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THE MAN WAS too weak to screamas Obax Zakayo picked him up bythe ankle and tossed him into the

wide fanged jaws of the furnace. Noneof the other slaves looked up at this freshatrocity. None dared to. The wrath ofObax Zakayo was a capricious thing;unpredictable and random and no-onein this sweltering hell could be countedsafe from his spite.The murderous giant took a lumbering

step through the orange-lit nightmare ofthe forge temple, bellowed commandslaced with grating static booming fromthe vox-amp built into his burnished ironshoulder guard. Yellow and blackchevrons edged the plates of his powerarmour and hissing pipes wheezed fromevery joint, leaking stinking black fluidsand venting puffs of steam with everystep. He carried a screaming axe, its edgetoothed and brutal, and a cracklingenergy whip writhed on the end of amechanised claw attached to his back. Billowing clouds of steam and exhaust

gasses filled the forge, shot through withstreaks of bright flames. Fat orangesparks flew from vast grinding machinesand rivers of lava-hot metal streamedfrom colossal cauldrons – each largerthan a titan’s head – into groovedweapon moulds. Monstrous, debasedcreatures in vulcanised rubber maskswith rounded glass eye sockets andribbed piping running into tanks carriedon their backs cracked barbed whips.They lurched with a twisted, mutatedgait and gurgled monotone commandsto the hundreds of slaves that filled thescreaming forge.That such malnourished, wretched

specimens of humanity could still liveand work in such a terrible place wastestament to the indomitable spirit thathad sustained them in the time sincetheir capture. None amongst them knewhow long it had been since they hadbeen dragged in chains from the prouddefence of an Imperial citadel to thisnightmare world. A world where a blacksun beat down from a sky that burned aretina-searing white and from which

smoky black threads poured into acyclopean city of such insaneproportions that men had been drivenmad just by gazing upon its impossiblegeometries for too long.Some three thousand men had been

brought to this world, calledMedrengard by its inhabitants, thoughless than a quarter of that number stilllived. Whipped, beaten and fed barelyenough to survive, their incarcerationwas little more than a slowly enacteddeath sentence. The grinning face at theend of the forge’s nave roared andseethed, filling the air with a screechinghowl of fury. Here, an incarcerateddaemon’s immaterial energies drove theceaseless hammering of giant pistonswhile its anger heated the furnaces withthe power of a star. Golden wards carvedinto the floor bound the daemon to itsfate, and its red eyes blazed above theforge, driving men to madness andmurder.But such was a small price, and gladly

paid by the masters of the forge. Ahundred slaves or more died every day,but the Iron Warriors cared not.Where a hundred died, a thousand

more would be brought to work untildeath claimed them as well.

A TRIO OF TRACKED bulldozerengines hauled themselves intothe forge, dragging rusted

troughs behind them through the knee-deep ash. More of the rubber-maskedmutants drove the dozers and, evenbefore they stopped, slaves clusteredaround them, leaning over the edges ofthe troughs to scoop up handfuls of thethin, greyish gruel that slopped aroundtheir bases. Men who had once calledeach other brother and had fought thedark powers shoulder to shoulder,punched and kicked each other bloody

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as they fought for the meagre scrapstheir captors allowed them.Sergeant Ellard carefully made his way

through the press of bodies to where aslumped figure sat exhausted, his headdrooping between his knees. Unkempt,filth-encrusted hair that had once beenblonde, but was now dull and greycovered most of the figure’s ash-smearedface.‘Sir,’ said Ellard, ‘some food.’The figure looked up, red-rimmed and

bloodshot eyes stared at the sergeantthrough the lank rats’ tails of his hair, butsaid nothing.‘Sir, you have to eat,’‘Why?’‘Because you’ll get sick if you don’t

eat.’‘We’re already dying, Ellard,

remember? The Adeptus Mechanicusmade sure of that with their damnedcancers, so what’s the point inpostponing death?’Ellard squatted on his haunches, still

holding out his dripping hands, coollyregarding his commanding officer,Lieutenant Colonel Mikhail Leonid.‘Because we’re soldiers of the 383rd

Jouran Dragoons,’ said Ellard. ‘We don’tgive up until the last breath has beencrushed from us.’‘Just like Corde,’ said Leonid.‘What?’‘Never mind,’ said Leonid, holding out

his hands and allowing Ellard to pourwhat passed for nourishment into hishands. He looked at the grey liquid, oilypatches of Emperor only knew whatfloating like a frothy scum on its surface.He raised his hands to his mouth anddrank the foul broth, feeling the gristlylumps of meat catch in his throat. Hedidn’t know what meat it was and didn’twant to think too hard about thestrongest possibility of its identity.He felt his stomach cramp and fought

the familiar urge to vomit its contentsonto the ground. The carcinogens heand his regiment had been infected withwere making their presence felt and

Leonid closed his eyes as a jagged spikeof pain ripped through his gut.But Ellard was right, they were soldiers

of Jouran and the Emperor, and they didnot give up, no matter that they were alldead men who refused to lie down. Heforced down the last mouthful of thegruel and watched as the Iron Warriorbastard, Obax Zakayo, marched downthe length of the forge, the loathsomeclaw on his back cracking the energy-wreathed whip into the huddled massesof slaves.‘On your feet, scum!’ he bellowed.

‘There’s work to be done. I’ll grind yourbones to powder and feed you to thedaemon of the forge! Up! Up!’How could it have come to this?

Though it seemed he had spent alifetime toiling in this nightmareexistence, he knew it could not havebeen long. A few scant months since thecitadel of Hydra Cordatus had fallen tothe Iron Warriors and they had beendragged off in chains to the echoingprison hulks in orbit.His last sight of the citadel had been of

its walls being cast down, its once-proudbuildings in flames and the desecratedcorpses of Captain Eshara’s ImperialFists scattered before the Valedictor Gatelike offal. Herded like animals onto thedarkened prison barges of the traitors,they had been kept chained and beatenuntil arriving at this terrifying place.Leonid knew that the galaxy was a big

place, with many strange and incrediblesights, but this was something elseentirely. Hoary old veterans told tales ofworlds located in a horrifying placeknown as the Eye of Terror, wheremighty daemons and the followers of theRuinous Powers ruled supreme. Theyspoke of insane worlds where godswhose name could never be spoken heldsway over all before them and whoshaped their worlds to their lunaticwhims. Like others, he had laughed atthese tales, though there had alwaysbeen an edge of fear to the laughter.What if they were true?Now he knew they were.

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The shadow of Obax Zakayoswallowed him, the monster in dark ironarmour thrown into silhouette by thefires of the furnace.‘You. Slave. Stand up,’ ordered the Iron

Warrior.Leonid rose to his feet. To disobey

Obax Zakayo was to die and, aswretched as their lot was, he wasdamned if he’d die at this bastard’shands.The Iron Warrior leaned down, the hot

breath from his helmet’s rebreathermaking Leonid gag and the yellow lightfrom his visor bathing him in a sicklyglow.‘Slaves bring you food. You are their

leader?’‘I was,’ nodded Leonid. ‘Not now.’Obax Zakayo laughed, the noise a

harsh grating that scraped alongLeonid’s nerves like a rusty blade. Heplucked at a tattered epaulette onLeonid’s shoulder, wiping away a film ofgrease and ash to reveal the faded goldshoulder boards of a lieutenant colonel.‘You let yourself be captured,’ said

Obax Zakayo. ‘The gods of battle willmock you for all eternity, slave.’‘Better that than be damned for all

eternity,’ snapped Leonid.‘Damned?’ chuckled Obax Zakayo, as

though hearing the word for the firsttime. ‘Perhaps, but I am immortal.Powerful. What are you?’Leonid said nothing, feeling his hatred

swell, but keeping a tight grip on itspower. Hot pain suffused his limbs andthough he was weary beyond measure,he stood firm in the face of the tauntingIron Warrior.From the corner of his eye he caught a

glimpse of furtive movement and hearda muffled cry over the heavy hammeringof the forge and the roar of theimprisoned daemon. Obax Zakayocaught the motion and turned in time tocatch a fleeting glimpse of a swingingiron bar before it hammered into hishelmet.

Leonid ducked back as the traitordropped to one knee.A group of scrawny slaves clambered

across the engine block of the leadtrough-hauler, dragging the maskedcreatures from within and bludgeoningthem with jagged lumps of hardenedore. The daemon forge howled in glee atthe slaughter, its wailings rising to ascreaming gale.Gunshots filled the forge and a

handful of slaves went down. Bloodspurted, spilling into the hissing weaponmoulds and filling the air with its stink.Mutants tried to reverse the remainingtwo trough-haulers, but the enragedslaves were upon them, tearing themapart with a fury borne from monthsand months of systematic abuse andtorture.Sergeant Ellard reacted first, running

over to join the slaves clambering acrossthe nearest trough-hauler.‘Turn it around!’ he bellowed, pointing

to the forge’s main doors, which werebeing dragged shut by gangs of twistedmutants. Leonid grinned ferally,realising that this was their chance,when a powerful spasm tore through hisstomach and doubled him up in pain. Hedropped to his knees and vomited theputrid gruel he had eaten, feeling hisstomach contract as it tried to expel hisstomach lining. A fierce madness seized the slaves as

they beat their tormenters to bloodyruin, tears of released horror streakingtheir filth-encrusted faces. Giantcauldrons of molten metal passedoverhead as one of the Jouran slavesfinally managed to take control of thelumbering vehicle. The trough-haulerlurched forwards, its tracks spinningclouds of choking ash into the air.Leonid watched as the cheering slaves

clambered aboard, whooping in savagejoy as it headed towards the exit and theburning white sky beyond.Then Obax Zakayo regained his feet

and raised his arm, a mass of twistingpipes, hissing vents and gun barrels.Leonid tried to shout a warning, but the

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pain in his belly had stolen his voice.Foot-long tongues of flame blasted fromObax Zakayo’s arm, explosive boltsripping across the side of the trough-hauler, spilling slaves and blood to theground. Screams and cries of painechoed through the forge as the IronWarrior worked the killing fire of hisweapon over the slaves.‘No!’ cried Leonid. ‘Stop!’Obax Zakayo laughed in the face of

Leonid’s protestations, reaching down tohaul the former lieutenant colonel to hisfeet to better witness the slaughter. Bloodand viscera coated the sides of thetrough hauler as it slewed over to theside of the forge, the top of its driver’shead blasted clear. Slaves scatteredbefore the Iron Warrior ’s lethalretaliation, abandoning the trough-hauler to find cover.Leonid twisted in his captor’s grip,

watching as the trough-hauler slammedinto the stanchions supporting thegreased rails carrying the vast cauldronsof molten metal. The vehicle wasn’tmoving quickly, but its sheer mass wasenough to rip the stanchion from itsmoorings and crumple it with itsmomentum. The cauldron currentlytraversing the forge swayed in slowmotion, tipping slowly to one side beforetoppling from the rails and dropping tothe floor.A wave of fiery liquid spilled out,

magma-hot ore turning flesh, bone andmetal to stinking clouds of vapour in aheartbeat. Scores of slaves perished inseconds, the trough-hauler dissolvinginto hissing molten slag. Rivers of red-hot metal rolled onwards in a deadlytide, the intricately carved runes ofembossed gold on the floor flashing tosteam under the heat.As the river of molten metal rolled

onwards to the forge mouth, yet more ofthe runes were obliterated and theroaring of the bound daemon in theforge rose to fresh heights of relish asmore and more of the wardsimprisoning it were destroyed.

Suddenly realising what must happen,Obax Zakayo dropped Leonid and ranfor the forge’s exit, leaving the gaspingJouran coughing and spluttering as thehissing metal began cooling and slowingits advance.But by then the damage was done.The last rune dissolved and the

daemon broke free.Imprisoned for millennia, the scion of

the warp was in no mood to be mercifuland lashed out in blind fury, a frothingmiasma of black light with a swirlingvortex of forms and geometries twistingthrough its nebulous matter. Thoseclosest to the daemon drew breath toscream, but did not have time to do sothe flesh sloughed from their bones. Leonid rolled aside as a dark tendril

slashed the ground, leaving a hissingresidue in its wake. A whipping,octopoid form writhed in the dark light,feeding on the powerful energies of fearand hate swirling around the inside ofthe forge. Streamers of black, oily matterwhiplashed around the forge, slicingmen to bloody ribbons and lifting othershigh into the air.Skeletal husks dropped to the floor,

bled dry of their souls and Leonidscrambled onto a growling piece ofmachinery to escape the creeping tide ofcooling – though still fearsomely hot –molten metal. Throughout the forge,slaves scrambled for high ground,fighting like animals to secure theirsafety. Men hurled one another into thefires in desperate attempts to prolongtheir own lives.The darkness flailed like madness

given form, expanding and solidifyingtentacles of dark matter smashingthrough the walls and roof of the forgeas easily as a man might destroy a doll’shouse. With a tortured shriek of shearingmetal, the latticed girders of the roof andfar wall buckled and tumbled to thefloor. Leonid covered his head with hisarms as smaller fragments and sheets ofcorrugated iron crashed down aroundhim, praying to the God-Emperor thathe might survive this carnage.

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Long seconds passed before herealised that he was still alive and thescreaming daemon was silent. He riskeda glance through his fingers, seeing theburning white sky through the giant tearthe vengeful daemon had rippedthrough the walls of the forge. Of thedaemon itself, there was no sign, save aspot of darkness flaring into the sky.Leonid grimaced in pain. Staring too

long at that impossible sky was likestaring directly into the sun, and hewrenched his gaze from its hatefulbrightness.Little remained of the trough-haulers

save hissing piles of molten metal. Hereand there flames licked across the bonesand charred limbs of slaves and mutantsprotruding from the hissing ore. The dullthrobbing of the forge faded as thedaemon-powered engines slowlyground to a halt, the hammers andpistons starved and useless. As Leonid took stock of the

devastation the escaped daemon hadwreaked, he was relieved to see SergeantEllard pull himself from behind the ruinsof a giant milling machine.Scores had died in the abortive – and

unplanned – escape attempt, and thosewho had survived were too stupefied totake advantage of the momentary lack ofoverseers.Leonid knew he had seconds at best to

capitalise on the situation when theforge doors crashed open and a dozenIron Warriors were thrown into starkrelief by the bone-white sky.Whatever chance they might once

have had vanished like ash on the wind.

L EONID KEPT HIS eyes glued tothe bleak, grey rockcrete platform,whorls of dust and ash describing

wind-blown spirals before him. He triedto shut out the hateful screams of the

sleepers as the burning sky blazed whiteabove them, beating down with fiercebrightness, the dark hole of the sunrippling like a baleful eye. Fellow slavesand Jourans were pressed tightly aroundhim, the stench of unwashed bodies,blood and fear mingling to create aheady cocktail of aromas.The former lieutenant colonel shivered

as daemonic scents gusted throughthem, expelled like corpse-breath fromthe newly formed tunnel mouths.He risked a glance into its haunted

blackness, feeling a splintering pain inhis head as his limited senses tried tocomprehend the shifting images ofmultiple realities intersecting with thesound of clashing blades and bells.He felt every molecule in his body

vibrate as the resonant frequencies ofthis dimensional abscess widened,rippling waves of sickness and filthspreading from this wound in space-time.He could feel a terrible imminence, like

the tension in the fabric of the sky beforea storm. Something was coming.Something so dark and ancient that hismind could not even begin tocomprehend the scope of its evil.Then Obax Zakayo moved between

him and the tunnel and its spell wasbroken.‘You sense it’s coming intersection

don’t you, slave? The OmphalosDaemonium.’Leonid did not answer, his guts

clamping in pain at the sound of suchdamned syllables given voice andwishing again that he had died on thejourney to this cursed place.The failed escape attempt in the forge

had been paid for in the blood of hisformer soldiers. Obax Zakayo strodethrough the cowering survivors of thedaemon’s escape, clubbing slaves todeath with each sweep of his fist. Slaveswere dragged from their hiding placesand hurled onto spinning lathes, pressedinto crushers or lowered into steamingvats of ore. Limbs were ground to gorystumps and bones crushed to powder

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within the jellied ruin of their flesh. Nopain went unexplored and no form ofsuffering was omitted from the IronWarriors’ retribution. Within minutes,hundreds were dead, slaughtered to satethe traitors’ lust for pain andhumiliation.Obax Zakayo had lifted Leonid from

the ground and held him before hisbattered visor.‘You are their leader.’‘No,’ gasped Leonid. ‘I told you, I

don’t–’‘They still look at you as their leader,’

interrupted the Iron Warrior. ‘For this Iwill kill some of them now. Keep yourmen in line or I will kill all of them. Notyou, though. Just them. All of them.’‘But-‘‘Silence,’ snarled Obax Zakayo. ‘Just

do it. You are no use here now that thedaemon has gone. You are to be taken tothe Warsmith Honsou and put to workin his weapon-shops. Try and escapefrom him and you will not be dealt withso lightly.’Marched from the devastated forge,

those slaves not fed inch by inch to themachines had been driven out into atwisting labyrinth of fortificationscrowned with blades and kilometres ofdeep trenches lined with corrugatedsheets of metal. Forests of razorwirelinked armoured blockhouses andpillboxes bristling with heavy artillerypieces and guns that defied allproportion and reason.The rumble of artillery fire was a

constant drone at the edge of hearing,but who was fighting and why was amystery. Dozens of slaves died en routeto whatever fate awaited them at thehands of the Warsmith Honsou,dropping in exhaustion or starvation orfrom the merciless beatings and randomkillings inflicted by Obax Zakayo.The gruelling death march continued

for days though on a world such as this,where the sun never set and the skiesnever darkened, time was an absurdnotion. Each day brought fresh horrors

and new obscenities: roads lined witheviscerated bodies – human, alien andsome so grossly misshapen as to defyany classification of form. Towers ofskulls, harvest fields of billowing fleshand great monoliths raised with thescrimshawed bones of the dead.Leonid saw that each step brought

them closer to a range of brooding,smoke wreathed mountains, theirtopmost peaks lost in the brightness ofthe sky and obscured by a layer of darkclouds. Pillars of coiling, sentient smokerose from the plains around themountains, called by some namelessattraction to conceal whatever terrorsand wonders lurked above in thedarkness.No matter their course, the sinister

mountains always drew closer andLeonid knew with dreadful certaintythat they were their destination. In thesame realisation, he also knew that noneof them would survive to reach theheights of those dreadful peaks.Each glimpse of the desolate

mountains through the twistingcircumvallation simultaneouslyfascinated and repulsed him. The citadelof Hydra Cordatus had been constructedby an unknown genius of militaryarchitecture, though compared to themonstrous fortifications raised on thisworld, it was a mere trifle – a footnote tothe dark grandeur of this world’sdefences. Leonid doubted that anythingcould penetrate these redoubts or thatany foe could cast down its walls.Finally, their march had come to an

end. A barbed gate of bronze led into arectangular, earthen arena, fully akilometre wide and twice that in length.From somewhere nearby he could hearscreaming; wails of the damned intorment that set his teeth on edge andseemed to pierce his skull with lancing,glass shards of pain. The groundunderfoot was surprisingly soft andloamy, crimson liquid oozing from thewater-logged earth. As Leonid lookedmore closely, he saw that the ground wasnot water-logged, but soaked in fresh-

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spilled blood, bones and grinning skullsgleaming whitely through the redground. His mind reeled at the prospect. How

many must have been drained of theirlifeblood to irrigate such a vast space sothoroughly? How many arteries hadbeen emptied to satiate the vile thirst ofthis dark, dark earth?Leonid’s stomach knotted in disgust,

but he had nothing in his belly to expeland dry heaved as the awful stench offresh blood filled his senses. SergeantEllard held him upright as they marchedacross thick, timber duckboards to thecentre of this place, this killing ground.Was that it? Was this a place of

execution? Had they been brought hereso that their blood might mingle with thethousands who had already beendrained?He shook off Ellard’s hand,

determined to meet whatever fate theIron Warriors had planned for them onhis feet and unaided. As they drewnearer to the centre of the arena, Leonidsaw a long strip of rockcrete had beenbuilt atop the blood-soaked ground anddull, bloody rail tracks laid, runningacross the middle of the arena andending at opposite walls. As theymounted the steps to the rockcreteplatform, the source of the screamingwas finally revealed to the Jouranslaves.Each sleeper laid between the rail

tracks writhed in agony; a jigsaw ofbodies and limbs knotted together bysome dark sorcery, screaming in lunaticfever-dreams, their cries like a choir ofbanshees. Eyes and mouths churning inthe fluid matter of each sleeper gavepiteous voice to their suffering beforebeing forced from form to formlessnessthat another soul might vent its endlesspurgatory.Men dropped to their knees, weeping

at this fresh vileness, the frayed ends oftheir sanity unable to bear any more.Obax Zakayo hurled them from theplatform, spinning the gibberingmadmen to land in red splashes. No

sooner had they landed than fleshless,bony hands reached up through thedark earth, clawing and grasping at theirbodies and dragging them below thesurface to whatever fate awaited thembeneath.Leonid tried to shut out the gurgling

cries of the doomed men who drownedin the bloody ground to feed therapacious souls beneath.He shut his eyes…Splintering crystals of alternate existences

clash and jangle, detaching from the walls ofone plane and shifting their position toresonate at a different frequency. Echoes intime allow the planes to shift and change;altering the angles of reality to allow thedimensions to unlock, dancing in a ballet ofall possibilities.…and cried out, his eyes snapping

open again, dizzy and disorientated. Hereached out to grab Ellard, steadyinghimself on his sergeant.‘Sir?’‘Emperor ’s blood!’ hissed Leonid,

looking around the death arena. He felt asickening vibration deep in his bones asa restlessness rippled through theground. The jagged stumps of bonejutting through the ground retreatedinto its sanguineous depths and thescreaming sleepers howled withrenewed anguish.Where the rail tracks vanished into the

walls of this vast courtyard, streamers ofmulti-coloured matter were oozing fromthe stonework.Rippling spirals of reflective light

coiled from the mortar, twisting theimage behind like a warped lens. Thewalls seemed to stretch, as though beingsucked into an unseen vortex behind,until there was nothing left but arippling veil of impenetrable darkness, atunnel into madness ringed withscreaming faces.Warped realms, a universe and lifetimes

distant, flow together, joining all points intime on the bronze bloodtracks. On a journeythat leads everywhere and begins nowhere,the Omphalos Daemonium pushes itself from

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nothingness to form. Snaking from itsdaemonic womb and leaving nothing butbarren rape and death in its wake.Obax Zakayo laughed, though Leonid

could feel the fear that lurked beneath.And the Omphalos Daemonium came.

T HOUGH HIS screaming flesh hadwarned him of the might andpower of its evil, it had been but

the merest hints of the thing’s diabolicalmajesty. Roaring from the tunnel mouthlike a brazen juggernaut of the endtimes, the Omphalos Daemoniumshrieked along the bloodtracks towardsthe horrified slaves.Some tried to run: they were struck

down. Some dropped dead with frightwhile others curled into foetal balls andsoiled themselves like newborns.Leonid dropped to his knees at the

sight of the monstrous daemon engine.‘It is fitting that you give homage,’

nodded Obax Zakayo.Vast bone-pistons drove it forward,

iron and steel flanks heaving withimmaterial energies. Bloody steamleaked from every demented, skull-facedrivet as wheels of tortured souls groundthe tracks beneath it to feast on theoozing blood of the dead earth.Deep within its insane structure, it

might have once resembled an ancientsteam-driven locomotive, but unknownforces and warped energies hadtransformed it into something elseentirely. The thunder of its arrival couldbe felt by senses beyond the pitiful fiveknown to humankind, echoing throughthe planes of reality that existed andintersected within the Eye of Terror,where such things were the norm ratherthan the incredible.

Behind it came a tender of dark ironand a juddering procession of boxcars,their timbers stained with aeons of bloodand ordure. Leonid knew somehow howthat millions had been carried to theirdeaths in these hellish containers;carried to whatever loathsomedestination this horrifying machinedesired and then exterminated. TheOmphalos Daemon-ium slowed, thesleepers driven beyond sound in theirtorment as the towering daemon enginehalted at the edge of the platform.Leonid wept tears of blood, his bladder

and bowel voiding as the power and evilof the daemon engine swept throughhim. He thought he heard boominglaughter and the grinding squeal ofwarped timber doors sliding open onrunners rusted with blood.He rolled onto his back, seeing gusts of

blood-laced steam hiss from thearmoured hide of the OmphalosDaemonium. Brazen laughter rippledthrough the tendrils of steam as theywrithed on some evil business of theirown. Each tendril thickened and becamemore solid as they wormed through thewrithing forms of the slaves on theplatform.One lifted a sobbing man from the

ground, wrapping itself around his bodylike a snake. Like quicksilver, the othertendrils whipped over, latching onto thebody and attacking it like predators in afeeding frenzy until there was nothingleft.Leonid blinked, too numb with horror

to react as he saw the tendrils of smokevanish and eight figures appear standingin their place. They wore grey,featureless boiler-suits and knee-highboots with silver buckles along the shins.Each carried a fearsome array of knives,hooks and saws on their leather belts.Their faces were human in proportion

only, flensed of the disguise of skin andglistening with revealed musculature.Crude stitches crisscrossed their skullsand, as they turned their heads asthough hunting by scent, Leonid saw

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they were utterly featureless save fordistended and fanged mouths. Theyhad no eyes, nose or ears, onlydiscoloured, cancerous swellings thatbulged and rippled beneath theirfleshless skulls.The daemons circulated through the

slaves, selecting men at random andlifting them from the ground to snaptheir spines and fasten fanged jaws tothe blackened and swollen melanoma ontheir necks. Leonid pressed his hands tohis ears as the daemons suckled on thecancers that grew and multiplied withinthe bodies of the Jouran slaves.One passed within a metre of Leonid

and he felt a suffocating fear rise up inhim, though he could barely believe thathis terror could rise to greater heights.He saw its patchwork face swing

towards him the tumourous tissue in itsneck bulging with a horrid appetite as itsblackened fingers reached for him,gripping his tattered uniform andhauling him upright. Its touch felt likerotted meat, wriggling with thesuggestion of maggots and freshlyhatched larvae. Its dead skin mask wasinches from his face, its breath like afurnace of cadavers. It moved itsundulating face around his, as thoughtasting his scent.‘The Sarcomata favour you,’ hissed

Obax Zakayo. ‘Corruption of the fleshgiven form and purpose, themalignancies devouring your body arethe choicest sweetmeats to them.’Leonid waited for death, but the

Omphalos Daemonium had greaterpurpose for him than mere murder,roaring in impatience as the Sarcomata’smouth descended to the swellings on hisneck. The daemon hissed in submissionbefore tossing him through the doors ofthe boxcar directly behind the OmphalosDaemonium. He landed on a carpet ofdecomposing matter that stank ofexcrement and blood.Their loathsome hunger sated for the

moment, the Sarcomata herded the restof the slaves into the boxcars, packingthem in tightly before shutting them in

the darkness with nothing but theirterror for company.

‘W HERE DO you think they’retaking us?’ said Ellard.‘I don’t know, sergeant,’

replied Leonid, ‘but I heard that bastardObax Zakayo mention a name. Honsou,I think.’‘Honsou?’‘Aye, that’s what it sounded like.’‘I’ve heard that name before,’ said

Ellard.‘You have? Where?’‘On the prison hulks that brought us

here. By the sound of it, I think he wastheir war leader on Hydra Cordatus.’Leonid shivered, remembering the

sight of the Iron Warriors’ leader as hestood before the walls of the citadel.Captain Eshara had called him aWarsmith and Leonid remembered theblasted rune standard and the nauseousterror that settled in his belly at the sightof such an ancient and terrible warrior.If they were truly to be delivered into

the hands of such a monstrous being,then perhaps death at the hands of theSarcomata would have been preferableto this stinking hell. Nearly a hundredmen were packed tightly into a boxcarmade to carry half that number, and thestench was an assault on the senses. Socrammed were they that each man wasforced to stand upright, pressed tightlyagainst his comrades, unable to makemore than the smallest movement. Menwept and wailed, slatted shafts of brightlight dopplering through the warpedtimbers of the boxcar as the daemonengine rattled and clattered its way upinto the mountains.Leonid could taste smoke in the air and

an acrid tang of electrical build-up, likehe’d felt deep in the Machine Temple ofthe citadel. He pressed his face to a blade

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of light, peering out into the bright day.Ash-stained rocks flashed past, greensparks flaring from the soul wheels asthey carried the Omphalos Daemoniumhigher.The dark layer of clouds drew nearer,

parting every now and then to reveal atantalising glimpse of a jagged spire, abladed bastion or a gun-studdedredoubt. As the daemon engine beganturning in a long, lazy curve, Leonid sawthat their route carried them across animpossible bridge of dizzyingproportions. Thousands of girders andbeams were laced together in a gravity-defying structural lattice that spanned agorge of gargantuan proportions. Itsbottom was lost to sight, roiling mistsand screeching beasts swooping throughin its lightning-filled depths.‘We have to get out of here, sergeant.’‘I know. But how?’‘I don’t know yet, but we’re all dead

men if we stay.’‘Most of the men I know who would

have been handy in a fight died in theforge temple. We don’t have much in theway of forces.’‘You think I don’t know that, Ellard?’

snapped Leonid. ‘Even if we die tryingit’s got to be better than what we’rebeing taken to. The forge of ObaxZakayo was bad enough. I don’t want tofind out what this Honsou’s going to belike.’Ellard nodded and rested his head

wearily against the wall of the boxcar,staring out into the desolate landscape.Deep lines ringed his eyes and Leonidnoticed for the first time how haggardhis sergeant had become. Like mostofficers, Leonid had relied heavily on hissergeants to run his company, and nonemore so than Ellard. To see a man of suchformidable physical presence reduced tosuch a wasted creature was dispiriting inthe extreme. Leonid yawned, suddenly bone-deep

tired and felt his eyelids drooping. Dimlyhe heard a series of dull cracks, likegunfire, but was too weary to react.

‘Get down, sir!’ called Ellard, leapingforward to drag Leonid to the floor of theboxcar. Tightly-packed bodies hamperedhis efforts, but the sergeant’s strength,though diminished, was still prodigious,and he was able to bundle hiscommanding officer to the ground. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ asked

Leonid.‘Stay down!’Leonid rolled onto one elbow as the

sides of the boxcar exploded inwardswith fist-sized bullet impacts. Shafts oflight speared in as the bullets stitched apath across the side of the boxcar,slashing bloody paths through thepacked slaves. Blood and screams filledthe air as men jerked like mad thingsunder the fusillade.Gunsmoke drifted through the

bedlam-filled car. Dead men slumpedagainst one another, held upright by thepress of bodies. Blood pooled on thefloor, swilling out the doors as Leonidheard a thunderous impact on the roofof the boxcar.‘What the hell’s going on?’‘I think we’re under attack, sir. Or

being rescued. I’m not sure which.’A crackling trio of blades punched

through the bronze roof of the boxcarand a massive fist tore the sheet metalback as though it was no more thanpaper.Silhouetted against the dazzling

whiteness of the sky was a huge figure inmidnight black power armour. A SpaceMarine…Sudden hope flared as the figure

shouted, ‘Slaves! Rise up and fight! Fightthe Iron Warriors!’Leonid clambered to his feet, fresh

energy filling his limbs at this answer tohis prayers. The Space Marine looked upalong the length of the train and said,‘Hurry. The Sarcomata will gather soon.’Laughing hysterically in relief and

released fear, Leonid began climbing tofreedom, the splintered holes in the sideof the boxcar providing ample hand andfoot holds. He pushed his head above

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the level of the roof, relishing thecleansing feeling of the wind whippingthrough his hair. He hauled himselfthrough the hole the Space Marine hadtorn in the roof and pushed himself tohis knees, reaching down to help Ellard.The sky blazed white above them, the

black sun beating down with greasy darktendrils to somewhere beyond yetanother range of mountains. Leonidforced his gaze from the sight as theenergy claws retreated into the SpaceMarine’s gauntlet.Looking closer, Leonid saw that the

warrior’s armour was a far cry from thegleaming brilliance of the Imperial Fistshe had seen on Hydra Cordatus;ravaged with dents, scarred and patchedin dozens of places with crude grafts andfiller. Hot vapours vented at hisshoulders from the nozzles of a massivejump pack, and a white symbol – a birdof prey of some kind – had been paintedover with a jagged red cross. His helmetbore a similar symbol across his visor.Looking along the length of the

boxcars, Leonid saw yet more of theSpace Marines. Clad in an eclectic mix ofcolours and styles of armour, almost allof them bore a different Chapter symbolon their shoulder guards. They pulledslaves from captivity and herded themtowards the rear of the daemon engine’sboxcars and, glancing down into thefilthy prison he had escaped from,Leonid saw that he and Ellard were theonly two to follow the Space Marine’sorder to climb out. Perhaps forty menremained, staring up with terrified eyesat the armoured warrior.‘Who are you?’ shouted Leonid over

the roar of the wind.‘I am Ardaric Vaanes of the Red

Corsairs,’ said the warrior, drawing apistol. ‘Get behind me.’Leonid and Ellard scrambled across

the roof, hugging its rough surfaceclosely. Leonid risked a glance over theedge of the roof and experienced amoment’s sick vertigo as he stared downinto the abyss the daemon engine wascrossing. He rolled onto his back in time

to see Obax Zakayo clamber onto theroof, his lashing energy whip coilingabove his helmeted head.‘Look out!’ shouted Leonid as the whip

cracked.Vaanes brought up his arm to deflect

the blow, the crackling lash ensnaring hislimb and discharging a powerful coronaof blue light. Ardaric Vaanes grunted inpain, his pistol clattering to the roof ofthe boxcar and skidding to the edge.The Space Marine backed away from

the giant Iron Warrior, risking a glance atLeonid and Ellard.‘Get to the front!’ he shouted. ‘You

have to stop this daemon-thing beforewe reach the gatehouse. Go now!’Obax Zakayo’s whip lashed again,

driving Vaanes to his knees as Leonidand Ellard scrambled along the roof topeer over the bladed front of the boxcar.The Iron Warrior took a ponderous steptowards the convulsing Space Marine,his mechanised claw reaching out tosnap his neck.Vaanes roared and thrust with his

lightning-sheathed blades. Obax Zakayobatted the blow aside with his axe as hismechanised claw clamped on Vaanes’sgorget. ‘You renegades dare try to steal the

slaves of Warsmith Honsou?’ snarledObax Zakayo. ‘For this you must die.’The claw tightened on the Space

Marine’s neck, and Leonid heard thecrack of ceramite over the rushing wind.White sunlight glinted off metal and hesaw the Space Marine’s pistol judderingat the edge of the boxcar’s roof.He reached over and dragged the

heavy gun closer, amazed at its bulk andweight. Too heavy for him to fire one-handed, he rolled onto his back, cradlingthe gun to his chest and supporting itsweight on his forearm.He pulled the trigger, the recoil hurling

the gun from his hands. He rolled andgrabbed the pistol’s oversized gripbefore the weapon could tumble into theabyss below.

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But his shot was accurate, or at leastaccurate enough to matter. It struck thevisor of Obax Zakayo’s helmet and spunhim around. The claw choking ArdaricVaanes released its grip and the SpaceMarine leapt to his feet to face the IronWarrior.‘Go! Quickly!’ he bellowed, pointing

further along the bloodtracks. ‘I told youto stop this thing before we reach thegatehouse!’Leonid turned and gazed through the

dark smog ahead, not truly believing thesight before his eyes.Emerging from the darkness ahead

was a fortification built into themountain from dark madness, standingin defiance of all reason. Its steepledtowers wounded the sky, its massivegateway a snarling void that swallowedthe tracks the Omphalos Daemoniumtravelled upon. Its walls were darkened,bloodstained stone, veined withunnatural colours that should not existand which burned themselves upon theretina. Lightning leapt between itstowers and the clanking of great enginesand machines echoed like thunder frombeyond its walls. And this was but agatehouse?‘Blood of the saints!’ whispered Ellard.‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Leonid.The clash of weapons behind them

and the sight of the monolithic fortressdrove them on and the two Jouransslithered forwards on their bellies to theend of the boxcar. A miasma of evil anduncounted aeons of torment pulsedfrom the howling daemon engine, andLeonid felt blood drip from his nose andears the closer they crawled.He pushed himself up, ready to make

his way onto the daemon engine. Ahorrifying, bloodstained tender wascoupled between it and the boxcars,filled with dismembered corpses. Redsteam trailed from the thunderingengine, spinning like bloody streamersas the Sarcomata feasted on thecadavers.

‘We’ll need to move quickly,’ saidEllard.Leonid nodded and swallowed his

disgust, dropping into the oozing carpetof bodies. The tender lurched on thebloodtracks and he fell, throwing hisarms out before him and sinking kneedeep in gore and severed limbs. Ellarddropped next to him and pulled himupright. Together they waded unsteadilythrough the bodies, corpse gases andsemi-coagulated blood misting the airwith every step. The tendrils of bloodysteam slithered around them, more solidthan smoke had any business being.‘Emperor forgive us,’ said Ellard as a

slack, dead face rolled over under hisboot.Leonid gratefully reached the end of

the tender, keeping an eye on the circlingsmoke.He hauled himself over the lip of the

tender, turning back to help his sergeant.A ghostly face swam out of the smoke,

a fleshless patchwork of musculaturewith no features save a fang-filledmouth.‘Hurry!’ shouted Leonid, dropping

Ardaric Vaanes’ pistol behind him anddragging Ellard forward. Wraith-likearms wrapped themselves around thesergeant’s shoulders and began pulling.Only partly formed, the Sarcomata’sstrength was not the equal of the twoJourans, and Leonid hauled Ellard fromthe tender with one last desperate heave.The two men collapsed on the iron

deck at the back of the OmphalosDaemonium, a bronze doorway rattlingin its frame behind them. Leonid couldsee no handle, tasting ashes and thescent of burning flesh gusting throughan iron grille at its top. Solidifyingsmoke-trail bodies of the Sarcomatabegan climbing from the tender, hissingwith hunger at these fresh morsels.The two Jourans backed into the door,

Leonid dropping to one knee to recoverthe fallen pistol. One of the Sarcomatapounced towards him, clawed armsreaching for his neck.

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The pistol boomed and ripped the topof the daemon’s head off. Daemonicblood splashed the door, the metalundulating as the blood hissed andvanished like droplets on a hot skillet.The entire doorframe rippled and, asLeonid fell back against the door, itopened as though freshly unlocked.He sprawled into a blisteringly hot

engine room, Ellard wasting no time infollowing him inside and slamming thedoor shut behind him. The doorbuckled in its frame as the Sarcomatahurled themselves against it, desperateto feast on the cancers within them.Leonid could feel their hunger as aphysical thing as he groggily pushedhimself to his feet.As he saw where their desperate

flight had taken them, he wonderedwhether they might have been betteroff taking their chances with theSarcomata. The interior of the daemonengine defied geometry, impossiblystretching beyond the limits of visionto either side, a sweltering, red-lit hellcavern, larger than the forge temple ofObax Zakayo. A wide-doored fireboxroared and seethed, tended by a giantin a clanking, mechanical suit ofriveted power armour and thick,vulcanised rubber. Over its ancientiron armour, it wore a blood-stiffenedapron, and a crown of metal hornssprouted from a conical helmet with araised visor.Muttered doggerel and guttural curses

spat from beneath the helmet as thefigure approached a long line ofdangling chains and pulleys, each with alimbless human torso skewered on arusted hook. The figure stabbed a longbillhook into a headless torso and thrustit into the firebox. He stoked the daemonengine with flesh and blood, andbelching stacks spewed ashen bodiesinto the air.‘There…’ said the figure, its voice

rasping and hoarse. ‘What need Iincantations or words? Word magic ispoor man’s sorcery; it is flesh magic thatis strong. Flesh powers ye, blood sustains

ye and I bind thee.’‘What the hell is this?’ said Leonid,

casting uneasy glances over his shoulderat the rattling door.Though his words were spoken in a

whisper, the armoured giant stiffenedand turned quickly to face them, itsbutcher’s blade held out before it.‘Well then, what’s this? The Sarcomata

come knocking at my door and fleshcomes to throw itself in the fires? Goodflesh, helpful flesh. Much better than thedeadmorsels we get…’Leonid raised the pistol and said, ‘Who

are you?’‘Me?’ said the giant, swinging his blade

from side to side. ‘I’s the Slaughterman.Iron Warrior true. Cut and slice, cut andslice. Flesh for the machine. Blood for thecogs and flesh for the fires.’The firebox growled, clawed tongues

of flame slashing in vain at the giant’sturned back. He chuckled, the soundsending shivers up the Jourans’ spines,and shouted over his shoulder.‘No, no, no, you won’t be eating my

skin and bones, daemon. Thrash andstruggle all you want. Bloodmeat for me,deadflesh for you.’‘You feed this thing bodies?’ said

Ellard, his revulsion plain.‘Yes, deadflesh feed the daemon, two

hooks ready for you two. Fresh meat forme. I will cut you up nicely, dress yourflesh with reverence, and sup your bloodas it spills onto me. Now come here likegood flesh so I can chop you.’The Slaughterman beckoned with an

encrusted gauntlet.Leonid raised Vaanes’s pistol and said,

‘I don’t think so. Just stop this thing andI won’t kill you.’The Slaughterman laughed, and shook

his head as he advanced towardsLeonid. ‘You kill me? No, you are meat,nothing more. We will talk no more andyou will die.’Leonid fired the pistol, the bolt striking

the Slaughterman square in the chest.Sparks flew and a frothing gruel of fluidand matter dribbled down his filthy

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apron. The giant snarled, his blackenedfeatures twisted in rage.‘You shot me,’ he said. ‘I cut you to

death slowly now. Cut your fleshscreaming into morsels that I will feedyou. I will feed you your feet, your legsand then your arms. And then I will giveyou to the Omphalos Daemonium andyou will know true pain.’Leonid fired again, but this time the

bolt was smashed aside by theSlaughterman’s billhook.With a roar, the Slaughterman

charged, his giant blade sweeping downto cleave Leonid in two. Leonid duckedand rolled aside, the billhook scraping aflaring gouge in the floor. Ellard ran behind the Slaughterman,

desperately searching for a weapon, asLeonid stood and fired again. The bulletswent wide, smacking wetly into thehanging torsos and blowing them apartfrom the inside.‘No!’ shouted the Slaughterman. ‘Not

the deadflesh. Bad flesh must stop.Needs to be chopped quick.’The giant Iron Warrior turned as

Leonid backed into the swayingcadavers, firing into the butcher’s rack ofmeat, ripping them from their hooks in ahail of bullets.The Slaughterman wailed and roared,

his billhook slashing a path through themeat towards his prey. Leonid kept thetrigger pulled until the hammerslammed down on an empty chamber.Bloody hooks swung and jangled beforehim, scraps of meat still sliding down thedark metal. One hook slid to the floor, alooping pile of chains rattling down fromthe winch above. As the Slaughtermanpushed the last cadaver aside and stoodface to face with Leonid, he saw Ellardstanding beside the levers thatcontrolled the chain pulley mechanism.The firebox seethed in hunger behindthe Slaughterman.Leonid reached down and grabbed the

hook, holding it before him like aweapon.

‘Bad flesh, you. No reverence for younow. Chop, chop, chop. Deadflesh.’The Slaughterman leaned down, and

Leonid could finally see his face beneaththe conical, horned helmet. Vacant andpuffy, his features were curiously child-like, with a rotten-toothed grin andrheumy eyes that spoke of anunthinking cruelty.One meaty gauntlet reached down,

scooping up Leonid before he coulddodge aside and lifting him from theground. He grunted in pain as the giantlifted him up.‘Bad flesh,’ said the Slaughterman.

‘Won’t even wet my blade with you. Justbite you into pieces.’The Slaughterman’s jaws cracked as

they opened, stretching and swelling asif to swallow him whole. Foetid breath,reeking of decomposing matter, waftedfrom the depths and Leonid gagged,kicking at the Slaughterman’s gut indesperation.As the Slaughterman’s jaws reached

down towards him, Leonid swung thebutcher’s hook upwards in a vicious arc.Bone splintered as the iron point

punched through the giant’s jawbonebefore exploding through his eye-socket.Leonid fell to the floor as the

Slaughterman howled in pain, the chainattached to the end of the hook pullingtaut as Ellard frantically cranked thewinch. The Slaughterman dropped hisweapon and scrabbled at the barb, blackblood spraying from the wound as hesought to pull some slack in the chain.But Ellard was having none of it,

reeling the Slaughterman in, winchingthe chain screechingly along its rails anddragging the wounded giant towardsthe firebox. His howls were piteous, butLeonid had no sympathy for themonstrous cannibal.Daemonic flames leapt from the

firebox, blazing claws slashing at theSlaughterman’s back. He screamed,fighting to get clear, but the tormenteddaemon had him and was not about torelease its grip. Incandescent flames

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enveloped the Slaughterman and he wasdragged into the inferno of thedaemonic firebox. Soon he was lost tosight and the heavy iron door slammedshut behind him as the maniacal daemonwithin wreaked its terrible vengeance onits captor.No sooner had the firebox’s door shut

than the vast bone-pistons slowed andthe hissing machineries releasedscalding bursts of steam. The orangeglow that pervaded the engine roomfaded and the impossible geometries ofthe chamber began returning to thosedimensions that did not baffle thesenses.Leonid dropped to his knees,

exhausted beyond words as the horror ofthe past few days threatened tooverwhelm him. Ellard stumbled over tohim and offered him his hand.‘I can’t believe it. We got him.’‘Yes, sergeant, we did. Well done.’‘Now what do we do? Is this thing

stopping?’‘Certainly feels like it.’Leonid glanced over at the bronze

door they had come through. Strangely,the thudding booms of the Sarcomatahad ceased. Was their very existencesomehow linked to the daemon withinthe firebox or even the Slaughtermanhimself? Even as he formed the thought,the door exploded inwards and ArdaricVaanes stood framed in the white light ofthe sky.‘You did it,’ he said, sounding

surprised.‘Yes, we did,’ agreed Leonid. ‘Did you

kill Obax Zakayo?’‘No, but he’s gone. Gone with the rest

of the boxcars.’‘What are you talking about?’ said

Leonid, limping towards the door.As he and Ellard left the Slaught-

erman’s domain, they saw that thetender was all that was left attached tothe Omphalos Daemonium. Battered-looking Space Marines filled it, but theboxcars were nowhere in sight.

‘What the hell did you do?’ screamedLeonid. ‘I thought you came to rescueus?’‘No,’ said Ardaric Vaanes. ‘We were

never here to save you. We came to stopthe Iron Warriors getting more slaves fortheir weapon shops. Without slaves theycannot make weapons to fight us.’‘You killed them,’ said Ellard, looking

down the tracks for any sign of theboxcars.‘Trust me, if they truly understood

what awaited them in Honsou’s citadel,they would thank me for my mercy.’‘Mercy! You bastard, those were my

men,’ shouted Leonid. ‘I fought shoulderto shoulder with them and you betrayedtheir courage.’‘They were not the men you fought

beside any more. You know this. Theywere broken. But you have steel in you, Ican see it plain as day. If you wish, youmay come with us and strike backagainst the Iron Warriors. But decidenow; we are through the gatehouse, andits guards will be upon us soon if we arenot away.’Vaanes climbed into the tender and

held his hand above the couplingmechanism.‘Are you with us?’ he asked.‘Go with you? We don’t even know

what you are,’ said Leonid.‘We were once Space Marines of the

Adeptus Astartes and fought for theEmperor, but now our only allegiance isto each other,’ said Vaanes. ‘Our formerbattle-brothers would call us renegades,but right now we are the nearest thingyou have to friends.’Leonid started to reply, but felt Ellard’s

hand on his shoulder.‘Sir, he may be right.’‘He killed our men, sergeant!’‘I know, and we will never forget that,

but as Castellan Vauban used to say “theenemy of my enemy…”’‘…is my friend,’ finished Leonid. R