voice rising. ‘As do my brothers in arms.’

Above them, high amongst the viewing balconies, warriors of Squad Agamon and two Chirurgeons of 4th and 9th Company emerged. They were resting with their boltguns against the balustrade. Sabtah found himself staring into the barrel of Squad Agamon’s autocannon from a second‐storey knuckle balcony.

‘Brother‐Sergeant Phistos. Lower your weapons. I am your superior,’ Sabtah commanded. His voice was calm, but inside he seethed. Sabtah knew Phistos as a promising young prospect, a ruthless raider with many years of service to the Chapter. But now he had been led astray by Muhr’s promises of change and power, as Sabtah had always feared.

The Blood Gorgons were already straining under the first cracks of intra‐Chapter war.

Phistos of Agamon hesitated at Sabtah’s command. His barrel dipped.

‘Weapons trained!’ Muhr shouted. ‘He is the traitor! Detain him.’

Sabtah knew it was an empty charge, a counter‐accusation simply to buy Muhr time.

Muhr knew he had been caught and he was desperate, cornered and crazed. Behind Sabtah, Squad Pharol’s guns did not stray from Muhr. Optic scopes chimed and auspexes pinged with feedback as they refused to lock on. To prevent friendly fire in the tight 91

confines of a boarding action, their bolters’ machine spirits had been forged to seize up when targeting Blood Gorgon power armour.

There was a brief moment of stillness. The squads were locked, both unable to act, their weapons trained on one another.

Sabtah thought about finishing it. He could kill him now, execute him and be done with it. But such an act would open the floodgates of utter chaos. Muhr’s factional supporters would grow uneasy – there would be repercussions. Those rogues who harboured their own ambitions would fear for their own