Chapter Text
“Approaching Kadaku. Prepare for atmospheric entry.”
As the Corvus Blackstar entered the planet Kadaku’s atmosphere, Nullus of the Deathwatch, Leader of Kill Team Primus, mentally reviewed his mission objectives. Objective Primus - deploy a virus bomb into the atmosphere that the Magos-biologists at Watch Fortress Talassa Prime had assured him would significantly slow the Hive Mind’s advance while not adversely affecting those mortal defenders who still called the planet home, buying sufficient time for a Chapter battle fleet to be detached from the Indomitus Crusade and deal with the remaining invasion. Objective Secundus - with his remaining men, he was to hold the line at the main facility where a Mechanicus project classed at Strategic Value ABSOLUTE was held, until such time as the main force could recover the data. That project was also why the entire planet had not already been given up as lost, preventing Exterminatus from being carried out upon it. This was to be a surgical mission, with the minimum possible number of brothers assigned to it, with speed and stealth to be prioritized over overwhelming firepower.
“Approaching the drop zone.” the servitor pilot of their Blackstar announced over the shipboard vox. The transport clamps released, and the entire Kill Team rose from their seats, ready for action. Nullus cast his gaze over his men, assuring himself of their readiness. Ulfar hefted his power-axe in anticipation, as jocular as others of his Chapter often were at the prospect of action. Nullus could almost see Darius’s eyes roll in agitation behind his helm at the Space Wolf’s display, but thankfully the acerbic Dark Angel kept his tongue to himself - for now. What could be heard over the shared vox link was Beren as ever quietly mumbling litanies to himself in order to invoke Emperor’s protection in combat as the Black Templar shifted his grip on the object of their mission from a seated grip to a standing one. And Kelstros caught Nullus’s gaze, the Blood Angel’s amusement at the typical pre-battle antics of their brothers plain even without any words.
As expected, a swarm of gargoyles slammed into the craft, massed claws and foul wings wedging themselves into the seam of the Blackstar’s boarding ramp, prying it open while still in flight. Nullus’s bolt pistol sheared the first two beasts from their perch, but the power of such creatures was in their numbers, and it was the work of but a moment before the barrier was simply gone, and bolters alone would no longer be sufficient to deal with the infestation. Instinctively the Kill Team set themselves into formation, four of their number standing in a defensive crescent with their objective set squarely behind them. Whatever happened, that cargo had to get through. Which meant that it had to be preserved against the xenos even if it cost the rest of them their lives.
Nullus revved his chainsword, moving forward even as Darius and Ulfar activated the power fields in their sword and axe respectively and followed. Kelstros, trusting his bolt rifle over melee weaponry as he ever did, angled to have the greatest possible field of fire without catching any brothers with his shots. All four engaged as one, meeting the xenos with steel and determination in equal measures. But just as Nullus felt his men were getting a handle on the beasts, the rear side of the compartment was pried open, and an opportunistic gargoyle lunged forward across the space, catching Nullus by the body, forcing him out the other side of the craft and into the open air.
He was shamed to admit that it took him the better part of a moment to slay the foul creature - by which time their collective weight had dropped them close enough to the ground that he was able to land relatively securely - the xenos filth evidently lacking the fortitude required to bear not only its own weight, but that of a Space Marine in full battle-plate. Still, he had lost his bolt pistol in the struggle, though so long as he was able to physically reach his foes, his chainsword would do its work well.
Nullus lifted his gaze and watched the Blackstar sputter across the skies, still headed for the launch facility despite the overwhelming swarm that continued to buffet the craft. He must follow its trail if he wanted to reach his brothers.
“Kill Team Leader to squad, vox check.” he ordered, hoping to hear from those still aboard the Blackstar and ascertain the situation there. Static was his only reply. Not allowing himself to become concerned, Nullus repeated his broadcast. “Repeat, Kill Team Leader to squad. Confirm vox contact.”
Kelstros responded, though it was so laced with static even Nullus’s gene-enhanced hearing could hardly make out the words. “...to…. We have crashed… from your position.”
“Do you have the virus bomb?” Nullus demanded, charging through the jungle toward the probable location of the crash. If Kelstros had the virus bomb, and it was intact…
Ulfar this time, but not in response to any of his team leader’s hails. “...moving to... lost contact with Brother -” the signal cut off with a squeal.
“...approaching the orbital launch facility. Will secure..” Static cut off the Blood Angel’s report.
“Kelstros! Ulfar!” Nullus called through the vox. “I am moving to the crash site. Do you read?”
“Any sign of the commander?” The vox static had eased up a bit, enough for Nullus to hear the entirety of the transmission, though that did not ease his hearts in the slightest given the content of what he was hearing.
“Negative.” replied Kelstros. “No contact since the crash.”
“I’m here, damn it!” Nullus barked into his vox, praying that the Emperor allowed his voice to get through.
“Kelstros, you have the command. What are your orders?” That was Ulfar, the Space Wolf getting right to the heart of the matter as always. With Nullus out of contact, and none of their other brothers answering the vox calls, command did lay with Kelstros, even if Beren had been Nullus’s nominal second. The Blood Angel had been next in line according to seniority though, and had been a Lieutenant when sent to the Deathwatch.
“We proceed as planned,” Kelstros said matter of factly. “Launch the virus bomb into the stratosphere, detonate it, and watch the tyranids die.”
Ulfar expressed his hearty enjoyment of the plan, even lacking as it was in specifics. Nullus for his part growled out his frustration that his transmitter must have suffered damage during his struggle with the xenos that had brought him to the ground.
But the first of the ground-based xenos forms could be spotted, and thus such considerations must be put aside. Hormagaunts. Not a great trial, even alone as he was, though in numbers even such beasts could spell the end for an unwary warrior. He must be cautious.
Nullus laid about with his chainsword, slicing through foul flesh with all the disgust and vitriol he could bring to bear, hoping to dispel through combat some of the fear and uncertainty he felt for his Kill Team. Darius and Beren had not reported in yet, and he was beginning to grow concerned, never mind the fact that his squad could not hear his own words, and were thus unsure if he yet lived.
“Ulfar! Where is that damned virus bomb?’ Kelstros demanded over the vox.
“I’m up to my elbows in these wretched ‘gaunts!” Ulfar complained back.
“Any word from Brother Darius or the commander?”
“Nothing,” Ulfar said shortly. “It is up to us to share the glory, Kelstros.”
Even in the midst of butchering his own xenos combatants, Nullus had to shake his head at the Space Wolf. Even in the most trying circumstances, one could always look to that Chapter to keep their spirits up. Still, he worried for them. “Hold on, brothers.” he entreated, knowing that they could not hear him, but feeling compelled to speak regardless.
Nullus fought his way through the inhabitants of several spore pods, trying to bring ever greater levels of efficiency to each kill. Each xenos he killed - all worthwhile kills to be sure - delayed him from reaching his brothers. And he had the sinking sensation that they were in desperate need of his aid.
Nullus could see the launch facility now, yet turned away from it. Ulfar was having trouble reaching the crash site and the virus bomb that was evidently still within it. He must aid his brother in his task, to give the mission its highest chance of success.
Turning a corner in the path, he abruptly found Darius. The Dark Angel had made a great stand, several dozen tyranid corpses littering the ground upon which he lay. “I will repay them for this tenfold,” Nullus promised his brother. He would miss Darius’s quiet conversations in the Watch Fortress Refectorium, the zeal in which he had thrown himself against the xenos, and the dedication he had demonstrated in the training cages. But there was still a mission to complete.
Salvaging his brother’s bolt pistol to replace his own lost weapon, Nullus moved on, dedicating each kill he could now reach with it to the fallen Dark Angel. It was the least he could do to honor his brother’s sacrifice. But there was no more time to contemplate such measures as Kelstros voxed in again. “The situation at the launcher is becoming severe! Have you secured the virus bomb yet?”
“No,” Ulfar growled out his frustration. “For every ‘gaunt I smash, ten more come raining down!”
“If we fail to launch that bomb, there will be nothing to stop the tyranids!” Kelstros reminded the Space Wolf - unnecessarily, but Nullus understood the Blood Angel’s impulse. Everything depended on Ulfar successfully retrieving that bomb. If that failed, Darius would have given his life for nothing, which could not be allowed.
For all that, Ulfar’s response was reassuring. “I am almost to the crash site. Just make sure the launcher is still standing when I get there.”
“I will hold the line for as long as I can.” Kelstros signed off.
Nullus was almost there as well. “Kill Team, I am at the crash site!” he announced as he reached it, deliberately not engaging his vox, hoping against hope that Ulfar was close enough to hear him without it. He also had not heard from Beren, and while that was a concern, there was still a chance that the Templar’s vox had suffered similar damage to his own, and simply could not transmit. “Ulfar! Beren!” he shouted, begging either to respond to him.
But those hopes were futile in Beren’s case, the Black Templar had apparently ridden the Blackstar all the way down, and had clearly suffered grievous injury in the process. Still, he had not neglected his duty, the virus bomb remaining intact and undamaged despite the clear condition of the craft - and that of the Space Marine. Beren had evidently known he would not make it far from the crash site, and so like a true son of Dorn had tried to set himself a defensive position in which to wait for rescue - which had come only after he had succumbed to his wounds.
“Beren, my brother, you have honored the Imperium with your devotion,” Nullus assured the Templar as he collected the object of their mission. He would link up with Ulfar, and together cut their way back through to Kelstros, who held the gates of the orbital launcher for their arrival. But Beren had given his life for the Emperor, for a purpose. If not for him, they would have no chance at all of succeeding in their task.
“Ulfar! Kelstros! If you can hear me, I have the virus bomb!” Nullus transmitted, praying that the Emperor allowed this of all his transmissions through. “I am headed toward the orbital launcher!” Surely it was now only a matter of linking up with his still living brothers, and adding their strength to his own.
“Is that as hard as you bite, xenos? Come on!” Ulfar taunted, but Nullus could hear the growing desperation in his brother’s voice. Clearly he was hard pressed. Nullus bulled his way through some dense shrubbery, trying to force a shortcut to reach the Space Wolf in time.
He was too late. With a great war cry, Ulfar fell for the final time - impaled by a tyranid warrior -, just as Nullus burst through to him. Darius’s bolter sang its deadly song, but fast as its shells could fly, it was not fast enough to save his brother’s life. With a roar, Nullus fell upon the foul creature that had killed the Space Wolf, chainsword cutting the xenos to ribbons. Yet no matter the mess he made of the monstrosity, it could not change the fact: Ulfar was still dead.
Three out of the five brothers who had come to Kadaku were now dead. Nullus had never before commanded a Kill Team with such a casualty rate and would doubtless face substantial penance back at the Watch Fortress for such a failure of leadership. Yet he could not lose sight of the objective. He had just now reached the outer walls of the orbital launch facility, and would soon find Kelstros.
Who was encountering difficulties of his own, to judge by his frantic vox message. “Tyranids have breached the perimeter! Ulfar! Anyone! Is that bomb enroute?”
“Hang on Kelstros!” Nullus tried to assure him, carving through yet more xenos standing between him and the Blood Angel. He entered the building through a breach in the walls, and called out to his brother, hoping for guidance. “Kelstros! Are you with me? I have the bomb!”
Kelstros did not reply, stoking fears and unease within him. If his brother was as hard pressed as his last vox would indicate, for him to not reply now did not sit well with him. But even that did not prepare Nullus for finding what was left of him.
Kelstros’s form was swallowed by a swarm of pests, the filthy beasts trying in vain to puncture the Blood Angel’s ceramite armor and devour the flesh within. It was a simple matter to disperse the vermin, yet that did not change the fact that he had been yet again too late. “You have served your Emperor well, my brother,” he told the corpse, if only to assuage the guilt he felt at not being able to save at least one of his comrades.
It hit Nullus then that he was the last. The only Space Marine left on this blighted planet. Yet if he did not wish the deaths of his brethren to be in vain he must complete the mission. He knew he would die in the attempt, but his life had existed under that suspended sentence ever since he had been taken by the Inquisition. If this was to be the occasion in which the Emperor chose to call his soul home to Him, then he would obey that order as promptly as he had all others in his long life. But only after his task was complete.
Taking Kelstros’s weapon, not in tribute or mourning, but rather as a pragmatic means of taking as many of the foul creatures with him as possible when his own time came, Nullus moved further into the launch facility. “Begin Log,” he ordered his armor’s machine spirit. With so many of his brothers dead, a record must be kept of their deeds, if only for those who would salvage their gene-seed to know what their mission had been, and if it had been successful. In the likely event he did not survive to make his report in person.
“To any Imperial unit who recovers this log,” he began. “My Kill Team crash landed off course. My brothers are all dead, slain by tyranids. I have the virus bomb. I am currently moving to the orbital launcher, and I will fire it into the stratosphere where it will disperse over the tryanid positions.” Nullus moved further into the facility, shooting at the filth that had preceded him there. Throne of Terra, there were so many of them, no wonder Kelstros had been overwhelmed. “This virus is our one chance to delay the tyranid invasions. It will then spread throughout their forces. They will adapt of course, but it will slow them down for a time.” he paused, considering. If he did not succeed… “The virus must be launched into the stratosphere, nothing else matters.” Nullus instructed his unseen listener. If he failed in his duty with the mission undone, then whoever came after him must complete his task. The fate of the entire system depended upon it.
“Operator shift change overdue. Your tardiness has been flagged for invigilation.” The cool tones of the facility’s machine spirit seemed surreal in the face of such massed grief and slaughter. Clearly the next shift was not simply late, most likely they had been devoured by the hungry maws of the swarm now overrunning the planet.
“Open the gates.” Nullus commanded.
‘Shift chronometer reset. You are registered as On Duty.” the machine spirit said primly, clearly not registering Nullus as anything more than part of the next shift of workers detailed to see to its environs. “Carry out the Omnissiah’s work according to divine synchronicity.”
Nullus promptly ignored its commandments in favor of blasting what xenos had made it inside even these protected enclaves. With what little breathing space he could manage, he made his way to a nearby empty dispersal shell, and inserted the virus bomb into its payload. That complete, he put his shoulder to the burden, and heaved it to the intake that would prep the device for launch.
“Payload chambered. Hazardous materials detected.” That was rather the point, machine spirit, Nullus thought uncharitably. “Further benedictions are required.”
“Transmitting override authorization.” Nullus ordered his own armor’s machine spirit to complete the task. “Set course for stratospheric detonation.”
“The Rite of Safeguard must be performed. Seek an authorized Magos at the command console.” The launcher’s machine spirit was unmoved. Nullus did not voice his supposition that the authorized Magos was currently resting in the gullet of some foul xenos. It likely would not sway the machine spirit in any case - if it could even comprehend all that had happened since the tryanids arrived.
“Machine spirit, where is the command console?” Nullus cried as he moved through the corridors of the facility, slaughtering any xenos who crossed his path.
“On the observation platform above. The Magos on duty does not respond.” came the reply.
Clearly, he would have to authorize the launch himself, Nullus thought without humor. “Summon the lift.” he ordered, needing a way to reach the upper level and the controls there.
Once he had reached the lift, and toggled its operation, he addressed the machine spirit once again. “What is the status of the orbital launcher?”
“Hibernation.” the machine spirit said promptly. “Console has been inactive for twenty-two hours, fourteen minutes, twenty-three seconds, terran standard. This impiety to the Omnissiah has been logged.”
Nullus ignored the machine spirit’s complaint against its operators. It wasn’t as if they had willfully abandoned their duty. No more had his own comrades. Yet to try to convince a machine spirit of that fact seemed to be a gross waste of time.
“Activate the launch systems!” he commanded as he reached the upper level.
“The Rite of Initialization must first be performed. Seek an authorized Magos at the command console. A Magos will be with you shortly.” Nullus rather doubted the last. Yet here was his objective, set where an operator could track any launch for care or problem without resorting to an auspex screen. He himself had never been initiated into the Rites of Mars, and thus had little idea of what each function of the device could be, but the key for initialization was plain enough. He gently thumped the control with a ritual fist, and the burble of awakening machinery was music to his ears.
“Benedictions complete. Awakening systems from hibernation.” the machine spirit reported. Nullus could see a charge building up on the launch ramp. “The Rite of Capacitors has been initialized. Personnel may now begin prayers of charging.”
Nullus did not know the correct binaric prayers, and could only personally beseech the Emperor - in His guise as the Omnissiah - that the machine spirit could handle the proper litanies on its own. Since a tech-marine had not been attached to his Kill Team when the mission had been proposed, clearly that meant that those outlining the mission had determined such a specialty unnecessary for the task at hand - unless they had made that judgement thinking that the normal personnel of the launcher would have held out long enough for the Kill Team to reach them.
But there was another worry. It was only a matter of time before his position was noted by the swarm. If this took too long… “Throne! Can you not hasten the process?” he pleaded with the machine spirit as he took aim at the onrushing vermin already making their way toward him.
“Seismic disruptions have occurred. Launch trajectory may have been altered." The swarm was boiling into the facility now, Nullus killing all he could yet it would seem that his best efforts were as bare drops beside an ocean. “Organic presence detected on the railway. All personnel vacate for launch.” the machine spirit warned. Nullus did not care. Those were xenos bodies the machine spirit was detecting, not human, and so long as their presence did not directly impede the launch, that just meant a few he did not have to personally kill. Already the tyranids were using their sheer weight of numbers to literally scale the courtyard walls to reach him, its foul intelligence doubtless aware of what he was about and desperate to stop him.
“Launch preparations complete. Standing by, Magos.” Finally. Taking a few more shots at the onrushing horde, Nullus attempted to disengage and make his way to the command console, but that was when the vermin had reached sufficient mass of bodies to form a living ladder for others of their persuasion to reach the upper deck where he fought. The sheer press of bodies drove him away from his destination. He fought against the tide, straining to redirect the flow of combat so that it took him where he needed to be.
“Attention, Magos. Your launch authorization is needed for the dispatch of the payload.” the machine spirit warned. Before it could become further agitated, Nullus broke away from the beasts, and sprinted to the console, slamming his fist upon the indicated control. The charge on the launch ramp built to a crescendo, and the shell Nullus had carefully prepared whizzed past him, and hurled itself into the sky. He watched as the charge blew apart, the noxious vapor he had carefully shepherded here beginning its deadly work.
“It is done.” he said to himself, relief filling his body. No matter what happened next, he and his men had fulfilled their purpose in accomplishing Objective Primus. Nullus gave no thought to Objective Secundus - he was but one man set against the vast horde of the tyranids. Even if he could make his way to the other facility intact, he knew well there was little he could still accomplish beyond selling his remaining life as dearly as possible.
And here they came, surging toward him from two sides. Nullus killed what he could, but there were always more behind them. He struggled with their toxic forms, until a misaimed blow toppled him from the upper platform into the courtyard below.
His helmet had come loose in the fall, and as he rose to his feet in what breathing space he could claim until the swarm came for him, he removed it and spat out what little bile had erupted from his throat from the disorientation before it could eat into his tissues. The Emperor’s gifts can easily become a curse if one did not take care, he remembered one of his trainers saying in his neophyte days, warning the fledgling astartes of the dangers their new organs could bring to them if they were unwary. The acid spittle had always caught at least a dozen each year by surprise despite the warning, resulting in no few accidental failures each training cycle, despite the best efforts of the apothecaries.
Strange to think of that now, about to die. Rather than replacing his helm, he clamped it to his waist, philosophically deciding that since he was about to end his duty, he would greet the Emperor with his face bare, no longer hiding himself behind helm and covered pauldron.
“I will take you all with me!” he swore at the onrushing horde as they rushed him, switching between his weapons to maximise his destructive potential as best he may. “I will not rest until you all lie dead at my feet.” Empty words truly, but defiance kept him on his feet and mobile, allowing him to continue fighting even as despair might otherwise claim his soul for the Dark Gods.
“Even if I am slain, I will leave you with wounds by which to remember me.” Nullus raged at his foes, chainsword and bolters weaving their deadly dance. Throne of Terra, was there no end to them? “May that virus strip the flesh from your bones.”
A carnifex, so much larger than the warriors and hormagaunts he had been butchering, rose up out of the jungle. It appeared that the Hive Mind had grown tired of him so easily slaughtering its minions, that it had sent a carnifax to deal with him. A perverse compliment, and one by which Nullus meant to make his foe pay dearly for.
Mass, he decided cooly, unloading his bolters into the creature. That would be his weapon. The carnifax was a swift and deadly foe, but so much mass without the gene-enhanced reactions of a Space Marine required space and time to move about, which he could then turn to his advantage; keeping it at range, dodging away from its strikes, and using the fleeting times it was unbalanced to lunge in with his chainsword. The contest went on for longer than he could have hoped, his strategy driving the beast into a frenzy. But he was tiring as well, and one time he dodged just a hair too slowly, resulting in the carnifex catching him squarely in the chest with one of its taloned forelimbs. It roared its triumph to the skies.
Fighting through the agony, Nullus forced his hands to rise, trying in vain to grasp the talon piercing his chest, shredding his hearts. Fluid rose in his throat - blood and bile in equal measure, yet he did not even have the strength to so much as spit in the creature’s face. Still he exerted every iota of his will to force his legs to hold his weight, refusing with every remaining ounce of his strength to allow his knees to buckle. By He-who-Ruled-on-Terra, he would die on his feet, not on his knees.
The carnifex seemed to recognize his determination. It reared back, angling the impaling talon upward, lifting Nullus into the air, while it raised its other forelimb in what was clearly meant to be a decapitating strike.
It never landed. Before the beast had a chance to deal the final blow, shots rang out, impacting the carnifex, drawing its attention away from Nullus. Startled, it withdrew its piercing talon, allowing him to drop to the ground. Through his fading vision he could see it stagger and fall, others of its foul kind attempting to withdraw before they too fell to the oncoming fire.
Reinforcements. The Imperium had come. Too late for him and his Kill Team, but their task was complete already. Their duty was done. It was enough for their deaths to be avenged. From his vantage point, Nullus could just see the fallen carnifex, lying broken in the dust. Satisfied that the beast that had killed him was at least dead, he allowed his eyes to close, and embraced the relief of duty’s end.