Editing Trip Into Hell (Warhammer High) (section)

===Fire from the Sky===

Day seven of the Ork Invasion. Four days since they had tried to take the walls by storm, and had been repulsed by the brave actions of the Imperial defenders. In all that time since, apart from the constant, irregular shelling, the Orks had done nothing, just stayed in their encampments. Ahriman could afford for them to do that, with the vast bulk of the population either lifted offworld of shipped to other cities, they had enough food to last for a year or more of siege. The Orks trying to storm the city, that was what he was concerned about.
He had spent the last few days visited the sections of the wall where the towers had connected, and spoke with the surviving troops there, raising their morale and lifting spirits. If only his own spirits could be so easily raised.

Right now he was at the Astropathic Guild HQ, on the other side of the main Autoway from the PDF HQ. He was once again trying to enquire about whether any news of the Relief force had arrived, and so far the answer seemed to be the same one it was every other time, no. 
The Orks by their mere presence were interdicting the most important tradeway between Solar and Ultima, and that was hurting the entire Imperium, not just Seadelant. The Emperor Himself would deem this one top priority. And yet the Astropaths could get no word on when the relief would arrive. Ahriman was almost tempted to go out himself, to send his body of light out there to find out, but he knew that would be suicide. He was not as strong as Magnus, and even he had difficulties sometimes. The great Ocean was no-longer as safe anymore, not with the knowledge of what lurked within its depths.

For a Corvidae, lack of knowledge was the worst curse, and he was the head of the entire 
Corvidae Cult, by extension the greatest master of scrying the future outside Magnus, the Emperor and the Eldar. And all that power counted for little here, could not dispel the fog clouding his foresight nor shake off the doubts flitting through his mind.

There was a bang on the door, and a PDF runner burst in.

“Lord Ahriman, Graf Trakeria requests your presence immediately. There has been a development.”

“A development?” Ahriman immediately cast his mind outwards, towards the PDF building. The control room was afire with the auras of those within panic, fear and apprehension not seen since the invasion began. They were all concerned about movement detected coming from the Hulk in orbit. His mind them soared skywards, to the source of the commotion. The atmosphere vanished and the eternal night of space enveloped him. There was the Hulk, an evil wedge of space rock and ancient ships fused together by the power of the Great Ocean. Several Space Roks, hollowed out asteroids fitted with drives, guns and crew quarters and turned into mobile gun platforms provided escort for the hulk, and even a squadron of Brute Ramships constructed from the space debris left after the Hulk’s arrival shoaled beside the Hulk. This was all perfectly normal, what were they worried about?

Suddenly something flickered at the edge of his aethersight, almost hidden by the psy-inferno emanating from the Hulk. He approached closer, risking the fire in order to get a better view. 

It was then that he saw it.

Roks. Four small asteroids plummeting towards the planet, towards the city they matched the rock structure of the Hulk clearly. The Orks were trying to bombard the city into submission. With a snap he returned to his mortal flesh and without a word of explanation left the building to the questions of the Astropaths.

“They’re throwing Roks at the city!” Governor Shroe lamented when he entered the room.

“I know. The lack of progress must be frustrating them, and when Orks get frustrated they bring out the big guns.”

“You know Ork Accuracy; if they’re trying to knock down the walls with Roks then their warlord must be stupid. The chances of one getting a direct hit are billions to one, and Lord Ahriman can vector the Plasma Missiles and Defence Lasers to shoot them down long before that anyway.” Graf Trakeria was more cocky, more self confident thanks to Ahriman. She hoped to capitalise on his successes, get some glory off his coattails. He couldn’t care less with local politics, he had more pressing issues.

“Deploy the defence lasers and notify the astropaths. I’ll link my mind with theirs, and we’ll shoot down these Roks.”

He could feel the blast doors opening and the guns emerging from their silos across the city. He removed his Astartes helmet and placed the archaic psy-helmet onto his head. Swiftly he linked his mind into the Matrix and began to track the strings of fate, finding the one he needed. When he found the Roks on the strings of fate, he smiled. Two of them were going to land many miles away, the usual Ork shoddy accuracy meaning those two could be ignored. The third would hit the bay, causing a massive tidal wave if it couldn’t be vaporised in time. The final one would land closest to the walls, if not inside them altogether. That would level half the city within a few seconds, and he would take priority in its destruction.
In his mind’s eye he watched them start to burn as they entered the atmosphere, rushing faster and faster as gravity took its iron hold. Their courses ran true, and under his direction the defence lasers locked onto empty sky. Tracing the strings of fate, he could see the Roks impacting into the ground, see the devastation they would cause, and he began to follow the strand of fate backwards, pulling it back, pulling it back…fire.
He could not see the beam, but he could feel it as it lanced upwards into the sky. Its aim was straight and true, and with barely any effort it vaporised the rok into so much dust. A few seconds later the other rok met the same fate.

“Stand down. You’ve done it again my lord. You’ve saved the city three times now. When this is over, you will be hailed as the savour of Seadelant.” Her good mood was cut short when one of the vox operators yelled out.

“Contact! Another incoming object bearing 7-14.”

Graf Trakeria scanned the readout. “7-14? That’s nearly the horizon line. Where the fuck did that one come from?”

Cold fear drenched Ahriman, as if a sudden revelation had been made to him and him alone. He was an Astartes, and he was supposed to know no fear. It had all felt too simple, too easy. The new Rok was coming in at too low a trajectory for a Defence Laser to get a lock, and it was too close for a Plasma Missile to hit it. He began to track the strings of fate to find out where it would impact, only to be struck cold when he hit its strand. He had followed all the strings of fate, and he’d missed this one, missed it cold.
He didn’t realise what just happened to him until he noticed everyone in the room staring at him with shock. They had never seen an Astartes fall to his knees before.

“Evacuate the walls.” He said in a dry whisper as he climbed to his feet.

“Pardon my lord?”

“I said evacuate the walls!” Ahriman’s voice rose to booming pitch. “That Rok is about to rip a hole a mile wide in the outer walls, and nothing we can do will be able to plug the gap once it’s opened. We have to order a general retreat to the inner walls, or else lose everything.”

“Can’t we do anything? Why didn’t you see this?” Trakeria insisted.

“I failed. I…failed.” Those words hurt Ahriman to say, but say them he did. Again. “In just over two minutes the walls will fall. If you do not order the evacuation now, the city falls, the planet falls and the trade route is cut. The whole Imperium will suffer if you do not act now.”

“Surely you overestimate. These are Orks you’re talking about, they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a…”

“Order the evacuation NOW!” his heqa staff burst into flames as he drew deep from the Great Ocean and bloated up his aura, and everyone in the room cowered before him. His anger was swiftly snuffed out as he realised what he was doing. He had never lost his temper quite like this before, not since Ohrmuzd had…no, he would not think about it. He jammed his helmet back on and turned to go.

“Where are you going?” Trakeria demanded.

“To put my finger in the dyke and hold back the sea.” And Ahriman was gone.